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Sam opened the back door of the family car and helped Dean out of his seat. He’d been practically bouncing up and down already, and the second his feet hit the earth he was off and running toward the huge slide set up as a ride at the pumpkin patch. “Dean! Get back here! Daddy needs to pay the nice people first!”
Little Dean pouted and stomped his feet on the way back to his father, but they both knew it was just for show. As soon as Sam had handed over the fee, Dean was tugging on the corner of his flannel over toward the hay ride which had just pulled back in to unload and reload with new passengers.
Eventually, once Dean had burned off most of his energy, Sam directed him over to the pumpkins so they could pick a few out to bring home. Dean had found one right away that was small, but still large enough he struggled to try to pick it up. Sam chuckled at his son and “helped” him pick it up and put it in their wagon.
“Daddy, are you gonna pick a pumpkin out too?”
“I dunno, kiddo. I was thinking I’d just help y…” Sam cut off abruptly as he spied a large, malformed pumpkin. It looked almost like two pumpkins had grown together as one. The stem even split from its top into two attachments to the squash. Whoever had cut it from the vine had made sure to leave the stem long enough to tell that it had all grown from the same stalk.
“So, get this,” Sam says, heading for the most perfectly imperfect pumpkin he’s ever seen. “I wasn’t planning on it, Dean, but this one is calling to me. There’s something special about it, and I think I know just what I should do with it. So, yeah, Daddy’s getting a pumpkin too.”
Little Dean clapped his hands excitedly. “Imma make a scary face on mine! Are you gonna make a scary face, too?”
Sam smiled gently down at his son, a touch misty-eyed. After all, the losses still hurt deep in his heart.
“Nah, kiddo,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Sometimes we make scary faces. Sometimes we carve things to help us remember people. And Daddy knows just who he wants everyone to see who he remembers.”
Dean’s little eyes, green as his namesake, opened wide as he looked up at his father. “Uncle Dean and Uncle Cas?”
Sam enfolded little Dean’s hand in his own, tugging the wagon behind him. He nodded slowly.
“Uncle Dean and Uncle Cas.”