The other kids are already working. And Sam isn’t. The teacher – Mrs Glasses and Rack, Dean called her but Sam doesn’t understand what that means–keeps looking at him. At the untouched paper and glue and paint in front of him.
He can almost hear her wondering if he needs help but he isn’t stupid.
He knows what to do.
He just doesn’t know why.
His brow furrows and he frowns a little deeper at the craft supplies.
Mrs Glasses and Rack crouches beside him, “Sammy, don’t you want to make a card?”
“It’s Sam,” He corrects without thinking. “I don’t know what it’s for.”
She blinks, startled, “Father’s Day is to tell your dad thank you and that you love him.”
He looks at her, curious, “Thank you for what?”
Mrs Glass and Rack–Glecrick!!–frowns, concern finally peeking into her gaze and Sam knows exactly what to do with that.
“For taking care of you. For loving you.”
Sam grins, suddenly. Nods and turns back to the crafts. Mrs Glecrick wanders away to help a girl next to him and Sam pulls the paper to him. He ignores paint and glitter and grabs a few markers.
Alice Glecrick was a little startled when they put Sam Winchester in her first grade class three weeks into May, only three from the end of the year. She’d worried he’d cause problems, but aside from being withdrawn and standoff-ish from the other children, he had been a good, bright student.
But his intense glare while they made Father’s Day cards threw her off. She watched him from the corner of her eye as she wandered through the classroom. He bit his lip as he worked, but a tiny smile teased the corner of his mouth and she relaxed a little.
When she sees him sit back, staring at the card with a self satisfied smile, she meanders over to look at the card.
“Sammy, this is–well, it’s not a father’s day card.”
“Sam.” He corrects absently, and nods at her. The bell rings and his whole body lifts, his gaze darting to the door. “You said it’s to say thank you for loving me. And for taking care of me.” His gaze finds her and he smiles. “That’s what I made.”
She shivers. A six year old shouldn’t look that tired. That ancient.
“Sammy, let’s go, bud!”
It’s like a flip switches. The old soul vanishes and a child is there, glee on his face and scrambling to get to the boy in the door.
“Dean!” He shrieks, throwing himself at the other kid. He’s fended off with a soft cuff against the shoulder and a laugh and Sam bounces around the boy, jabbering about the day, as Alice Glecrick gathers Sam’s work and bag and card. She brings it to him slowly, and the boy–Dean–watches her warily, drawing Sam closer.
Sam doesn’t even seem to notice.
Dean only relaxes when he’s got Sam’s bag and Sam has the card and she steps away from them.
“Dad is waiting for us, Sammy. Move it.” Dean prods his brother and Sam nods happily, walking away, his body turned to the older boy as he talks.
They’re gone in seconds, ignoring Alice’s called farewell except to wave distractedly.
By Monday they’re gone completely, like ghosts. And for years, every time they make Father’s Day cards in class, Alice thinks of those two boys, a whole world in each other, and the card Sam made for Dean’s Day.