The Runt of the Litter

Pretty Dream

Note: Thank you to everyone who has commented or even just read this fic. Every kind of feedback is encouraging. In this chapter, Anna is eight years old. It's kinda short but hopefully sweet enough to make up for that.

Pretty Dream

Anna's small feet raced soundlessly across the ugly orange carpet in the motel room of the week. "Sammy." One tiny finger moved slowly to poke him in the temple, then next to his eye, then in the cheek a few times in a row. "Psst. Sam. Wake up." A hand landed palm-down on his cheek and rocked his head back and forth. "Sammy!"

Sam opened his eyes in resignation. She wasn't going to give up and go back to bed. He rolled over just in time for her poking finger to get him in the eye. The pain had him sitting up in a rush. "Sh-" he started to curse but stopped himself, blinking several times to clear the stinging in his eye. "What, Anna?" he asked more harshly than intended.

"I had a dream," the little girl said seriously, undeterred by his sour mood.

Sam's expression softened even as his right eye continued to water uncontrollably. "A nightmare?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

Sam gave her a confused look. "Then what's wrong?"

"It was a funny dream. You have funny dreams." She didn't say funny like her dreams were comedic, though. She said it like they were strange, like she was confused. "Right? You have funny dreams?"

Sam nodded when he realized he had yet to answer her, that she was getting insecure. "I have all kinds of dreams," he said softly. "What happened in your dream?"

"Um," Anna shifted from foot to foot nervously. She then stepped forward suddenly and put both her hands on one of his knees to lean forward and whisper, as if their conversation could get more private.

Dean was out getting a drink, and probably some company, at a bar somewhere. It was only the two of them in a quiet room in a motel where few people ever checked in because there was a four star hotel just on the other side of town.

"It was a lots of colors," Anna confided, then pressed her lips together seriously for a moment. When Sam said nothing, she continued. "There was all this red, and there was a big fluffy cloud of white and there was a lot of purple. Plus there was blue and green. But the colors didn't make anything. They just blended all together."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Okay, that was kind of strange. If he had a degree in psychology, maybe he could translate that into something comforting or something that meant Anna had been traumatized by the mess that was their lives. He didn't have a degree, though, and if he had gotten one, it would have been in law. "Red, white, purple, blue, and green," he repeated.

"Yep. They looked all bright. You think it means I'm bad?"

Sam frowned deeply. "What?" he asked in disbelief. Had she said that? Was he hearing things? Anna was never supposed to feel the way he felt, know the fear he knew. She was eight years old. How could she think a question like that.

"My dream. You think it means I'm bad?" she asked again.

Sam reached out and lifted her to sit on one of his knees. "No, Anna. It doesn't mean you're bad. It means your brain got bored and decided to make a painting while you were sleeping."

Anna tilted her head and squinted at him. "That sounds like a made-up answer," she challenged.

"It's not," Sam said. "Some people think dreams mean big important things, but some people who study dreams for their job say that they're completely random."