Hey there! So I don't have an excuse for this story except that I wanted to read it. And I couldn't sleep tonight and I babysat earlier today and yeah. So Sam is 5, Dean is 26 and this is basically the pilot, just, ya know, without the whole Stanford thing. They're in New Orleans (where Dean told Sam his previous hunt was) and John is away (soon to be missing). Mary only died 5 years ago. I don't know if it'll go anywhere, but regardless, I hope you enjoy it :) Oh, and there are problem a ton of errors. It is nearly 5:30 in the morning.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters.
"Yo, move it. Teeth and pajamas and-" Dean whirled a finger in an all-encompassing gesture "-all that jazz."
The motel was dark, the television flashing dramatically as it shifted from cop drama rerun to blaring, cheap ambulance chaser advertisement.
"Just till the end."
"No, nuhuh," Dean shook his head. "I said next commercial and it's now next commercial, so beat it."
"I said till the end."
Dean gave his brother an appraising look. "Dude, you're five. I think you've had more than enough 21 freaking Jumpstreet for the night."
Little Sam Winchester collapsed back on the threadbare couch huffily, blowing his bangs out of his eyes to pout at his big brother. "Deeeeean, but I wanna see the bust."
Dean couldn't help but quirk his eyebrows and mutter, "me, too, bro." And then when Sam wrinkled his forehead in one-hundred percent concentrated thought, Dean full out laughed and grabbed his little brother by the ankles. He threw Sam's legs over his shoulder and while Sam squirmed, curls flopping about, gravity revealing a forehead Dean didn't often see, Dean said, "Perp had to be taken down by force, Captain Fuller."
"Perp … fights … back!" Sam squirmed some more, fury etched on his features until one of the hands Dean had secured around his stomach scrunched, causing Sam to burst out in a fit of giggles. "Dean!" he shrieked.
"What?" Dean walked down the center of the sitting area, being careful to keep Sam's flailing limbs away from lamps.
"You-you're tickling me!" Sam giggled breathlessly.
"Nope," Dean said vaguely while doing exactly what Sam accused him of. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Yeah!" Sam laughed. "Yeah huh, you li-li-liar!"
After what felt like an eternity for Sam, Dean flipped him upright and placed him on the bathroom counter. Keeping one hand out defensively, just in the rare case that Sam might fall, Dean leaned across the small room to flick on the overhead light and snagged a child-sized Batman toothbrush. Sam kicked his feet back and forth, unsuccessfully hiding a grin when he kicked Dean repeatedly in the thigh.
"Ay, watch where you're kicking, Mia Hamm," Dean growled as he put the toothbrush into Sam's hand, earning more giggles from his little brother.
"Hmmm," Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Hey, Dean, do you like cars?"
"You know I do, Sammy," Dean answered though he knew full well what Sam was up to. He leaned his elbows on the counter and looked at his brother, waiting patiently for him to speak.
"Hmm," Sam hummed some more, staring at his toothbrush. "I like cars,too, I like 'em lots. Hey, Dean, do you think that Batman likes cars?"
"Batmobile, kiddo. Speaking of which-"
"DEAN," Sam practically shouted over his brother. "Uncle Bobby has lots of books and you can learn lots of stuff from books, like how to tie your shoes and stuff. And how to build eyeglasses and-"
Casually, Dean clamped one hand over Sam's mouth and placed the other gently on the back of his head. Immediately Sam's hazel eyes popped wide and he set forth with a lot of muffled indignation. Dean bobbed his head as if watching a ticking clock. When Sam stopped being indignant and started licking Dean's palm, Dean said, "Guess I won't have to feed you breakfast tomorrow. Hey, you're gonna brush your teeth, okay?"
Sam glared and mumbled something.
"Huh?" Dean questioned.
Sam mumbled some more.
"What's that?" Dean took his hand away.
Sam took a dramatic gasp of fresh air. "I said, 'can't brush my teeth with your dumb hand over my mouth.'"
Dean rolled his eyes as he squeezed out some toothpaste. "Just do it, okay? I'm gonna get your clothes. Don't fall off the counter and break yourself."
"Don't fall of your feet and break yourself," Sam retorted, foam dribbling down his chin.
Dean raised his hand over his shoulder as he strode out of the room. "Don't you worry, sweetheart."
"Don't call me sweetheart!" Sam screeched, making Dean chuckle.
When Dean reappeared, Sam was kicking his feet against the sink cupboard, his socks all but fallen off, covering just his toes. "Telekinesis doesn't develop until you're at least seven," Dean teased. "Might as well just pull 'em off or else we're gonna be here for a long time."
Sam complied to Dean's suggestion without any fuss, cluing Dean into Sam's sleepiness.
Save the distant buzz of an ice machine and the rushing of tires on pavement, things were quiet for a few minutes. Dean took a washcloth first to Sam's face, getting rid of the Oreo evidence that Sam's toothbrush couldn't destroy and taking care to get behind his ears. There was pen on Sam's hands that stubbornly refused to come off. Sam's feet twitched at the memory of recently being tickled as Dean took a little soap to them.
"How'd you get your feet so dirty?" Dean mumbled.
Sam shrugged and rubbed sleepily at his eyes. "From dirt, I guess."
Dean felt a tiny smile cross his lips, the kind only Sammy could evoke from him. It was always accompanied by a feeling of simple happiness, of warmth. The feeling lingered as Dean eased Sam off the counter and Sam's little arms closed around his neck. He walked slowly, feeling comfort in the warm body clinging to him, to the adjoining room where he and Sam had been sleeping.
"C'mon, Sammy-boy, bedtime," Dean whispered when he lowered Sam to the bed and Sam didn't immediately let go. God, the kid was tiny, curling his three foot frame to the size of a pillow at the head of the bed. Sam was apparently too tired to even wriggle under the covers (masquerade patterned in honor of their New Orleans location, in addition to the sightless masks nailed to the walls) and after Dean got out his boots and jeans, he did Sam the favor of tucking him in. It was early yet for a twenty-six year old and Dean had turned off the light and was on his way out to continue their 21 Jumpstreet marathon (he couldn't help it, that Holly Robinson acting all righteous and bad) when Sam spoke up drowsily, "Hey, Dean?"
Dean froze in the doorway, dreading Sam's question. Here he was thinking he got off easy for the night. "Yeah, Sammy?"
"When's Daddy coming back?"
Dean was quick with his standby answer. "Soon. Don't worry, he'll be back soon."
"You always say that," Sam whispered tremulously.
Dean scrubbed his face with his hand, internally debating for a few moments. "Give me a second, Sammy," he said softly, padding out of the room.
He redid the salt lines, checked the magazine of his Colt 1911, and, of course, double checked the locks on the doors and windows. Dad didn't like for Dean to leave on too many lights, if any at all, because he said that it was encouraging Sam to be afraid of the dark, but Dean didn't much fancy waking up to Sam screaming because he ran his face into a table trying to find his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. So he left the light on over the stove.
Dean laid down and reached his hand across the space between his bed and Sam's. He found his little brother's clammy hand and gripped it. "I'm here, Sammy, okay?" He said softly, rubbing his rough thumb over Sam's soft hand. "You can go to sleep. I'm here."
"Hey, Dean?" Sam's voice trembled.
Dean gently tightened his grip on Sam's hand. "Yeah, Sammy."
"Can I sleep with you?" Sam choked out. "P-please, Dean?"
Dean perched himself on one elbow, holding open his arms. "C'mon, buddy."
And Sam was gripping Dean's t-shirt in his little fists, pulling his trembling body over the edge of the bed and burying his face and knees in Dean's chest. Hot tears soaked through to Dean's skin. He wrapped his brother in a tight hug, trying to stop the shaking.
"I want daddy," Sam sobbed. "Da-a-addy. I want daddy."
Dean buried his face in Sam's hair breathing the smell of the motel soap that had stung Sammy's eyes this morning, made Sammy cry this morning. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured. "Calm down. I'm here. Dean's here."
Sam snuffled and gasped, over and over again, "Da-a-addy, I wan' daddy …"
Such were their nights.
Reviews, even a quick one, would make me so happy :) Thanks folks.