“What’cha got there, kiddo?” Dean poked his head from behind stacks and stacks of case reports and storm sightings. John had no clue what it meant yet, but he was sure all of it meant something. “Sum’fin from school. Miss Jackson said to give it to our mommies an’ daddies and an’ Sammies an’ stuff.” John held back a snicker. Dean hadn’t gotten the hang of differentiating “Sammy” from “baby” yet, that not all babies were Sammies, and not all Sammies were babies. It was problematic in the last school, where therehappened to be a kid also named Sam. “Give it here, then.” John smiled and took his son onto his lap while Dean shoved the paper in his face. John took the paper and held it at reasonable reading distance. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes crinkled in a not-quite smile. “Well. That’s a pretty hefty goal you got there, Dean.” He leaned into his father’s warm chest and scrunched his nose. “Yeah… Miss Jackson asked what we wanted to do when we’re all growed up—” “Grown up, Dean. Not growed up.” “Arright, arright. Lemme finish my story! She as’ed us what we wanted to do when we’re all guh-rown-uh up an’ she helped me spell my name. Win-ches-ter is so long. Why can’t we have a shorter last name? Macy Brown who sat next to me today had an easy name to spell. It’s a color. What’s a Winchester?” John paused for a moment to contemplate his son’s question. He thought back to last night’s dinner to the ghost he’d put down last week to the money troubles last month and to the fire last year and to Mary. He gripped his son tight and nosed his hair. “That’s easy, Dean. You said it yourself. A Winchester is someone who saves the world.”

“What’cha got there, kiddo?”

Dean poked his head from behind stacks and stacks of case reports and storm sightings. John had no clue what it meant yet, but he was sure all of it meant something.

“Sum’fin from school. Miss Jackson said to give it to our mommies an’ daddies and an’ Sammies an’ stuff.”

John held back a snicker. Dean hadn’t gotten the hang of differentiating “Sammy” from “baby” yet, that not all babies were Sammies, and not all Sammies were babies. It was problematic in the last school, where therehappened to be a kid also named Sam.

“Give it here, then.” John smiled and took his son onto his lap while Dean shoved the paper in his face. John took the paper and held it at reasonable reading distance. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes crinkled in a not-quite smile. “Well. That’s a pretty hefty goal you got there, Dean.”

He leaned into his father’s warm chest and scrunched his nose. “Yeah… Miss Jackson asked what we wanted to do when we’re all growed up—”

“Grown up, Dean. Not growed up.”

“Arright, arright. Lemme finish my story! She as’ed us what we wanted to do when we’re all guh-rown-uh up an’ she helped me spell my name. Win-ches-ter is so long. Why can’t we have a shorter last name? Macy Brown who sat next to me today had an easy name to spell. It’s a color. What’s a Winchester?”

John paused for a moment to contemplate his son’s question. He thought back to last night’s dinner to the ghost he’d put down last week to the money troubles last month and to the fire last year and to Mary. He gripped his son tight and nosed his hair.

“That’s easy, Dean. You said it yourself. A Winchester is someone who saves the world.”

→ Feb 2 2012 / PERMALINK

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