By: Karen B.

Summary: Just a tiny-little, cotton candy, sweet-tooth brother moment. Sam eleven. Dean fifteen.

Disclaimer: Not the owner.


They went from here to there, from place to place, motel to motel, trailer to trailer, cabin to cabin, spot to spot - some spots not even on a road map.

Their lives were full of spots. Wet, soggy spots, dirt-dry spots, icy-cold spots, blind spots, hiding spots. The redder-than-red bloodspots on his and dad's clothes after a hunt gone wrong - Dean hated those spots the most.

Spots, spots, everywhere.

There were dark spots that sometimes danced before his eyes. Dangerous spots he wished they'd never been in. Spots his dad face planted to after drinking. There were blank spots they couldn't fill in. Rust spots they'd spent weeks buffing out of the Impala. Those damn brown spots freckling his nose. And what about the tiny white spots decorating the back of Sam's throat, that time the kid got tonsillitis and had to have them removed.

But not all spots were horrible and nightmarish. There were some good, though few and far between. Like camping spots, fishing spots, takeout spots, and make-out spots. Llike the one in the school janitor's supply closet. And what about the elusive G-spot - Dean had yet to discover that spot.


Hither and dither.

They were the way of life for a Winchester. Still, most spots Dean chose not to remember.

Today's spot was very different. Jasper's Traveling Carnival. A bright, sunny spot on a lazy Sunday afternoon.


Dean couldn't decide which ride had almost made him want to puke up the goodtime he and Sam were having. Either it was the tilt-a-whirl that sent his head spinning, or it was the old wooden roller coaster, that had tossed him nearly out of his seat on the first hill, and pinned his shoulder against the side of the cart on the second.

Now, back on the ground, Dean listened as the drive chain pulled the next batch of riders up the hill, grateful his kid brother didn't want to be sent screaming down the tracks again.

Sam and Dean walked alongside each other down the boardwalk. The amusement park by the sea was an old one. Not all the lights lit up down the midway, and the tilt-a-whirl they had ridden made some God awful rattling noise each time it spun them around. Dean feared it would send them across the universe if they rode it one more time.

Their father would be home from the hunt soon, summer was ending and they'd be moving to yet another no name town.

"Last bite." Dean held the plastic bag of cotton candy under Sam's nose.

"You eat it, Dean." Sam smiled happily up at his brother.

Dean didn't have to be told twice as he dug in and shoved the pink and blue sugar cloud into his mouth. Dizzying rides set aside; he was going to miss this place. The smell of waffles and chili covered hotdogs, onion and pepper slathered sausage.

A willowy blond girl walked past, wearing a yellow halter top and blue jean short-shorts.

"Loves Baby Soft." Dean nudged Sam with an elbow. "My favorite." He waggled his brow.

Sam looked confused.

"The hot babe that just walked by, Sammy, she smelled like Loves Baby Soft."

"Like what?" Sam frowned.

"Dude, it's chick's cologne."

"Stupid." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sammy, I know you're only eleven, but you are my brother, and being my brother, you could show a little more enthusiasm when it comes to…" Dean hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "That."

"Dean," Sam tsked, "I don't like girls the way you like girls."

"Aw, but you will my young apprentice. You will. Ha."

"Can the Star Wars crap, Dean," Sam muttered. "Hey." Sam tugged on Dean's jacket. "The ferris wheel." He jumped up and down excitedly. "Can we ride, can we?"

"Lame." Dean tossed the empty cotton candy bag into an overflowing trashcan.

"Please, Dean."

"We've rode every ride you wanted, twerp." Dean dug into his jacket pocket pulling out two tickets. "I wanted to ride the Matterhorn, Sam, and these are our last two tickets."

"I hate the Matterhorn." Sam cocked his head, his eyes going all wet and droopy like a freakin' cocker spaniel about to be shoved into a bag of rocks, and drowned in the river.

Dean growled, "Son of a…"

"Thanks, Dean, you're the best." Sam's sappy eyes suddenly lighting up like bottle rockets.

"Damn it," Dean muttered. Kid always got his way when he glowed like that. "Come on." He grabbed Sam by the arm and headed them toward the wheel.

Turned out to be Dean's favorite part of the day. The ride had stopped at the very tip-top. He and Sam sat in the bucket swaying in the wind, speechless, the breeze in their hair and the sun sinking slowly toward the sea - setting the sky on fire.


They walked toward a small inlet. Dean, over stuffing his mouth with a basket of fries smothered in malt vinegar and salt. Sam, slurping fresh squeezed lemon aid through a well chewed straw. They were flat busted broke again, but Dean didn't care. The day was totally worth every hustled penny. Full of fun and laughter - a rare treat.

Sucking down the last of their dinner, they tossed their containers into another overflowing trashcan and hit the beach - a calm blue harbor spread before them.

Bending over, Dean picked up a round flat and very smooth rock out of the sand. He moved to stand closer to the water, held the rock horizontally, and curled his index finger around it, aimed and released the rock with a snap of his wrist. The rock skipped four times over the smooth water.

Finding two more stones Dean handed one to Sam. "You try," he said.

Dean watched Sam throw the stone; which plopped and sank sending ripples out over the water.

"I'm no good," Sam mumbled.

"Throw it low. Sidearm. Like this." Dean demonstrated, throwing his stone skipping it four times again. "The harder you throw the more it skips."

Sam did as Dean suggested. He waited and watched counting each skip with joyous excitement. "Six times. Did you see that, Dean?"

"That's killer, Sammy." Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, looking down into the kids devoted eyes. "You beat my record."

Dean's all-time stone skipping record was ten, but he'd never let Sam know that - allowing the kid his glory.

Dean had hated how Sam had been so scared after finding out monsters were real just a short time ago. He just wanted Sam to stay a kid a little while longer. Push his ghost-buster debut ahead by a few years; maybe avoid the whole friggin' thing all together. But now that Sam knew the truth, and dad knew the kid knew - John Winchester was going to show Sam how to be a man. Being a man at the age of eleven - not such a great spot to be in - Dean outta know.

But he didn't want to think about that today. Today, seeing his baby brother's face, all bright and happy - unafraid - standing in the spot next to him. Well, it was all kinds of awesome.

A spot to remember.

The end.