Six year old Sammy Winchester is leaning on his arms against the windowsill, his eyes fixed on the steady drip, drip, drip in the growing puddle outside, the glowing red of the vacancy sign a blur in the distance. The weather is sad, really. It started raining very early this morning and hasn't stopped since then. It adds another sharp edge of boredom to his already uninteresting life.

His dad is out, Dean says he's working, which means that he won't be back for a few days. He is alone in the motel room with Dean. Dean becomes all grumpy when the Lucky Charms run out. They ran out this morning.

Little Sammy heaves a sigh and turns away from the window. Rain really isn't fun. Sometimes, when it's not raining, Dean lets him go outside. Sometimes they even find a little park with swing sets and other kids his age. Not with rain. Rain sucks, rain keeps them in for day after day after day after day and then for more days. Bleh, rain bites.

He looks at his older brother, who is absentmindedly fumbling with a thread hanging from his sleeve. Sammy sighs again, this time a little louder. Dean looks up, irritated.

"Whad'ya want Sammy?"

"I wanna play, I'm bored."

Now it's his older brother's turn to sigh. "Sammy, it's raining. We can't play right now."

"We can play inside," he suggests, hopeful look on his face.

"I don't want to play with you, okay?"

Sammy's little face falls, his bottom lip coming out in a sad pout, big watering eyes really adding to the whole 'puppy' look he has going on. Dean kind of feels bad about it, but he is just not in the playing mood. Little Sammy sniffles a little, walking away from the window to the tiny kitchenette. His tiny bare feet padding on the flat dirty carpet. Dean follows the movement of his annoying little brother, who is now trying to climb up on the chair, which is almost twice his size. He can't help but smile a little at his brother's pathetic attempts.

"Dean?" Sammy tries, looking at his brother with those puppy dog eyes. "Is daddy mad at us?"

"No, why do you think something like that, Sammy?" He walks over to little Sammy and puts his arms under his armpits, lifting him up and putting him on top of the chair.

"Because he's always gone. And the kids in the park always have their dads with them to push them on the swings, and on the merry-go-rounds, and dad is never there with us." Sammy sounds incredibly sad, and his tear filled eyes are really doing a number on Dean's emotions. He hates seeing his little brother like this, and he really wants to tell him the truth. That his superhero father is out battling evil monsters and saving families, but he knows he can't. His daddy ordered him to stay silent.

"Daddy isn't mad at us Sammy, daddy loves us. He's just working, and he'll explain it to you someday," Dean reassures.

It doesn't really change anything in Sam's eyes, but at least his younger brother is wiping away the lone tear that fell from his big doe eyes.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the crumpled five dollar bill, he lays it down in front of Sammy. "See what this is, Sammy?" he slides it closer to his younger brother. "I was thinking, we run to the grocery store two blocks from here, and buy some of the stuff we need to make banana pancakes. So, what do you say?"

Sammy's eyes lights up, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "We can really do that? Daddy won't get mad at us for going out?"

Dean ruffles his brother's hair. "No, silly. Dad's not here. There's just one little thing, though…" Sammy eyes him with a questionable look, small head tilted to the side just a little. "We have to go through the rain."

"That's okay, Dean-o." He gets a mischievous grin on that little face of it. "As long as I can jump in the puddles."

Dean laughs and ruffles his brother's hair again. "Of course you can jump in the puddles, squirt. Come on, go get your batman boots."


They come back from the grocery store, about ten minutes later, each of them soaked to the bone. Dean is clutching the white plastic bag holding the pancake ingredients to his chest, hair dripping wetness into his face.

"Come on, Sammy," he says, "Let's put this stuff away and get changed into something dry."

"But I want the pancakes, now," Sam whines, pouting once again.

"Tough luck, squirt. We ain't making pancakes until we are dry, and that is it. Now, no more whining, go grab us some towels."

Sam's rubber boots are leaving muddy prints on the already screwed up floor, and those are being kept company by the dirty drips coming down from his sodden coat. Sammy walks over to the bed room, spreading his dirt all around.

Dean smiles at his little brother and turns into the kitchenette, setting the bag down on the counter and starting to rid it of its contents. He hears Sammy shuffling about in the small bathroom, the tiny murmurs coming from his younger brother's mouth. He thinks back of the time before things were all complicated in his life. Ever since their mommy died and daddy shoved little baby Sammy into his arms, his life has seen nothing else besides long stretches of road, dirty cheap motel rooms and whole lot less of his dad before the fire.

And his father told him why he was always gone, he was hunting evil monsters. His dad was like a superhero, only he didn't wear those tight outfits you see on the television. His daddy was the coolest, but Dean did wish that sometimes his daddy was a little more present than cool.

A strangled cry comes from the bathroom and Dean is snapped back into reality within a second. Oh God, Sammy, shooting through his brain as he runs through the motel room. The door to the bathroom is slightly open and he pushes through it, completely ready to smack the son of a bitch trying to hurt his little brother.

In the middle of the bathroom floor sits Sammy, flat on his ass, one boot lying on the tiles and one still at his feet, crocodile tears running down his sad little face.

"Sam, what happened?" Dean asks, a little scared.

Sammy sniffles, "I- I was trying to take my batman boot of, and I was balancing on one foot, and then I slipped and fell. I fell on my bum and it hurts, Dean-o."

Dean laughs a little, relief washing over him. He silently thanks a higher force for the batman boot being the source of Sammy's crying and not some evil creature. "Aww, c'mere Sammy."

He hugs his little brother tight and ruffles his dark hair. "Do you know what fixes sore bums?"

Sammy's head shoots up, eyes big with anticipation, tear stains still on his chubby little cheeks. "Pancakes?"

"That's right, Sammy. Pancakes."


A handful of flour hits him right in the face, he sputters a little - in an attempt to get the dry flour out of his mouth - before opening his eyes to glare at the six year old trying to compose an innocent appearance.

"Squirt, what the hell?"

"I'm sorry Dean, it's just that your face was begging for it."

"My face did not beg to be covered in flour," Dean states, hands at his sides.

"Well, you didn't hear your face talk. Puh."

His tiny flour covered hands are waving all over the place, throwing flour all over the place. "Look, Dean-o, it's snowing." He grabs another hand full of flour and throws it into the air, dancing underneath it. A cackling laughs escapes from his young mouth.

And Dean really can't stay mad at the kid, because he just too adorable, jumping around and throwing flour all over the place. His entire superhero pyjamas covered in white dust. Dean grabs a hand of flour as well, and throws it towards Sammy.


Before they know it, the entire motel room is covered in flour, it's a total mess, and Dean is pretty sure there won't be anything left to make pancakes. But it's okay, because Sammy seems happy, sleeping on Dean's bed, small thumb stuck into his flour covered mouth. The sights is just damn near perfect, and Dean wishes it could always be like this.

He goes to cleaning up, scooping the flour up and throwing it into the small trashcan the motel offers. He is not even close to finishing when the door opens and his dad walks in. He takes one look at the motel room and then turns to glare at Dean.

"What the hell happened in here?"

Dean puts a flour covered finger in front of his lips, making a ssst-sound. "Be quiet, Sammy is asleep."