tishtriya:

“Come on, Sammy, say Dada,”
says the tall man who is always around. Sammy knows he is Daddy, but he can’t
quite say it yet. Oh, he tries, but his tongue feels heavy around the word, and
he only ends up babbling.

“Da-da,” repeats Daddy. “Come on, you can say it, Sammy.”

Sammy tries to say it, but he can’t.

“Can you say Dean,
Sammy? Dean?” says Daddy.

Dean! Sammy
thinks, clapping his hands at the name, chuckling.

He knows who Dean is, of course. The boy sitting next to
Daddy now, smiling widely at Sammy; the boy who kisses Sammy’s cheek every
night before Sammy goes off to sleep, and is there in Sammy’s crib every
morning when Daddy wakes them up.

Sometimes, when Sammy wails at night crying because his gums
itch and he wants something to gnaw at, Dean puts his thumb into Sammy’s mouth,
letting Sammy bite at it to lessen that itchy feeling in his mouth. When
Sammy’s sobs turn to soft sniffles, Dean kisses Sammy’s cheek again, putting a
warm arm around Sammy’s middle, tugging him so close that Sammy feels all warm
and happy.

But Dean never talks, Sammy has noticed that. 

Sometimes, Dean cries, though. Some nights he cries a lot,
and Daddy takes Dean into his arms and whispers words in Daddy’s deep voice
that finally make Dean stop crying. But Dean never cries like Sammy – not loud
wails that bring Daddy running to him. Dean cries soundlessly; only his face turning
all red and tears falling down his eyes, and sniffling and breathing all
strange until Daddy rubs his back gently, pressing kisses onto Dean’s brow.

“Come on, Sammy. You can say it. Dean,” says Daddy again.

Sammy tries but his words only come out as a jumble of aas and das.

“Dean,” Daddy turns to Dean now. “Maybe Sammy will speak if
you tell him to.”

Dean only shrugs, looking away from Sammy now, his fingers
fiddling with the large fluffy rabbit he carries everywhere, the one whose long ears he lets Sammy chew sometimes.

“Don’t you want Sammy to speak?” Daddy tells Dean. “He does
everything you do, doesn’t he? He crawls after you everywhere to follow you,
and eats only when he watches you eating. Maybe he isn’t speaking yet because
he’s waiting for you to speak, Dean. Come on, tell Sammy to say Dean. You want Sammy to say your name,
don’t you? It’ll be Sammy’s first word. You want Sammy to talk, don’t you?”

Dean watches Sammy now, eyes wide and suddenly teary. He
seems to be struggling with something, and Sammy slaps his hands onto the
floor, making to crawl towards Dean. He doesn’t like crawling much, though. He
wants to walk like Daddy and Dean do, then he can follow Dean around everywhere
faster. Dean has tried to make Sammy stand up, but he always falls, knees
trembling, unbalanced.

“Dean,” Daddy whispers to Dean again. “Come on, you can talk
to Sammy. He hasn’t heard you talk for so long now. You don’t even wish him
good night when we put him to bed. Don’t you want him to hear you? Don’t you
want to hear Sammy speak? Come on, you’re my brave little boy, aren’t you? Talk
to Sammy, Dean. He won’t talk if you don’t tell him to. Sammy’s a big boy now. He should start talking to us, shouldn’t he?”

Dean nods now, and Sammy notices he’s beginning to cry. He
doesn’t like seeing Dean cry. Sammy tries to stand up now, to go to Dean
faster. His legs feel all strange and wobbly as he tries to stand like he’s
seen Dean do.

Daddy’s smiling at him now, arms outstretched to hold Sammy
if he falls. But Sammy doesn’t want to go to Daddy, he wants to go to Dean.

“Dee!” says Sammy loudly, standing up on trembling legs,
hands held out for Dean, telling him not to cry. “Dee! Dee! Dee!”

Daddy laughs loudly – it almost startles Sammy. He’s never
heard Daddy laugh so loud before. Sammy’s so startled that he begins to fall,
scrunching his face up, about to cry, because he knows he’s going to fall on
his bum and it will hurt him like it did last time he fell.

But before he falls, Dean catches him, and Sammy feels the
familiar warmth of Dean around him.

“Sammy,” he hears Dean whisper in his hair. Dean’s voice is
rough and so soft that Sammy wonders if he really spoke.

But then Daddy’s gathering both of them into a hug, Dean and
Sammy pressed tight against each other, Daddy’s large arms around them.

“Thank God,” Daddy’s saying; it doesn’t sound like he’s
talking to either Dean or Sammy. “Thank God.”

“Daddy,” says Dean, his voice breaking on the word, and he
begins to cry, his little arm around Sammy. It isn’t the silent crying Dean did
all these days – but he’s crying noisily, much like Sammy does, and he’s
speaking too, a string of broken words. “Mommy—I want Mommy—”

Daddy only clutches them tighter, and Sammy begins to
struggle against his hold, wanting Daddy to put down both of them so that Sammy
can play with Dean now, try to stand and walk towards him again because he
knows Dean will always be there to hold him if he falls.

“I know, Dean, I know,” says Daddy, and Sam’s surprised to
see that Daddy’s crying too. “I miss her too… but we’ll be alright, Dean. We’ll
be alright – Sammy, you, and me.”

“Dee! Dee!” says Sammy, and when he looks up at Dean, he
sees him smiling at him – the one special smile he smiles only at Sammy – even
through the tears.