Title: Stretch
Summary: Sam's 16 and growing pains are never fun. Dean's there.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: For lelaro.


Sam stretched and groaned, wishing for all he was that his bones would stop stretching themselves.

When only months before he had been fervently wishing for a growth spurt, wishing to be able to look Dean in his eyes; now all Sam wanted was for the growing to stop. He had reached Dean's height, and then surpassed it weeks ago.

To say Dean had been unhappy was an understatement.

Now, as Sam slumped awkwardly next to Dean and his father after tripping and sprawling multiple times during training, he hoped that he had finally topped out at 6'4".

The anger and frustration was easy to see in his father's eyes, replacing the relief that had shown so prominently when Sam had finally started growing.

Sam had gone from being a shrimp who had at least comfortable in his own skin, to a giant who didn't have the coordination or grace that God gave a goat.

The worst part about growing was even the lack of coordination, it was the pains that ran through his bones and joints, keeping his awake at night, and making it impossible to concentrate during the day.

Sometimes it wasn't bad, just aches that while they weren't fire, he still noticed. But on nights like tonight, after they had been training, lava burned through him.

Breathing in pants through his flared nostrils, Sam kept his mouth shut, not wanting to bring anymore of his father's wrath on himself than he already had; Sam quietly went into the bathroom and palmed three Tylenol, swallowing them dry before wandering to his and Dean's room.

Dean was already in the room, sitting (waiting) patiently on Sam's bed, a soft frown twisting his brow. "You okay, Sasquatch?" He asked, intoning just enough sarcasm covered concern into the words that the tension in Sam's shoulder's eased and a small smile quirked his lips.

"Fine, jerk." Thanks. Sam grinned ruefully at him.

"Bitch." You're welcome. Dean looked him up and down before shaking his head and scrunching his nose, "Now, go take a shower, you smell like a Yeti." Sam nodded, not bothering to answer, grabbing clothes from his dresser and slipping from the room under Dean's close watch.


The hot water cleared his head, and drained the rest of the tension from him, and by the time Sam made it back to the room he was relaxed and drooping. Dean was sitting against the headboard on his own bed, legs outstretched and crossed in front of him, Playboy held loosely in his grip.

He didn't look at Sam as he lay down, but the younger man could tell his every move was being catalogued. Sam pulled the covers up and flicked off the light on his side of the room, raising an eyebrow at Dean.

"Goodnight," he said softly, closing his eyes and relaxing into the soft sheets.

"Night, Sammy." Dean said, looking over at him before snapping the magazine and looking back at its glossed pages intently.


Hours later, Sam woke to the muscles in the back of his calf seizing and knotting together in agony. He groaned and tried to sit up to pull the appendage to him, falling back with a soft sob when fire tore at him from his bones and joints.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Sam curled into himself, grabbing hold of his calf when it was close enough. He tried to massage the knots out of the muscle, but even his fingers spiked in agony at the mere thought.

Movement from the other bed caught his attention, sheets rustling in the dark, and then feet padding softly to his bed.

"Sammy?" Dean. He opened his mouth to answer, but only a soft whimper came instead.

The feet padded away, before returning a minute later, and a weight settled on the side of his bed, a strong hand settling on his shoulder and squeezing. "Open your eyes, little brother." Reluctantly, Sam followed the order, seeing Dean holding out a hand to him. "Take these." Again, Sam followed the order, taking first the Tylenol and then the water without question, silently grateful to Dean for knowing just what he needed.

Seconds later that gratification increased tenfold when Dean carefully took hold of the limb Sam was clutching and pressed his fingers in, working the knots from the muscle. The relief outweighed the starting pain, and Sam pressed back into the pillows with a soft sigh.

"Thanks, Dean." He whispered, receiving only a low grunt and nod in reply, as Dean continued working until the muscle was loose, and the pain had faded into a dull ache, lulling Sam back to sleep.