Sorry for taking forever. I didn't realise this was already written. I have no idea if it's beta'd or not it's been so long. So, have fun with it, sorry about taking so long. I'm looking for any other updates lying around that I didn't know about.

Chapter 3:

I am waiting, I am patiently doing nothing, in a reverie

Climbing higher, seeing everything, interacting slowly spiraling

Dean allowed Sam to crawl into his lap before they both went down the slide together, Sam shrieking with fear and laughter, Dean allowing a smile to twist his lips before tightening his arms around Sammy's middle so at the end of the slide he wouldn't lose his sibling, barely able to keep his own feet. Letting Sam down, another kid didn't bother to wait, and slid down the slide, feet hitting Dean in the back and sending him forward, hard. Sam howled in rage, seeing his big brother knocked over. Dean pulled himself up, tugging his legs up to his chest before pushing down and sending his body upwards. Twisting to look at the kid, the typical playground bully. Dean was six, a little small for his age, but plenty strong. Sam was a little big for his two years, but he wasn't very chubby, so he looked even older. But Dean was still bigger, and would be for a long time.

"Watch it," Bully said. Dean raised a cold eyebrow.

"Kiss my ass," Dean spat, his baby face too soft for the harshness of the words or the hate in his green eyes. "Sam, watch out," Dean pulled himself into a fighting stance. He was probably forty pounds lighter than the boy in front of him, not to mention a good four inches shorter. But Dean had one major advantage, all his weight was hardened muscle, not soft fat. Bully's eyes went round, shocked at the cursing. It wasn't exactly common among small children, and he figured Dean was about five, his brother maybe three.

"Guess your mom didn't teach you any manners, huh?"

Dean's nostrils flared, and he launched himself into the other boy without a second thought, his father getting there just in time to catch Dean's collar and swing him away before he ever made contact.

"Dean, what the hell?" John asked, lips close to his boy's ear. "C'mon Sam, lets go over to the swings, okay?" Sam's hand reached up for his father's, eyes looking up in hopes of catching Dean's, but Dean's face was pressed against his father's leather jacket. "Sam why don't you practice swinging a little bit? Dean'll come push you in a few minutes, okay?"

"Yes sir," and he toddled off to the swings, before looking back. John sighed, putting Dean down to pull Sam into the swing and give him a starting push. Ruffling the mop of curly brown hair, he went over to Dean, lifting him up again. The boy hadn't moved, eyes down at his shoes. Walking over to the park bench, John sat down, settling Dean on his lap where he couldn't escape. Looking at the anger in every line of the little boy's body, John knew he was anything but repentant.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I was still in the way when he came down the slide."

"No, I saw that," John had started moving the second he saw it happen. "What'd he say to you?" It wasn't a request.

"Said Mom didn't teach me any manners," his son's breathing got harsher as he fought back tears.

"You didn't…Dean." John pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head. "You've done your mother proud, Dean. And you always will. You hear me? You ignore that kid, he's not worth your time, okay? Don't even bother to look at him, just look through him. People like that are scum."

"Yes sir."

"Why don't you go push Sammy on the swing, okay?"

"Yes sir."

John ran a hand through his unruly dark hair, sighing. Dean went through phases, it seemed like. Sometimes he was a normal kid, and other times… he was just angry all the time at everyone, and then other times he was unresponsive and empty. He didn't know how to handle his boy. One thing always remained the same; Dean was always taking care of Sam. It was a burden he'd pulled onto his own shoulders, and John hated to admit that he was glad, because he couldn't handle it, and didn't have the time to take it back from Dean.

Watching the boys, he heard Dean's peal of laughter, accompanied in a loose harmony by Sam's higher giggle. There was something called an 'underdog' that Sam loved, it involved pulling the swing back as far as one could, and then running with it the whole way under, before shoving hard with one's arms to get that extra bit of height. Dean usually only did it when Sam was in the baby swing, but Sam was big enough to hold on and things were okay. They looked happy. Like normal kids. So long as they were alone.

Dean had an actual friend in first grade, a girl Dean called Mili for whatever reason, who had a baby sister that Sam played well with. Mainly because the little girl was only a couple months younger than he was, and he was fairly patient. Mili's mom was often happy to watch over the boys a couple hours if John needed somewhere to dump them. He felt a little guilty that he never had time to offer to watch Mili and Tess, but Mrs. Engel seemed to understand that a single father trying to work several jobs didn't have a lot of time. But, his boys seemed happy, and he killed himself to make sure they had everything they needed.

His watch beeped, an hour had gone by. "Dean!" The boy's head snapped around, smile slipping away from his face like water, the corners of his mouth sliding down, lips pursing. Dean nodded, slowing Sam's swing, despite the two-year-old's vehement protests. Dean leaned closer to Sammy, whispering something, John could see his jaw work, and then Sam slipped down from the swing without another word. Taking his hand, Dean led his baby brother to John, green eyes serious, waiting for orders. Wondering when he'd become a drill sergeant instead of a father, John ran his hand through his hair again, tugging at it lightly when he reached the back of his head.

"Time to go on back, I've got to get to work, and I don't want you guys out here alone."

"You don't trust me," Dean accused.

"No, I don't trust them, I don't trust boys like the one that knocked you over. I know you can handle yourself Dean, and I know you can take care of Sam. You remember that talk we had about why you have to go to school? This is the same stuff, Dean, you know that. I can't leave you here alone."

"Can we go to Mili's?"

Eyes raised for patience, he saw the jut of his son's jaw and was reminded instantly of Mary.

"You were there yesterday, and you have homework, if I recall," John said, and started walking. The conversation was over if Dean didn't move. John didn't remember ever having to spank Dean, the threat was usually sufficient, but he wasn't in the mood to be making threats. "Now let's go."

"I can do homework at Mili's," he mumbled, savagely kicking a rock. John knew Dean was bored in classes, knew they were too simple and were things he already knew, and they moved too slowly. But he was afraid that if he moved his boy up a grade with all the moving around that Dean would fall behind. Although when he was with the less capable teachers was when he used up all that bored energy to wreak havoc. Pinching the bridge of his nose, John heaved a sigh. Damnit kid. He longed for the days when Dean had been a little more complacent and a little less vocal. Not that he wanted his son to go back to that vegetative state where he only responded to Sammy crying. That had been sheer torture.

"Well, you spend a lot of time there, and I don't like having to ask Mili's mom to always been watching out for you guys. It isn't fair because I can't do the same thing and watch Mili and Tess," John thought that was reasonable, Dean preferred to operate on a system of checks and balances. Preferred to believe that justice was a real tangible thing, and that fairness was possible. John didn't want to have to tell Dean that the world was arbitrary, and it was people who made it either fair or unfair, and the majority was going to do their best to make it unfair and in their favor. But how to does someone explain that to a six year old, and why should they? Children were supposed to hope and dream and aspire for more than their parents could give them, it was what made the world keep turning.

"Sam likes having people to play with," Dean huffed, turning it into Sam's problem, because Dean knew how to play John. If he could twist something to make it about Sam, Sam whom John would do anything for, then he could usually win the argument. Not this time, because John knew it was about Dean.

"He has you." Sometimes, John felt he could see the weight crushing those young shoulders, see his words adding to it, and wished he could call those same words back to lighten the burden. But he didn't know how. And he was sorry.

"Sometimes I don't think I'm good enough."

Blinking, John wondered if he'd heard it, or just imagined it. Looking at Dean, whose eyes were down on his battered sneakers, John frowned. Afraid that if he was only hearing things, then he would look stupid in front of his son, but just as scared that if he said nothing, he risked losing the boy entirely.

"I don't know what Sam would do without you, and I'm just glad that I have you to help me with him," John compromised. It could be completely random, or it could be an answer to an almost silent plea. Begging for the burden to be lifted and taken away, but at the same time terrified of the rejection that failure would bring. John gripped Dean's shoulder for a few moments. Sam was ensconced firmly in the shelter of his arm, knees pressed tight into his sides while he held the boy against his hip. The toddler was quiet, as if sensing the seriousness of the moment and refusing to break it. Although, usually he was perfectly happy to break into moments like these just to make Dean smile to break the tension he felt. Or when he suddenly burst into crocodile tears shattering the hostility between father and son; allowing either his father or brother to comfort him, just so long as their attention was no longer directed at each other.

When they reached the, for lack of a better term, house they were staying in, Dean sighed. John didn't blame the boy for not wanting to come back here. The carpet stank, the walls were stained with water and mildew, the water sometimes ran hot or cold, depending. It creaked abominably, and sometimes John wondered if it was going to crash down on their heads in the night. So far it hadn't, and at least the sheets were clean and fresh, and he'd done his best to air out the ratty mattress. But, the sooner they moved on the better. He had a feeling that while Dean would protest the loss of his friend, he would find that a better housing situation might be fair compensation. Although he knew it wouldn't be. Dean rarely bothered to make friends, not seeing any point. The fact he had attached himself to Mili told John that the break would be hard, and Dean might not try ever again.

When Mili's mother called, asking if Dean and Sam could come over, because Mili and Tess were asking, the triumphant look Dean shot him when they climbed into the car annoyed John. But he understood the request, and he was fairly sure he had caught wind of a black dog, and wanted to check it out. With Dean and Sam cared for, John was free to do as he pleased, or was fated.

Dropping them off, John waved at Mili before twisting to the back to look at his boys. "Behave yourselves, you hear me?" he asked, waiting until Dean nodded, Sam had nodded eagerly, and didn't stop until Dean was dragging him from the car. The two of them dashed up the walk and to Mili, Dean already chattering animatedly to the little girl as she responded by taking his and Sam's hands and leading them in, chattering right back.

"C'mon, let's go to the tree house," Mili tugged on Dean a little, who grinned, looking over at Sam first. "He can come, Tess can't, she's too small."

"They're the same age," Dean told her, not understanding at all.

"She's smaller than Sam, 'cause she's a girl," Mili rolled her eyes at her friend, tugging him out of the house after a quick 'hello' in regards to her mother, one Dean echoed before following. It was a small, nice, tree house, as far as tree houses went, of course. It was painted blue, and built by a carpenter father. There was even a little window in the side facing the house. A small rope ladder was the way up, although it had been secured at the ground to prevent it from being able to throw small children free of it and back onto the lawn. The inside had old swatches of rug from when the actual house was built, along with a few sample tiles left behind by the builders. The walls were painted white, again with leftovers from the construction of the large house. A small table, and two chairs rested inside, as of there wasn't room for much else. The door wasn't a true one, having no knob, and even then on the inside of it was a brightly colored shower curtain to protect the inside from rain.

"We shoulda brought snacks," Mili mumbled, shrugging apologetically at Dean.

"I'm not hungry," he lied, he was always hungry. He just never ate. There was never time, or else John needed it more, or Sam did, now that he was eating things beyond milk and cheerios. It was a blessing and a curse, because now Dean had to share the foods he generally considered his own, and sometimes he felt that it didn't leave him enough. There would be, and could be, if he but had the courage to ask. "Where's Sam?" Dean asked suddenly, twisting around to realize his brother hadn't followed them. Pressing his small face against the window, he peered out, seeing his brother and Tess in the sandbox, clearly trying to make a mound of it, maybe using up all the sand. He idly wondered how far they would get, and then felt the urge to join them.

Instead, he settled himself down on the floor, his backpack still on his shoulders. "You get homework, too?" he asked.

"It's under the table, I don't wanna do it," Mili shrugged. Dean twisted a few strands of his hair, tugging gently at them, and wondered if they would have time to cut it.

"My dad gets mad when I don't do it," Dean commented absently. He was tired, and he was afraid. Knowing that his father was leaving them, to do something, he didn't know what, but he knew it was dangerous. Their dad always did dangerous things. Yawning a little bit, he shrugged at Mili. "We could go down for cookies," he offered. She shrugged back at him before nodding.

"Then we'll bring them back here," she added, and Dean nodded. He could probably do his homework and maybe have a cookie or two. Something to keep his stomach busy for at least a little while. Mili went down first, and then Dean followed. Sam was busy with Tess, still, and was aiding her in flinging the sand as far as they could. Dean rolled his eyes a little, but allowed Mili to tug him towards the house. It was nicer inside, nicer than any house Dean remembered. Other than he was sure that his house with his mom had been perfect. But when he thought about it, all he could see was Mary on the ceiling with the house covered in fire and smoke. Smell the burning wood and flesh, hear the sirens and crackling as the flames devoured everything he knew. Shaking his head a little, he smiled at Mrs. Engel a little.

"Mo-om," Mili started, "Can we have some cookies?"

"Please," Dean added, figuring a little extra buttering up never hurt anyone. It often worked with his father.

"Not until you two have had something healthy to eat," she told them calmly. Mili made a face, but Dean didn't care. Last time had been apples and peanut butter, which was amazing. "What'd you two want?"

Dean and Mili looked at each other for a few seconds, before chorusing "Apples and peanut butter!" before dissolving into giggle fits. Rolling her eyes, Mrs. Engel started cutting up the apples. She knew Dean liked to see the 'star' inside, so she cut them that way, and slathered peanut butter on the apple. It wasn't like the kids cared if they had it on their faces and hands. They generally just laughed at each other. One time it had turned into a peanut butter war, and Dean had ended up with the stuff in his hair, and Mili had had it smeared across her forehead. At that point, it had started raining, and she'd kicked them out to go get 'clean' and the two had found a mud patch. Which had made things worse. Mrs. Engel had ended up stuffing them in separate bath tubs and running a quick load of laundry. When John had come to pick his boys up, Dean's hair had still been wet, and he'd still been laughing helplessly along with Mili.

Passing them the snacks on the cheap plastic plates, "Why don't you go get Sam and Tess for snacks, too?" she suggested. Dean was out the door in seconds, his plate on the counter top. He was a little too sensitive about Sam, and Mrs. Engel had a feeling he would think she was implying he was neglecting his sibling.

Sam toddled in, glancing back at Tess who was a little less stable on her feet than he was. Dean kept an eye on Sam, and Tess, too. Thankful Mili didn't seem to feel the need to be mother to Tess, Mrs. Engel sighed a little, running a hand through her curly red hair. Dean hauled himself up onto the chair using the countertop. The chairs were extra tall so that they fit the island/countertop deal in the middle of the kitchen. It was in the way more often than not, but sometimes it came in handy. Like an easy cleaning surface after snack time for the kids. Mili crawled up, and Dean reached out to grab the chair when it wobbled. It always did that, and so far had never fallen, but the little boy was overly-cautious about everything. Sam and Tess generally ate on the floor, considering the island only sat two. And the table was for dinner, and that was about all it was good for.

As per usual, Dean was the first one to finish his food, and Mrs. Engel felt that if she timed it, he would beat his previous record every time. Wondering if he got enough food at home, he didn't look like he was hurting for meals. Although he was a growing boy, and did need extra. She might pack him and Sam a little bag of snacks or something for later. If Dean stuck it into his backpack John wouldn't have to know, or feel guilty about it.

"You two start your homework?"

"I don't feel like doing it," Mili said stoutly, before stuffing more apple into her mouth. Dean nodded his head vigorously.

"If you don't do it, no cookies. Why don't you go get it, and bring it in here and I'll help."

"No cookies?" Dean asked, looking at Mili in shock. He'd been promised cookies. Mili giggled at his expression, and he softened his features into a teasing grin. He smiled impishly at Mrs. Engel, and slid off his chair, thanking her for the apples, to race outside and gather up the homework. He'd do just about anything for home made cookies. Hauling his backpack in, and Mili's books in his arms, he dumped them on the floor, showing his distaste for the task at hand.

"I'm baking fresh cookies, and Dean, you get to take some home with you, make sure you share some with your dad, okay?"

"Do I gotta?" he asked, grinning at Sam a little.

"Yes, you do, and it's 'do I have to'," she corrected gently. The boy seemed to have something against the English language. She put out a plate of cookies for the kids to divvy up and share. They were still soft, being only a few days old. She could never seem to make cookies last more than three or four days at the most. Usually it was two if she was lucky. Dean choked out a muffled thanks around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie, as he frowned at a math problem he was working out. When he looked over at what Mili was doing, he frowned again.

"You're doing it wrong," he told her quietly.

"Am not."

"Are so," he told her, shifting his paper to look at hers, and then working the problem differently on her paper. "See, it doesn't work how you did it," he told her impatiently. Mrs. Engel let them argue, Dean would almost always back down if it came to a real argument, but Mili generally had the sense to let him help her with math, because he was the one who was bad with spelling. Which was funny because he read so well. But Dean hated the vocabulary words. He could never remember how to spell any of them, but Mili could usually come up with some word pairing so he could remember better. Like 'stoic' could be 'stow it' so he could remember the sounds easier. For all the spelling was completely off, word association helped. And then he also remembered it was kind of like 'stowing one's feelings away' at least. It was a rough definition, but it did help. After a few more minutes of arguing, Dean took the paper to Mrs. Engel, wanting to know who had the right answer. He did, and he looked at Mili triumphantly. And then she stole one of 'his' cookies.

"Hey now!" feeling it time to step in, Mrs. Engel rolled her eyes a little, "Mili don't make me send you to your room. You hear me?" her daughter nodded, and she smiled a little. She started working the dough, and Dean came over.

"Can I help?"

"Is your homework done?"

"It's not due until later," he pointed out. "I can do it at home."

"And what will your father say if it's not done?"

Dean dropped his eyes and didn't respond.

"How about you get the math done, and then you can take a short break to help me? Then the English homework, alright?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, racing back to his homework to work it as quickly as he could.

"And you make sure you do them all right!" she called over her shoulder. He didn't even answer he was so engrossed in finishing as fast as he could.

please review. Please? I'm in Spain, and it should be awesome, but they're feeding us rotten fruit, and all sorts of other bad things and I'm starving to death. I've only been here a week and my shorts are getting too big.