Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: Just a one shot, focusing on a young Dean and Sam...as always, consutrctive criticism is appreciated! Thanks!
"What's five plus two?"
Dean glanced over at his six year old brother who was sitting on the floor cross legged, staring at a sheet of paper, a pencil gripped firmly in his chubby little hand. He sighed. "Use your fingers like I told you, Sam."
"But I ran out of them."
"Then use the other hand, dude." Dean reasoned. Sam seemed to consider this before sticking out five fingers on his left hands and then two more on his right hand. He stuck out his tongue and bit it in concentration, thinking.
"Good job." Dean said from the pull out sofa bed where he was reclining. Some of the places where they crashed with their Dad while he was hunting didn't exactly come equipped with all of the amenities, but this one was easily one of the worst – the brothers were both sleeping on a hide-a-bed in the living room. He was counting the cracks on the ceiling. Thirty four, thirty five…way too many for you to use your fingers on, Sammy.
"What's thirteen plus three?"
"My name is Sam!" the little boy cried defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He briefly considered getting up and finishing his work elsewhere, what with the indignity of being called 'Sammy', but then he remembered that he needed Dean to help him with his homework.
"I don't have enough fingers." he whined.
Dean sighed. "Figure it out."
"Dad said that you need to help with my homework while he's gone. Now come on!" he said, reaching over to shake the side of the bed.
"Dad also said that you needed to be quiet so that I could get some sleep for tonight, because he needs me to help him kick some ghost ass. I notice you left that part out."
Sam smiled a little bit; triumphant. He now knew he had dirt on his brother. "Dad told you not to say that!" he shouted.
"Fine, fine, 'butt.' Are you happy?"
"Nuh-uh, I'm telling Daddy!" he grinned. "You're going to get in trouble!" Sam cried in a sing-song voice. He was taking too much enjoyment in the moment.
Fuming, Dean launched himself off of the bed and onto Sam. His brother let out a yelp of surprise as Dean pinned him to the ground.
"Don't you dare say a word." Dean growled, pushing down Sam's arms. He was dying to go and help his Dad out on the hunt tonight and no way was Sam going to ruin his chances of going by tattling and getting him grounded.
Sam whimpered a little bit. "Dean, get off me!" he cried, trying to roll away from his brother. No luck – Dean was way stronger and a better fighter.
"Promise me, Sam!"
"Fine, fine, promise." Sam said. Somewhat reluctantly, Dean backed off his brother. Sam sat up, rubbing his sore arms, and then grinned up at Dean. "I crossed my fingers!" he cried, sticking his tongue out at his brother.
"You little…" Dean yelled viciously, scrambling up to chase his brother down. That little twerp…God save him, because once Dean caught him, that kid was done for.
Except dang, the kid was fast. It was only about five minutes before he was gone from his brother's sight.
Dean huffed and puffed, flopping down on the living room floor. "Okay Sam, I get it, you win." he said, in between gasps for air. "Come on out."
He lay there, flopped down on the floor for a while, waiting until his heart stopped thumping and the blood stopped pounding in his ears. "Sam?" he called again. No answer still. He sat up, leaning against the sofa bed. "Sammy, you win. I stink at running, okay? Uncle or whatever, now come on out."
The place was still ominously quiet.
Dean stood up, looking around. He peered under the hide-a-bed, behind the refrigerator, in the closet…nothing, no Sam.
Oh, great. Where did he go?
"Not funny, Sam." he said, and his heart rate started to pick up again. God, where did that stupid little nerd go? "I'll help you do your homework and everything!"
Had he left the house? Last night Dad had said to them over and over…"Stay in the house, boys, don't go out. Don't go looking for trouble." He'd only said it a thousand times, but was it possible that Sam had missed all one thousand warnings?
Dean grabbed his jacket. He had to find Sam. Pesky and annoying as he was, he knew that his Dad would be seriously annoyed if he lost Sam. That and…the long car rides would be a drag without his younger brother there.
He stepped outside and closed the door. He jumped down the two porch steps and was heading down the walk when all of a sudden…bam. Something smashed into him from behind, pushing him down into the grass.
"Gotcha! Man, Dean, what took you so long?" Dean turned around and saw him there – sweet, adorable, little, moronic, nerd, waste of oxygen, pain in the rear end…
"I hid in the bushes! Wasn't that a great hiding place? We never had bushes to hide in before, so I thought it would be cool. Hey, ow, Dean let go of me! What's your problem?"
"What's my problem?" Dean cried as he dragged his brother back into the house. "Dude, did you not hear Dad say nearly a million times last night at dinner not to leave the house? Do you understand English?"
"Dean, let go of me!" Sam cried, trying to wriggle away from his brother's iron grip.
Dean grabbed his brother underneath the chin, locking their gazes. "Sam, you can't run away. Because if you run away you'll get lost, and if you get lost Dad gets mad at me."
"I didn't get lost, I knew where I was." Sam scoffed, pulling away from his brother. "And you aren't the boss of me!" Sam yelled as he turned around, storming off.
"Sometimes I wish that demon killed you instead of Mom!" Dean shouted. Oops. Big mistake. Dean saw his brother stop and turn around. His eyes were wide with disbelief – disbelief in the form of tears. "Uh, that was just a joke, Sam, I didn't mean it." Dean said quickly, trying to cover up for his wrongdoings.
Sam shook his head. "It wasn't a very funny joke." he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. With that he turned, hurried into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind him.
"I'm back!" John called as he opened the front door. Funny, he'd thought that he had locked it…
He dropped a few books from the library down on the kitchen table and saw that Dean was sprawled out on the pull-out sofa. "Hey Dean. Getting some rest for tonight?"
Dean turned and sat up, staring at his Dad. "Actually, I don't think that I'm coming tonight, Dad."
"What? This hunt is all that you've been talking about for the past week! What's up, sport?"
"I'm just not feeling great tonight, Dad. I think I'm just going to stay home."
John raised his eyebrows, trying to ward off his gut feeling that all was not right in Whoville. But he couldn't help feeling a little…relieved. As skilled and advanced in ghost-busting as Dean was, he always was nervous when he brought his elder son along on hunts – after all, he was only ten.
"Well, I guess it's your choice, Dean. Where's that kid brother of yours?"
"Uh, I dunno." Dean said, shifting a little bit on the bed. "Probably reading. Or something."
"Or something…" John repeated softly, raising his eyebrows. He walked up the narrow hallway and saw that the bathroom door was closed, and the light was on. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Sammy? You in there?"
"Yes," a little voice replied thickly.
"Planning on making an appearance anytime soon, kid?"
He sighed, leaning against the wall opposite to the door. "Sam, come out here, please."
He heard the sink running and finally the light flicked off and Sam stepped out, his eyes puffy and red. John took one look at the little kid and grabbed his pudgy little hand, pulling him into the living room.
"Now I might not be a mathematician, but I can put two and two together." John said, letting go of Sam's hand and crossing his arms. "You know, when I found out that I had two boys I was glad. I said to your Mom," he smiled a little bit, remembering, "that I was happy, because then I wouldn't have to deal with the teenage girl hormone stuff.
"But it seems that the two of you aren't even teenagers yet and I have one hiding in the bathroom crying and the other one barely speaking!" he said crossly. "Now I don't know what happened and I don't even want to know. All I can say is that this had better be resolved by the time I get home or I just might be trading you two in for daughters."
The two of them sat in mopey, hurt silence for the next few hours while John did a check on all of his weapons. "Alright, I should be back by tomorrow morning – don't kill each other. Dean you know where to find me."
As the door clicked shut Dean peered over the edge of the bed. Sam was sitting on the floor, cross legged, still staring at his math homework. Dean noticed that he was still on the same problem – 13 + 3.
"Need some help, kid?"
"Not from you. You do want me dead, after all."
Ouch. Like blowing salt into an open wound.
"Okay Sam, I get it, you're mad."
"And Dad's mad too!"
"Dad's not mad."
"He called us girls."
"Not really. Besides, he's not the only one who's going to call you a girl if you keep your hair that long." Dean said, observing his brother's long bangs.
"I like my hair." Sam replied shortly.
"Right, right…women like it when guys are in touch with their feminine side."
Sam sighed, focusing his gaze on his math homework. Then he looked up at his brother. "Dean?"
"What's thirteen plus three?"
"God, I thought you'd never ask."