Sam was worried. John had been crawling like a fiend from four months, jabbering away in baby talk for forever, and had even said his first word. Despite all of that, the toddler wasn’t, well, toddling. He crawled like a maniac all over the place, but no actual walking.
Dean kept telling him to relax. So did Amanda. They both insisted that babies developed at their own pace. Or, as Dean put it, “So he’s taking after you in the coordination department. He’ll get it together eventually. You did.”
Ellen had another theory altogether. “He’s being lazy and smart. Why walk when all he has to do is go, “Da!” and one of you will pick him up? It’s like your brother. All he has to do is smile that smile of his and women fall all over themselves to do what he wants. You too, for that matter. It’s a
Winchester gift.”
Missouri kept her opinions to herself, though she did tell him not to worry so much.
But Sam was still worried. All the development books said that John should be walking, or at least trying to, and he wasn’t. Sam decided they needed a second opinion from a pediatric specialist in
Portland. Dean shook his head in amusement, but didn’t gainsay him.
The night before the appointment, Sam rolled onto his side and looked at Dean. “So you’re telling me that you’re not the least bit worried about John.”
Dean shrugged, not taking his eyes from the television. “Sam, you were fourteen months before you even thought about walking and sixteen when you finally managed it. You were a late bloomer and so is John. Well, with walking anyhow. We have a head start in making the girls melt.”
Sam rolled his eyes and demanded, “Would you take this seriously? Please? What if something’s wrong? Really wrong. Like, because we’re brothers.”
Dean sighed and used the remote to turn off the television. Rolling onto his side to face Sam, he stated, “There’s nothing wrong with LJ, Sam. This has nothing to do with us being brothers and he does not have bad genes. He’s just not ready to walk, end of story.”
Sam knew that should make him feel better, but it didn’t. He was glad that Dean wasn’t worried, but he still was.
Dean scooted closer and kissed him, slow and easy, then asked, “How about I take your mind off things for a while?”
Sam made a face, but allowed himself to be rolled onto his back and for Dean to continue ‘distracting’ him with more kisses. He almost lost himself in the whole thing when he broke off abruptly and demanded, “Hey, how do you know all this stuff about me, anyhow? You were like five at the time. There’s no way you remember all of it.”
Groaning, Dean bit sharply at Sam’s chest and then told him, “Of course I remember it. I remember everything. Mind like a steel trap.”
Sam gave him a suspicious look. “What grade did I get in second grade science?”
“B,” Dean answered.
“Fifth grade English?”
“A.”
“Eight grade Social Studies?”
“Which school?”
Sam stared at his brother, pushing Dean off him altogether to exclaim, “How the hell do you remember all of this?”
Heaving a sigh, Dean sat up too and retorted, “How do you think, Sam? I’ve got it all written down. Jeeze. Way to ruin the mood.”
But Sam was caught somewhere between aghast and blown away. That Dean had had the presence of mind while still a child himself to write everything down? He didn’t know whether that bordered on obsessive, neurotic, or really devoted. Maybe all three. “Show me.”
Dean grumbled, but climbed out of bed and walked over to the closet. He rooted around for a minute and then came back with a small box about eight inches square by maybe five inches deep. Sitting on the bed beside him, Dean pulled out an inch thick sheath of papers with an old string tied around them. He tossed them at Sam and said, “All your report cards and progress reports and notes from the different teachers over the years.”
Next, Dean took out a relatively new, slim notebook and an old, battered ‘baby book’ and tossed both at Sam. “The notebook has everything in legible writing. I redid it all when I thought, well, sometime before the Contract came due. I guess I wanted you to know that I’d been paying attention. I went through your reports cards and shit at the same time, which is why it’s all pretty fresh in my memory. Boy, are you gullible.”
Stunned, Sam opened the baby book with reverent fingers. Inside were all the typical, “Baby’s First” notations. The first ones were done in an adult cursive, obviously their mother’s writing, and then it changed to crayon in an unsteady hand, Dean’s writing of the time. There was even a lock of hair and a little baggie with Sam’s baby teeth. Lifting shocked eyes to his brother, he said, “Dean, this is…”
Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and asked defensively, “What? It’s no big deal, Sam. Dad said to take care of you and I knew mom did this so I found it before we left the house and kept it up.”
Overcome by emotion, Sam launched himself at Dean and pinned him to the bed, kissing him all over his face and ignoring the splutters and demands to get off. Finally stopping, he rested with his arms on Dean’s chest and stared down at his brother’s annoyed expression. He kissed Dean then, long and slow and with as much love as he could possibly manage, still overwhelmed by just how much Dean had done for him when no one had done much of anything for his brother.
Dean sighed into the kiss and cradled his face, breaking it off to say, “I know your childhood sucked, Sammy, but I tried, I really did.”
“It didn’t suck nearly as much as it could have,” Sam replied slowly. He’d always known that Dean had taken care of him, he remembered it vividly, but that his brother had gone to such lengths for something that might never have been discovered astounded Sam. “God, Dean, you don’t know how much this means to me.”
Dean flushed, but the hint of a smile hovered as he said, “That’s because you’re a big girl.”
Laughing, Sam didn’t even argue; he just lowered his head and took his brother’s mouth in another kiss. Dean grinned into it and they rolled until he was on top, legs planted outside Sam’s as he sat up. He leaned on Sam’s stomach, squeezing the muscles there as he said, “I fuckin’ love your body.”
Smirking a little, Sam replied, “You’re not so shabby yourself.”
“What are you talking about, no so shabby? I totally rock,” Dean quipped, wriggling his eyebrows.
Sam snorted, but didn’t argue. His hands wrapped around his brother’s waist, the fingers spanning almost all of Dean’s lower back to nearly meet in the middle. Dean wasn’t small by anyone’s standards, but Sam loved their differences. “You want to ride me tonight?”
Dean shivered, his lids going half-mast before he nodded. Reaching over Sam, he tugged out the lube and held it out. Sam released his brother reluctantly and sat up, sliding his arms around Dean so he could reach his ass. The position had the added benefit of them being wrapped around each other within easy kissing distance. Dean took advantage of that, licking along Sam’s mouth and then slipping his tongue inside for a deep, wet kiss.
Sam almost lost his coordination, he was so engrossed in the devouring kiss. Dean jerking against him reminded him what he was supposed to be doing. He grabbed Dean’s ass and squeezed, massaging the flesh roughly and prompting a chest-deep groan from his brother. Sam occasionally liked to get fucked and certainly didn’t mind letting Dean do him when the mood took, but Dean really loved his ass being played with.
So Sam took his time, rubbing over the hole a few times as they kissed and then slowly pushing in one finger. Dean jerked against him again, gasping into the kiss while Sam’s finger twisted and moved inside him. He worked Dean over good, progressing to three fingers over time just to hear his brother grunt and feel him shudder in pleasure.
Dean lowered himself on Sam’s cock with equal familiarity, undulating a little as he went, working Sam’s body just as intimately, if in a different way. Sam moaned at the sensation, hands spasming on his brother’s hips as he thrust up without conscious will. Dean chuckled, a low, breathless sound, and murmured, “Easy there, Sammy, we got time. Take a breath.”
Sam gasped, not having realized he’d been holding his breath. Shuddering in a heady mix of love and lust, he closed the scant distance between them and took Dean’s mouth in a hungry kiss, thrusting his tongue inside. It seemed to take forever before Dean was fully seated on him, arms wound over Sam’s shoulders as he began fucking himself on Sam’s cock. Helping with a hand underneath his brother’s ass, he added leverage to keep some of the strain off Dean.
They moved leisurely, drawing it out in a haze that wound Sam up in a way sure to drive him crazy. He bit and sucked at every part of Dean he could reach, his other hand squeezing and caressing all over. Dean groaned and shuddered whenever Sam hit a sweet spot and turned the tables with his own lips and teeth, latching onto the tender skin just under the ear and then licking a broad swath along the collarbone up over the Adam’s apple.
Sam groaned when he felt his body speed up, driving harder toward orgasm, not wanting to come before Dean. He took hold of his brother’s cock and stroked it in a counter-rhythm, grinning fiercely at Dean’s ragged moan of his name. Their movements grew hurried, flesh slamming against flesh, teeth clicking against teeth in the frantic press of need. Dean came with a loud cry into Sam’s mouth, shaking hard, fingers digging into Sam’s back as come splattered between them. His muscles clamped down on Sam’s dick, milking him dry only seconds later, pulling Dean down hard and filling his brother copiously.
They sat there a long time, panting and clinging to each other in the middle of the bed as the kisses turned sweet and loving. Finally, Dean sighed and rested his forehead on Sam’s. “We should get some sleep if you’re getting up early.”
Sam nodded and they disentangled. It was a quick matter to wipe himself down and then he pulled Dean into his arms, spooning up from behind and holding him tight while kissing the back of his brother’s neck.
“Big girl,” Dean muttered.
But Sam heard the smile in his voice.
* * * *
The drive to the pediatrician’s office took about a half hour and John chattered the whole way from the back seat, keeping Sam entertained. What didn’t amuse him were the curse words that John had seemed to latch onto as his means of communication. He said ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ a lot, which made for interacting with other kids and parents awkward, to say the least. Not that Dean seemed to care. He’d finally started watching his language around John, but probably more to stop Sam from nagging than any sense of propriety.
Sam scooped John out of his car seat and grabbed the baby bag, shouldering it as he stood. They were in a garage and he headed for the elevator off to the side, bouncing John lightly in his arm and grinning at the determined baby talk he got in response.
A woman waited by the elevator and she smiled at them, asking, “How old is he?”
“Thirteen months,” Sam answered.
The doors opened and he waited for her to enter before walking inside and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
“He’s really adorable,” she continued. “He’s got your eyes.”
Sam flushed a little with pride and said, “Yeah, and my nose, unfortunately.”
She grinned and observed, “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s a handsome nose.”
It had been a while since anyone had flirted with him and Sam ducked his head a little as he replied, “Uh, thanks,” which he immediately realized was the most stupid response ever. Just as well Dean wasn’t there, or he’d never live it down.
Fortunately, the woman got off the elevator on the second floor, waving to them.
The pediatrician’s office was sleek and very much not like Amanda’s. There were four mothers with their children in the large waiting area. Two of the children had casts, one on an arm, while the other was encased around a foot. The other two children seemed fine, maybe just there for checkups.
Sam walked up to the receptionist and said, “Hi. I’m Sam Winchester and this is John. We have a
ten o’clock appointment.”
The motherly woman nodded and smiled at him in greeting. “We got your son’s records yesterday, Mr. Winchester, so you only need to fill out a few forms.”
He took the clipboard and sat on one of the comfortable chairs, dropping the bag onto the floor. John, naturally, started squirming to get down right away and Sam had a time trying to juggle him and the clipboard.
“You can let him roam, Mr. Winchester,” the receptionist told him. “The waiting area is completely baby proof.”
Sam snorted. “You don’t know John. He’s got a talent for finding things he’s not supposed to.”
But he did let John down, since there was no way he could manage the annoyed toddler along with the forms. Sam kept an eye on him for a minute, watching as John arrowed straight towards a child around four years old across the room. There was nothing apparently wrong with the little girl, but she just sat there staring at her hands. John plopped down right next to her and gave her a big, gap-toothed grin, exclaiming, “Damn!”
Sam groaned, but the girl giggled and looked at John with big blue eyes.
Looking at the offended mother, Sam apologized, “I am so sorry. He’s going through a phase. You know how it is.”
The woman didn’t look all that mollified, but she didn’t separate the children, either.
Relieved, Sam started filling out the paperwork. He would glance up every minute or so, but John stayed put, jabbering at the little girl with ease. Sam chuckled to himself as the girl promptly pulled John into a hug, thinking about Dean’s words about making the girls melt already. It was true, to a certain extent. There was something about John that immediately drew other kids, especially girls.
Sam got engrossed in the forms and jumped in surprise when two small hands slapped down on his knees and John exclaimed, “Da!” He stood before Sam with that big grin of his, the few teeth prominently visible. Astonished, Sam looked at the woman across the room and demanded, “Did he walk? Did he just walk over here to me?”
The woman nodded and Sam let out a whoop of joy, scooping John into his arms and then tossing him carefully into the air. John shrieked with laughter. Sam set him on the floor and stepped a few feet away, crouching down and held out his hands, asking, “Can you come here, John?”
John seemed to roll his eyes almost and wobbled up on his feet before walking stiff legged over to Sam, who caught him into a tight hug as he stood. “Thank God!”
“Mr. Winchester? The doctor’s ready to see you now,” the receptionist told him, smiling from her window.
Sam thought about it for a moment, but then walked over to her and said, “We’re good now, thanks. I’m really sorry about wasting the doctor’s time.”
She gave an understanding nod and told him, “They really do develop at their own pace. Just be patient.”
“I thought I was,” Sam replied, rueful. “Thanks again.”
He collected the bag and headed out saying, “You know, you could’ve done this before I made a fool of myself. Your dad’s never going to let me hear the end of this now.”
John just gurgled a laugh at him.