Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no infringment intended, etc.

Warning: depiction of child endangerment involving guns.

 Safety

The first word Sam ever learns is safety.

He's just getting into that crawling stage of life, hands curious and grabby, wanting to touch and taste everything. They've crashed at a motel on the outskirts of whatever town their Dad's found some monster in; the carpet is dingy beige and the bedspreads are itchy. Dad let Dean salt the doorway and windowsills while he set out the guns in half-hidden corners, and then dropped onto the bed, snoring.

Dean was tired, too; had been tired for days, in the curious way that travel is tiring. He was used to a home that didn't move. Baby Sammy was the only one who did sleep in the car, curled in the backseat next to Dean - Dean, who kept one arm around his little brother always, always absentmindedly stroking soft hair and soft cheeks while staring out the window. Watching trees turn into towns, stars into sun. So Dean was tired, and, after he'd salted the doorway and windowsills, and checked to see where his Dad had set all the guns, and made sure Sammy didn't need food or a diaper change, settled in a chair in front of the tv - Sam in his lap - turned to a cartoon channel, and dozed. 

He's never sure what makes him wake up when he does. Just, all of a sudden, his heart is pounding and he's scared, energized with fear. His eyes snap open and he looks around, frantic, not knowing why dread is this presence in his throat. 

And there's baby Sammy on the floor, holding the base of the .45, the muzzle pointed straight at his head. 

Dean doesn't remember how he got from the chair to Sam so fast. It seems like he's blinked, and then he's holding Sam away from the gun, cuddling his baby brother with both arms and both hands and kisses he can't bring himself to think are girly, not now, not when he needs to have Sam's smooth forehead beneath his lips. Ohgod, he's thinking, one word in his head. Ohgod. Ohgod. Maybe it's a prayer.

Sammy's confused by the attention, but sighs into it anyway. Dean's never been more grateful.

The next day they're on the road again. Their dad looks in the rearview mirror and smiles fondly to see Dean holding onto Sam, honey blond head bent down to dark brown one. 

Into Sammy's ear, Dean is whispering over and over, "Keep the safety on."