Well, hey :) So, I've recently become kind of adoring towards Wee!chester fics, and while I was storming for ideas, this just popped into my head. I hope you like it :) By the way, Sam is 3 and Dean is 8. Sorry if Dean isn't acting like any normal 8 year old, I just imagine that he would be a little more mature than any other 8 year old as he has to take care of Sam all the time.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the awesome people that come out of it. I only wish I did. I do, however, own that freaked out register girl near the end. So... that's something.
Dean sighed exasperatedly. "What do you want, Sammy?"
Sam stuck out his lower lip, still managing to look adorable, even when bugging the crap out of Dean. "Can we get some chocolate, Deanie?"
"No, Sam, it's nearly 8:30. Dad won't be happy if he gets back and you're bouncing off the walls."
"Sorry, Sammy," Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.
Sam's lip protruded a little more, and it began to tremble. Dean groaned as he saw Sammy was most likely building up to a massive wail.
"Sorry, dude," he said, shrugging his shoulders again. This set Sam right off. He plonked himself face-down onto his old, squeaky hotel bed and started wailing, thrashing his arms and legs. Dean sighed in frustration.
"Sammy!" he yelled, and Sam continued to wail.
"You don't love Sammy!" Sammy shouted into the comforter, banging his tiny fists around. "If you loved Sammy, you would buy him chocolate!"
"Agh! Fine! But if you're hyper, I'm telling Dad it was your idea!"
Sam stopped wailing instantly. He didn't seem to care that he would probably get in trouble off his father—he just really wanted chocolate. He pulled himself into a standing position on the bed, yelled, "Yaaaay!" and started bouncing up and down.
Dean snorted a little to himself. "C'mon, Sammy," he said, grabbing Sam under his armpits and pulling him down to the floor. "Put your coat on."
Sam pulled his warm, brown jacket on enthusiastically and then ran up to Dean. "Ready to go!" he yelled. Dean rolled his brilliant green eyes, grabbing Sam's tiny hand and enclosing his own around it. They walked—well, Dean walked, Sammy ran, pulling Dean along behind him—to the store and when they got there, Sam looked like he was about to burst with excitement.
After a grueling ten minutes of playing "Sam Chooses A Chocolate, Then Switches" ("Oh! That one! No, wait! I want that one, Deanie!") they were waiting in line at the registers, people looking out of their peripheral vision at the strange sight. Dean was struggling to calm down his brother while Sam continuously yelled gleefully, holding half a basket full of chocolate.
"Hi, how can I help you?" The lady at the register smiled at Dean. He hoisted Sammy up and put the basket on the counter.
"Wow, is this all for your little brother?" she said, looking warily at the basket.
"Yes! All mine!" Sam shouted, and her eyes widened a little as she scanned them all, looking slightly terrified of the three-year-old yelling in her face.
"Uh, that comes to thirty dollars and twenty-five cents," she said, plastering a fake smile on her face. Dean sighed and pulled all of his saved-up money out of his back pocket.
"There you go," he said gloomily, handing it over. She smiled, handing him two bags.
"Thanks, have a nice night..."
"Bye!" Sam shouted, waving enthusiastically as they walked out of the store. He thrust his hand back into Dean's and when they got home, he ripped into the bag, so quickly that Dean nearly had to dive out of the way in fear of his hand being ripped off.
John Winchester walked in on a curious sight that night. When he opened the door, he expected Dean to come bounding up to him, but instead he was met by the sight of Dean and Sammy both fast asleep on one of the double beds, surrounded by chocolate wrappers, and melted chocolate smudged across Sam's face.
John shook his head, smiling a little, deciding the explanation could wait until morning.