Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form. I'm not making money, yadda yadda yadda...

Author's Note: See below the story, as my note is going to have slight Dead Man's Blood spoilers (this story, however, has no spoilers)

Warnings: Maybe a little bit of language, nothing heavy duty.

John stormed around the small kitchen with one thought plaguing his mind. "Sam," he thought, shaking his head as he banged the plastic dinner plates around. He never in a million years expected this cranky, teenage, stubborn Sam. Dean hadn't gone through all of this. He couldn't recall ever getting into loud, disruptive fights with Dean that made his head pound in agony until he swallowed an aspirin with a glass of cold water. "Dinner!" he yelled.

Dean's head throbbed as he made his way into the kitchen. Trying to play referee between a raging, hormonal Sam and a cranky, ex-Marine John Winchester was like standing between two tractor trailers as they repeatedly crash into each other head-on.

As soon as he smelled the fish, he groaned. "Round two," he sighed.

Sam looked over at him. "What the hell are you talking about?" He was still fuming; he was grateful that Dean had pushed him to their bedroom when he did, because he was ready to grab the nearest sharp object he could find and give his father a real headache.

As soon as they got into the kitchen, Dean silently counted in his head as he sat down at the table. 3, 2…1 ¾, 1 ½, 1 ¼…



John smashed down his knife and fork. "What now, Sam? Am I not breathing to your specifications?"

"Dad, you made fish."

"What's wrong, Sam? Don't like fish?"

"Dad, I'm allergic to fish."

"What? Since when?"

"Since Dean said, 'Here Sam, have a fish stick' and I broke out in the worst case of hives that doctor had seen in twenty years!"

"I took you to a doctor?"

"No, Dean took me to a doctor."

John faced Dean, who was silently staring down at his plate. He had been silently hoping Sam wouldn't bring it up. Then again, he thought to himself, this is Sam we're talking about; he'd bring anything and everything up.

"Uh, you were on a hunting trip and weren't due back for a few days. I was looking in the medical book for something to give him for the itching and it said if he had a fever he was supposed to se a doctor. I took his temperature and he had a fever so…I took him in and she treated him. No biggie, just playing on the safe side. I told you, Dad, remember…?"

"Obviously not," John shot back coldly. He then turned to Sam. "See Sam, this is what I mean about being ungrateful –"

"Dad," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. His face was a mixture of fury and hurt.

"I prepare a nice dinner and –"

"I would eat it if I could, but I'd rather not smell like cornflakes for two weeks…"

"Hey, who knew you couldn't substitute cornflakes for oatmeal in an oatmeal bath?"

"Dean, the very fact that it's called an oatmeal bath means you can't substitute cornflakes."

"You gave your brother a bath in cornflakes?"

"It was a long time ago, alright? Now, I think we can all agree that if the circumstances were different, Sam would eat the fish," Dean said as he got up and moved quickly towards the pantry. "Speaking of cornflakes, I think I saw some in here earlier. Sam can have cereal, Dad and I can eat the fish, everybody can just be happ—"


Damn. He was so close.

"Sam can eat what's prepared for him or not eat at all!" John said, defiant and stubborn.

"Dad –" Dean began.

"You aren't being fair!" Sam cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Life isn't fair, Samuel! Best you learn that now," John spat.

Sam got up, moving towards the pantry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" John raged, jumping up.

"I'm getting myself dinner!" Sam yelled back, reaching for the box of cereal. Quick as a flash, John reached out and grabbed Sam's wrist.

Dean jumped over, trying to halt the two trucks as they sped towards each other at one hundred miles per hour. He ripped John's hand from Sam's wrist. "Okay, that's enough!" he shouted, trying to push the two away from each other.

"Alright!" John bellowed suddenly. "Both of you, eat your fish!"

Sam shook his head in disgust, storming off, yelling, "I'm not hungry anymore!"

Dean reluctantly sank down in the chair next to John and cringed at the sound of the slamming bedroom door. John inhaled his food marine-style in all of a minute and a half before he left.

Dean stared down at the fish. "So, what'll you say, dead guy? Feel like trading lives?" He could practically see the fish shake its severed head 'no.' "I thought so…"

After Dean finished dinner, he made a break for it – out to his beloved Impala, his safe haven, his Heaven on earth. He drove until he found a fast food joint and got a cheeseburger along with two orders of fries. As he walked into the house, clutching the bag, he prayed he wouldn't run into John.

Apparently God had been busy, because He'd put Dean on hold and missed the prayer – John was the first thing Dean ran into. He took one long look at his son, at the bag of food, and shook his head. "How long are you going to coddle him, Dean?"

"How long are you going to pretend we're in the marines, Dad?" Dean shot back. He pushed past his father towards Sam's room, but John grabbed him by the shoulder.

"He's sixteen, Dean, not six! He can go one night without dinner."

"He shouldn't have to, Dad!"

John's face hardened. "You aren't helping him, Dean. You're cutting his legs out from under him."

Dean shook his head. "No sir, I'm pretty sure you've already done that."

"Hey," Dean said, pushing the door open to their bedroom. Sam was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "I brought you something." Dean smiled a little, waving the bag around.

Sam's face brightened and he smiled as well. "No way – Dean, thanks!" His mood seemed to instantaneously increase a tenfold as he caught the cheeseburger Dean had thrown at him.

"I debated buying you one of those Fish Filets, but I decided that joke might not be in good humor," Dean said as he sat down on his own bed, eating his fries. Sam rolled his eyes, unable to say anything as his mouth was full.

"Listen Dean," he said as he swallowed, "I kind of caught just the tail of end of your conversation with Dad…listen, dude, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get dragged in like that."

"We're a family, Sam, which means we're automatically dragged into each other's business by default."

Sam laughed a little bit as he crumbled the cheeseburger wrapped in his fist and reached into the bag for his cardboard container of fries. "Yeah," he said a little sadly as he popped a french fry into his mouth.

Dean sat up a little bit. "So," he said, "does this make me the coolest brother ever?"

Sam thought. "Well, I guess this nullifies the cornflakes incident."

"Dude, I was only trying to help you. The book said try an oatmeal to bath to relieve itching, and you were scratching like a fool. We didn't have any oatmeal so I went for the next best thing."

"Cornflakes were the next best thing? I could see it if I were a chicken of some sort maybe, but in my present state –"

"Dude, shut up."

Author's Note: (...all the way down here, I know) I've had this idea brewing in my head for a while (yes, me and giving Sam strange allergies, it's starting to become a strange cliche for me) but I didn't want to write it because I didn't want another story portraying John as a real bastard. But then he insulted the Impala in Dead Man's Blood, and I didn't feel bad anymore. Ha!