A/N: Okay, last one for the time being until we finish the others. Sorry.
Winchester Rules Are Made to be Broken
John had only three rules when he was away, leaving his boys alone. Three rules he stressed anytime he had to leave…
1.) Always be prepared for anything, expect the unexpected.
2.) Don't open the door to anyone who doesn't know the week's pre-chosen password.
3.) No visitors, no girls…Dean, this means you.
Even at only 15 Dean had girls hanging on him, girls as old as 18…and that 19 year old several months earlier that John had been livid about. Besides, Dean liked the girls.
'Really,' insert cocky, I'm-cute-and-I-know-it grin here, 'Who am I to stand in the way when the chicks won't take no for an answer?'
Sam quietly made his way down the hallway of the townhouse the Winchesters had rented for the last week, toward the bedroom he shared with his brother, camera in hand. He knew he risked getting a beating with the devious plan he was in the process of acting out, but, really, what were little brothers for?
A high-pitched giggle from inside the room had Sam rolling his eyes as he stopped just outside the partially open door. Girls were so annoying the way they giggled and batted their lashes, trying to catch Dean's eye. It was positively sickening.
Shaking his head Sam pushed the door open on silent hinges and sneered in classic 11-year-old disgust at the sight greeting his eyes. The girl was on her back, Dean half hovering over her, one elbow braced on the mattress beside her head, hand at her waist, mouths locked. Neither noticed him as he stood in the doorway.
Until the camera clicked.
The girl gave a small, startled scream, somewhat overkill in Sam's opinion considering he faced down demons three times his size with merely a sneer and a silver-loaded .45. Girls were such wimps.
Of course, Sam was only peripherally aware of the girl, his gaze locked on Dean as his brother shot into a sitting position, glaring at the younger with his 'I'm-gonna-kick-some-demon-ass' look. Or in this case, little brother's ass. His gaze turned almost murderous when he saw the camera.
The younger Winchester took off running, heading back down the hall. The crack of the bedroom door bouncing off the wall, obviously doing some damage, as it was thrown the rest of the way open, and the following rhythmic thud of running footsteps told him Dean was close behind.
They were getting louder by the moment…Dean was catching up.
Sam skidded around the corner into the small dining room, his socks sliding on the tile. Nearly doing a nose dive he half ran, half crawled toward, and around, the table, placing it between him and the entrance to the hallway seconds before Dean appeared looking like some avenging God. The sight of his brother doing the same skid-slip-scramble into the dining room pulled a small chuckle from Sam that was cut off abruptly as Dean reached the table, glaring across the scratched surface at him.
"Sammy, give me that camera!"
"Whatever you say, Deano." Sam chirped, using the name he'd called Dean by when he was younger, knowing his brother hated it.
'I'm not that stupid barking dinosaur from the Flintstones, Sammy!'
Grinning innocently Sam pushed the camera across the table to his brother, surreptitiously slipping the Polaroid picture into the back of his jeans, knowing the odds of Dean going there, at least until he got desperate, were slim.
Dean barely spared the camera a glance as he just barely caught Sam's actions, knowing the little punk still had the picture, "Sammy, you have until the count of three to hand over that picture before I kick your ass."
"Come and get it." Sam taunted bracing himself for whatever move Dean made.
Releasing a low growl Dean took a couple steps to his right, intending to go around the table, only to stop as Sam also moved to the right, step for step, matching Dean. A feint to the left failed to catch Sam off guard, as the brothers were so in sync with each other they almost knew what the other was going to do before he knew himself.
For an extended moment the brothers had a battle of wills as they faced each other challengingly across the table, neither aware of the girl standing in the hallway entrance watching the scene unfold. Sam kept a light, taunting smile on his face in response to Dean's scowl.
"Sammy." Dean warned.
"Deano." Sam responded.
Without warning Dean sprang into action, jumping onto the table and crawling across. Almost in the same instant Sam dropped to the floor, laughing, and crawled underneath the table. Dean paused halfway across the table and spun around just in time to see Sam scramble to his feet and head for the door at a run.
"Sammy!" Dean snarled, jumping off the table and following his brother out the door.
John pulled up to the townhouse in time to see his sons tear out the door, Sammy laughing, Dean looking furious. He threw open his door and got out, leaving the car running just as Dean caught Sam in a diving tackle where they wrestled for a moment before Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, got to his feet, and literally flipped his brother upside down, the younger Winchester's head dangling a full foot from the pavement of the sidewalk.
A flurry of movement at the door of the house momentarily drew John's attention from his sons as a pretty girl ran down the steps and took off in the opposite direction from him.
"Sammy, give me that picture!" Dean growled, drawing John's attention back to his boys.
"Nope!" Sam ground out, his face already turning red from the blood rushing to his head, as he tried to kick and hit his way free.
"I swear, Sammy, I'll…"
"Dean!" John yelled, startling both boys, realizing too late that it wasn't the best idea when Dean's grip on Sam slipped and the younger boy hit the pavement, hard, on his head.
The shout was two-toned. The not quite matured, cracking shout of a 15 year old boy, and the full, rich baritone of a gown man, as both elder Winchesters panicked at the steady flow of blood now staining the right side of Sam's face and forming a small pool on the pavement.
Dean fell to his knees, cursing himself for the biggest fool in the world as he gathered Sam into his arms, pressing the hem of his t-shirt against the cut at Sam's hairline.
Panic like he'd never felt before spurred John hard as he crossed the yard in what felt like a single leap. He barely spared Dean a look as he picked Sam up and rushed into the house, heading for the bathroom where he kept the first aid kit. Head wounds were nothing to mess with.
Setting Sam down on the toilet John grabbed a wash cloth and set about cleaning up the majority of the blood around the cut so he could get a good look at it. He could hear Dean pacing outside the open door but he kept his focus on his younger son.
The next few moments seemed to stretch into an eternity as he silently and quickly cleaned and bandaged the wound, thankfully deeming it not bad enough to need stitches. Sam sat in silence, looking a little stunned, barely even wincing as his father pressed the bandage onto his head.
"Sammy, how many fingers am I holding up?" John asked, holding up three fingers once he was confident the wound was taken care of to the best of his ability.
"Three." Sam responded surely, "I'm fine, really."
John studied Sam's eyes, looking for any sign of a concussion or a simple stubborn attempt to not admit to pain that seemed inherent in all three Winchesters. After a moment he heaved a sigh and nodded, confident that Sam was fine except for the headache he was sure to have. Only then did he turn on Dean.
"Dean Winchester! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"I…" Dean started, still in shock at what had just happened, "I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to. He just slipped."
"Why were you holding him upside down anyway?" John asked
Dean winced, "He, uh, he has a picture…of me…"
The eldest Winchester shook his head, holding up a hand, "Let me guess, of you and the girl I saw leaving."
A small nod was Dean's only response and John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Alright, I can't deal with everything right now. Dean, just go to your room, I'll be there shortly to speak to you once I get Sammy taken care of."
Another nod and Dean threw Sam an apologetic look, "I really am sorry, Sammy."
Sam gave him a grin, "No worries, Deano. I have the same hard, Winchester head as you and Dad."
Both John and Dean laughed at the cheeky response before Dean shook his head, "Bitch."
Again Sam grinned, "Love you too, jerk."