It all belongs to Kripke. None of it's mine except the story.
What Would Daddy Do?
It was only a scraped knee. Dean had gotten plenty of scraped knees. So had Sammy. Well, at least he thought Sammy had. Daddy was always there to fix it, but Daddy had gone down to the store to get them dinner because they were all out of soup and Dean wanted tomato soup. The store was only two blocks away and he promised he wouldn't be gone more than ten minutes. Dean was six. He was proud his daddy thought he was a big enough boy to look after Sammy for ten minutes.
But now Sammy had fallen on the linoleum floor and there had been some tiny rocks that his daddy had brought in on his boots. Dean had swept the floor earlier. That was one of his chores. He wiped off the table. He handed Daddy the dirty dishes, being very careful not to drop the glass ones, he swept the floor, and he put things in the trash. His daddy gave him a dime every day he did these things. When he had enough he would use the dimes to buy peanut M&Ms. Those were his favorite. But he didn't do a good enough job today and Sammy got hurt.
He and Sammy had been playing ball. It was a plastic ball from the ball pit that they played in at the pizza place. Dean snuck it into his pocket. There were so many, he didn't think the pizza place would miss one. Dean lost their last ball at the last motel. He thought maybe Sammy hid it because Dean couldn't find it anywhere before they left. Since they needed a new ball, and they needed one that wouldn't hurt anything if it was thrown, the red pit ball was perfect. It was slightly dented on one side, but that was okay, too.
Waiting for their dad to return, they were playing with the ball. Dean threw the ball to Sammy and, well, Sammy wasn't very good at catching things yet. The ball went by him and rolled into the kitchen. Sammy ran after it, giggling. But then he tripped and his knee scraped on the little rocks Dean hadn't cleaned up. Now Sammy was crying and he had blood on his knee. It wasn't a lot, but still, it was blood.
What was Dean suppose to do? Whenever Sammy was crying Dean could talk to him and he would usually quiet down. But this time there was blood. This time just talking to Sammy wouldn't make the blood go away.
What would Daddy do? Dean wrapped his arms around himself while Sammy's face was all pinched up and red. His daddy hugged Dean when Dean was hurt. So Dean hugged his wailing little brother, but it didn't seem to help.
Daddy would tell Dean it wasn't bad and he was going to be fine soon and not even feel it.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said. "It's not bad. It won't hurt much longer. I promise."
Sam's big eyes looked at his brother and his wails softened to sniffles. "Ow-ow," Sammy said, fresh tears spilling down his face and his lower lip quivered as he held his knee.
Yeah, scraped knees hurt. Daddy would wash off his knee and put goop on it and put one of the bandaids with neat cartoon people on it and that always made Dean feel better.
"I'm going to get the magic stuff. It'll make it feel all better," Dean told Sammy. Dean scampered to his daddy's things and pulled out clothes and a sheathed knife and a box of salt. Where was it? He kept pulling things out until he saw the shiny silver flask. He knew it was magic water because his daddy used to to fight bad things.
A wash cloth. He needed a wash cloth. He went to the bathroom and moved each towel until he found the washcloth buried in them. The bandaid he would need was on the shelf above the toilet. He had to climb on the toilet and was still a little short to see everything on the shelf. Maybe he needed to drink more milk. Daddy told him it would make him big and strong. He would ask for milk for dinner.
He stretched up and pushed the boxes of bandages around, one stack of loose bandages fluttering to the floor around the toilet. He finally found the box with the Sesame Street animals. Dumping the box of bandaids on the counter he sorted through them. Sammy liked Big Bird and Cookie Monster the best. He grinned when he found one with the big yellow bird.
The goopy stuff was what he needed next. It was in a yellow tube and was called 'sporin' or something. He pushed bottles aside, some tumbling to the floor as he hunted. He finally found the yellow tube that his daddy told him kept out infection. Infections were bad.
He ran back to Sammy's side who was still sitting on the floor and sniffling. Dean set everything down by his hurt little brother and got a Kleenex so Sammy might stop sniffling so much.
"This is Daddy's magic water," Dean told Sammy, holding up the silver flask. He struggled to unscrew the lid. Yes he needed more milk so he could be stronger next time. The lid finally loosened and he poured some of the water over Sammy's knee. The tiny bubbles of blood were washed away. Another small bubble began to swell, but he wouldn't tell Sammy that. "See! It made the blood all go away! Magic water can fix anything!"
Sammy almost smiled at him, and almost stopped crying altogether.
After wetting the rag with more holy water, Dean set the flask aside. The flask wobbled for a minute and fell over with a soft chink!, water gurgling from its neck. Dean grabbed it and spilled a little bit more before he got the lid back on it and set it on the floor again. Picking the wet rag back up, he wiped Sammy's knee gently because he didn't want his brother to be hurt anymore because of him. Sammy watched him curiously, his breath catching sometimes as Dean cleaned the knee free of dirt.
"It's okay, Sammy. I'm almost done," Dean told him, just like Daddy would tell him.
Dean patted Sammy's knee dry with his shirt sleeve and then opened up the goop tube. He squeezed it and a big glob of ointment came out suddenly and clung to Sam's knee. Dean stared at it. That was too much. That was way too much. He looked at the tube but didn't think he could get the extra back inside the tube. He put the tube down and scrunched up his face as he tried to get some of the glop back off. He didn't like the icky feel of it and wiped it on the wet rag. When he was satisfied he got enough of it off he picked up the bandaid.
"I got you Big Bird," Dean announced proudly, showing the bandaid to Sammy.
"Big Bird!" Sammy repeated excitedly. This time he did smile and Dean smiled back. Sammy was almost better!
Nodding, Dean pulled off the paper and squished the bandage over the scrape, Neosporin ointment oozing from either side. He pressed down the rest of the bandaid so it would stick in place.
Sammy saw the oozing ointment and promptly stuck his finger into it, smearing it around on his knee, over the bandaid, and then on his shirt. Dean grabbed the wet cloth, but the glob of ointment was on it and he just ended up smearing more ointment on Sammy's hand. Sammy pulled his hand away and promptly set it down on top of the tube, more ointment squirting out.
Dean jumped to his feet and got the kitchen towel. By the time he came back to his brother, Sammy was already running his fingers through the sticky ointment on the floor, spreading it everywhere.
Doggedly Dean took Sammy's hand in his own and wiped it clean with the kitchen towel.
"Is it better?" Dean asked Sammy as he turned to Sammy's knee and began wiping the extra ointment away.
Sammy nodded and grinned at him. "Ball!"
Sammy pointed over at the red ball nestled up under the cabinet. Smiling back at his little brother Dean got up and retrieved it. He took Sammy into where the carpet was, and where Sammy's blanket was that he would sleep on for naps. Sammy took the ball and was pounding it on the floor when Dean heard the lock in the door turn. He got between Sammy and the door, a determined look on his face. When the door opened, he saw it was his father and all but rushed into his arms, grinning from ear to ear.
"Sammy fell and scraped his knee. But I fixed it. I did what you do when I scrape my knee. I cleaned it with magic water, and put the goop on it, and a bandaid with Big Bird, cause he likes Big Bird best! And Sammy is all better."
John tousled his son's short hair. "That's a good boy, Dean. I'm proud of you." John said smiling at him. He walked into the kitchen to set the bag with the soup, bread and milk on the table and nearly slipped on the wet linoleum. A puddle of water was oozing its way toward the smeared mess of ointment that was mixed in with mud he apparently tracked in earlier. The Neosporin tube was over half empty, most of its contents on the floor and clinging in shiny streaks on the kitchen towel and wash rag lying nearby. Paper from the bandaid was scattered on the floor. His flask of water was on its side and he looked over to his duffel which had all but been emptied onto the floor. Looking into the bathroom he saw towels half unfolded lying in a haphazard pile on the counter. Bandages and bottles littered the floor.
He groaned to himself. Ten minutes. He was gone ten minutes. He looked at the mess, ready to chew Dean out for it, but saw his sons playing in the living room giggling and laughing. He sank into the kitchen chair. He silently watched them toss the ball back and forth, a small smile tugging at his lips and was simply thankful he hadn't been gone longer.