By: Karen B.

Summary: Dean -- 20. Sam - 16. A silly story -- just for fun. Poor Dean. He'll do anything to keep Sam from leaving for college.

Disclaimer: I don't own the pond -- Kripke does.

Rated: Dorky humor -- little bit of angst

Thank you for reading,





Knock, knock!

"Sam, I know you're in there I can see your scrawny shadow through these damn thin curtains. Open up will you, I forgot my key." No response -- Dean tried again. "Damn it, Sam, I gotta take a leak. Come on, man! What? You trying on sexy lingerie again? Not cool, Dude." Dean fisted his hand tighter. "You know certain vital man parts lose their mojo if a guy holds his piss too long." Dean danced around, shaking his right leg. " I lose my mojo, bro, you're gonna drink a cup of warm piss for lunch."




"Sam!" Dean sucked in a breath, letting the air out slowly. "My bladder is crushing my kidneys! Open the hell up or I'll..."

Dean stopped his ranting when he heard a loud crash come from inside the room. A large lump formed inside of him and flared to life -- his little brother senses on high alert. Something was off. He drew his gun. Whatever, whoever might be inside, Dean wasn't taking any chances with his brother's life. Moving several steps backward, only pausing a moment to gather strength, Dean ran full-force lifting his right leg and kicking the door off its hinges.

Dean stood in the broken doorway staring in disbelief. Their small apatment was trashed. The couch turned upside down, and furniture scattered out of place. Sheets were ripped from their beds, a huge pile of miscellaneous items lay helter-skelter aound the apartment. In the center of it all -- Sam -- on hands and knees.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. "Sammy, you hurt?" Dean called out, scanning the room with his weapon ready to shoot anything that moved.

Sam looked equally stunned by Dean's forced entry and stood. "I'm fine. Didn't you hear me? I told you I'd be there in a minute, Dean."

Dean stepped around a turned over chair, moving further into the room, his pulse racing. "You alone? Who did this?"

"Yes. No, I'm not alone, you're here, and Freddy did this." Sam's voice held a note of irritation.

"Krueger?" Frantic, Dean looked right then left, seeing no one.

"Reality, Dean, not the movies! Gun, now!" Sam waved a hand.

"Oh." Dean looked at his gun almost forgetting the Glock was there. He took a breath, getting his hand to stop trembling, and shoved the weapon back into his waistband. "Sam, are you going to tell me what's going on here?"

Sam went back to turning the room on its head, tossing pillows and looking under furniture. "Freddy… he's escaped," he said in a winded voice.

Gritting his teeth, Dean bent over and righted a chair. "Who the hell is Freddy?"

"Freddy... the frog I caught in the pond last week."

"You're not serious, are you? You mean to tell me that arachnid you've been keeping is running loose?"

"Amphibian, Dean. Freddy is a frog, not a spider. And he isn't running anywhere. He's hopping."

"No shit, nerd boy." Dean could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "You're going to get herpes."

"Shutup, Dean."

"You are."

"Am not."

"So, what are you doing with Kermit, anyway?"

"You know what. I've been conditioning him all week. For my science project." Sam pointed out calmly.

The fearful lump of worry that had lodged in Dean's chest disappeared turning into a tight ball of frustration. "Do you realize, that your big brother thought someone or worse -- something -- was in here ransacking the place, maybe murdering/eating my kid brother? I pulled my gun on you. Son of a bitch, Sam! How do you think it would read in my journal if I'd shot my frog hunting geek brother in the back?"

"Dean, you're overreacting." Sam shrugged, moving toward the back of the apartment.

"I can't believe you!" Dean growled, following right behind.

"I gotta find him." Sam sounded panicked.

"Sam, it's a frog, one of a million. Not worth getting twisted up about, or trashing this place anymore than it already is. What you need to do is go catch another one."

"No way, Dean! Freddy can out jump every frog from here to New York City. I need this project -- to up my grade point average."

"Sam, you up your grade point average any more and you'll get a free ride to Stanford."

"That's the idea, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Oh," Dean muttered, sadly. "All fired up to take that class in underwater basket weaving, huh, Sam?"

"Whatever, look, man, Freddy has to be here somewhere." Sam continued searching high and low. "I blocked all the entrances. He couldn't have gotten outside, this is so strange," Sam muttered, stepping into the bathroom.

"Yeah," Dean said under his breath, following right behind. "Strange." He leaned against the vanity.

Pulling the shower curtain back, Sam turned around. "Dean, maybe you could help instead of bitching about --"

"Sam!" Dean stood at attention. "There goes Prince Charming," he yelled, pointing a finger at the green blur jumping out of the tub.

"Holy crap!" Sam cried out in a state of panic, trying to grab Freddy, but missing.

"Kiddo, I hate to inform you, crap isn't holy. Oh... hey...oh... there he goes, on the sink!" Dean struggled past Sam in the small confines, trying to nab the frog, but Freddy swiftly hopped away. "Slippery little sucker," Dean snickered.

"Damn frog." Sam lunged at him, and cornered Freddy behind the door. "I got him. I got him."

Dusting off his hands, Sam bent down to pick up Freddy, but the frog was too quick, and he darted between Sam's legs, scrambling out of reach.

Before Dean knew it, Freddy had them going in circles, twisted up like a couple of pretzels. "W-where'd he go?" Dean panted out of breath.

"There," Sam said, pointing to the top of the toilet tank. "Freddy, stay!"

"Oh jeez, Sam, you going to teach him to roll over next?" Dean asked in exasperation. "Look." He clapped a hand to Sam's shoulder. "You go right. I'll go left. We'll box him in."

"Okay." Sam nodded his agreement. "Slowly, Dean."

As he neared Freddy, Dean leaned forward -- palms up -- readying to capture the frog should he leap his way.

"This is friggin' ridiculous," Dean said, deciding to move things along faster, he lunged toward Freddy. Before he could nab him, Freddy plopped into the open toilet bowl.

Sam dropped to his knees. "Freeeeddy!" he screamed, reaching a hand down into the cold toilet water to scoop him out.

"Sam, let me help," Dean said. Just as he reached out a hand he slipped on the tiled flooring. "Son of a ..." He tried to catch his balance, but instead his fumbling fingers caught the lever of the toilet flushing the bowl. "Oops," Dean uttered, watching Freddy -- a green blur -- swiftly swirl out of sight. He looked up into Sam's shocked face. "Oops," he repeated.

"Oops? Oops, Dean? That's it?"

"Dude, I'll find you another frog."

"Why? So you can kill that one, too?"

"Sam, I didn't mean...I'm sorry, pal." Dean raised a fist to his lips and coughed into it, desperately trying to hide his smile and snickering laughter.

"Stop it, Dean."

"Stop what?" Dean cleared his throat.

"I can see you're laughing. It's not funny."

"Bro, you gotta admit, it's a little funny." Dean squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat again. "Okay...okay. I... I am not laughing."

"Yes, you are."

"No." A snicker. "No, I'm not."

Sam's eyes were wide, and he looked angry.

"Sammy," Dean got serious. "Really, I'm sorry. I was trying to help. You mad at me?" No response. "Sammy?"

"Jerk." Sam shoved up off his knees, and glanced around with a wild and crazy look in his eyes that scared Dean. "I'm going to Stanford Dean, with or without your approval."

"What? Sam, talk to me? I didn't flush the amphibian on purpose. Sam! Sam, where you going? I swear to you!"

Sam reached around Dean's waist, producing a -- "Plunger," he announced, grabbing the wooden handled devise, and thrusting it into the toilet bowl. "Want to help?"

"No," Dean said in disgust. "I'm going to go fix the door before Dad gets back." He stepped out of the bathroom.

"Hey," Sam called after him. "I thought you had to take a leak."

"Not anymore. Bladder floated away with my kidney's. Least the damn frog could eat what bugged him," Dean mumbled, kicking at the junk on the floor. Who the hell was he fooling, anyway? Flushing Freddy wouldn't stop him from losing his brother -- his best friend -- nothing could -- nor should. Sam was smart. Sam deserved what he wanted -- if that meant a shoebox dorm at some big-wig college -- so be it. Dean sighed, stopped digging around for his tool bag and headed out the door. The pond was only ten minutes away.

The end.

Note: No frogs were actually flushed during the writing of this story.