Ok, so I wrote a bit of Wee! in my last fic and I enjoyed writing it so much and everyone liked it so I thought I'd write more. Plus I thought it might be a little ray of light through all the sad fics out there. So, hope ya enjoy!
"When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire.
Ever since then I've felt responsible for him.
Ya know, like it's my job to keep him safe."
Thunder boomed, rattling the pane of glass in the single window of the motel room. Dean's heart, still on sleep-mode, jumped and quickened its pace at the sudden, loud noise. He opened his eyes and looked towards the window. A slit in the curtain was enough to show rain pouring down on the world outside and allowed a bar of lightening to send flashes around the other ways dark room. Dean's heart rate evened out, realizing that the noise was no more than the wrath of a storm. He took in a deep breath and sat up, leaning his back against the wall at the head of his bed.
The red glow of the clocked sported 2:47 A.M. as its current time. Dean leaned forward to look around the lamp that obstructed his view of the bed across from him. Another flash of lightening revealed the form of his sleeping brother. Sam's face was soft, peaceful as he remained oblivious to anything of the conscious world. Dean smiled a little. Sam's feet always hung over the end of the bed. No motel room seemed to offer a mattress that fully accommodated Sam's impressive height. "He may call me short, but at least my feet are warm at night." Dean smiled smugly to himself.
Lightening flashed around the room again, closely followed by a bellow of thunder. Dean shot a look out through the curtains, almost annoyed with the storm. Sam had been pushing himself too hard lately. Dean usually found him already at the computer doing research by the time he woke up. He always had the distinct feeling that Sam had been there for awhile. Dean didn't want Sam to be woken from the sleep that at the moment so perfectly stole him away because some pesky storm wanted to make itself known.
Dean heard Sam shift between sheets. He looked over, but found Sam still fast asleep. Dean remembered when Sam couldn't even close his eyes when a storm disturbed the heavens. Sam hated storms when he was young. He would always ask Dean why they were necessary and how come they had to be so "Mean." Sam had used that word when describing storms: mean. Dean would just shake his head and shrug. "Sammy with all the questions." A particular memory drifted to Dean's mind and he smiled softly. He couldn't believe it had occurred nearly twenty years ago. The time between then and now seemed to be so much less.
John Winchester had dropped Sam and Dean off at Pastor Jim's while he went off on a job. Dean was four months out of turning eight and Sam was less than a month short of four.
It was late, or early, whichever way you prefer to look at it. A muted infomercial for fantastically sharp knives cast a dull glow over Dean as he slept, sitting up right, on the couch. He had fallen asleep again waiting for John's return. The same way he had the past three nights in a row.
Dean hadn't really noticed the relatively vicious storm that had picked up outside the old house. He didn't notice the lightening as it danced over his eyelids. He didn't even really hear the thunder as it pummeled the siding of the house. No, Dean didn't hear any noise from the storm outside, but he did hear a much softer sound. A sound that followed little, unheard footsteps that walked right up to and stopped in front of him.
Dean immediately awoke upon hearing the sound of his little brother's voice. His eyes, green and old way beyond his years, fell upon the curly, chocolate locks that barely cleared the high couch.
Sam's big, bluish green eyes peaked at Dean over the cushions.
"I'm scared." Sam's voice was small and shaky and he said his "R" like a "W." Dean smiled sleepily down at him.
"It's ok. It's just a storm."
Sam shifted his weight and he was quiet for a moment. The head of a yellow, stuffed duck appeared above the edge of the couch.
"Tom's scared too."
Dean never exactly understood why Sam chose the name "Tom" for a stuffed animal. He always thought "Quackers" would be more fitting for Sam's favorite toy.
Dean chuckled a little.
"Tell Tom, it's just-" A booming clap of thunder followed by the blinding flash and tearing roar of lightening shook the house. Before the noise could die down, Sam had jumped onto the couch and clung to Dean's waist, burying his little face in his shirt. Dean was more surprised by how impressive it was that Sam was able to climb on the couch by himself than he was by the threatening outburst of weather. He smiled and shook his head, putting his arms around Sam's back.
"Make it stop, Dean." Sam's voice came muffled as he continued to hide his face in Dean's shirt.
Sam felt so small in his arms and his voice housed such a pleading manner that Dean felt a pang of guilt that he couldn't change the weather.
"I can't, Sammy. But it will pass over soon. I promise."
Another rumble of thunder seemed to cancel out any comfort Dean's words might have given to Sam. Dean sighed and, realizing that words really wouldn't do much right now, hugged his brother's small form close to him.
"Go to sleep, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you."
"Promise?" Sam lifted his head and looked up at Dean.
Dean nodded, face serious. "I promise."
Sam sniffed and he nestled his head into the crook of his big brother's shoulder, closing his eyes. Dean rocked gently and after awhile, Sam's breathing fell into the rhythmic drone of sleep. Dean's eyelids began to droop as silent lightening sent a dull glow around the room and thunder faded further and further away until it was just a distant rumble. He too fell asleep, Sam still cradled safely in his arms.
Dean's back began to ache a little as he sat right up against the hard surface of the wall. He didn't really notice it though; he just looked down at his hands, deep in thought. He didn't notice the fading lightening or the now distant thunder, but he heard a quieter sound.
Dean blinked out of his thoughts and he looked over to see Sam propped up on one elbow, looking at him.
"You ok?" His deep voice asked sleepily, eyes flitting to the soft lightening coming through the curtains.
Dean smiled softly, almost surprised to see a twenty four and not a three year old Sam looking back at him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Sam furrowed his brow a bit. "Ya sure? You look kinda funny, dude."
Dean breathed out a laugh. "No, I'm good, little brother."
Aight, there ya go, there's the first chappy, sorry it's kinda short.. Let me know what ya'll think.
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