Such A Little Thing.


Sam's face was scrunched up in concentration, the tip of his tongue curled around his top teeth,

trying to use the instrument in his hands to the best of his ability.

This wasn't his field, firing a shotgun or decapitating a vampire was all in a day's work but this was stressing him out.

The utensil was just too small for his hands or "giant paws" as Dean called them, to use it in any fluid way.

In fact he had been at this far longer than it would have taken any normal person to do,

but he persevered because he had had enough of Dean's complaints.


Sam was well-aware of his reputation as the "obsessed" one of their little two-man family but they had never seen Dean

when he got the bit between his teeth about something, and he had been going on for weeks about this stupid button

on his jacket pocket having fallen off, and that his things just kept falling out because he would forget that the button was missing,

so Sam had decided that enough was enough, and he had yanked out the little army sewing kit languishing unused in the bottom of his duffle

since the days of his Dad's marine training, and had applied himself to the job, hoping to finish before his annoying sibling arrived back from his food run.


So engrossed was he in the intricacies of button sewing that he was barely aware of Dean's noisy arrival complete with enough bags of food

to feed an army for a week, and with a half-eaten bread-stick dangling out of his mouth.


As Dean passed by, he accidentally brushed against Sam causing the needle in his hand to embed itself in the padded flesh of his left thumb,

making him give out a yelp of pain.


"Dude, what the Hell," Dean mouthed in surprise, not aware that he had done anything that could have caused Sam harm.

"I know the onions are a little strong but I didn't think that they would provoke that kind reaction," he finished off quirkily.


Sam, whose patience was impossibly frazzled by his time with the abominable needle, turned harshly on his brother.


"You are such a clumsy oaf, Dean! With all the space there is you have to crash into me like a ten-ton lorry

and cause that damn instrument of torture to practically run through my finger.

That's what I get for tying to do anything for you," and he stomped out through the motel door sucking his wounded thumb

like he did when he was three, leaving Dean to stare after him, surprise printed all over his expressive face;

the half-chewed bread-stick falling messily to the floor as his mouth opened in bewilderment.


Dean put the bags down on one of the beds and went to examine what on earth Sam had been doing

that could have caused his usually calm brother to explode in such a way.

He looked down at the half-sewn button on his spare jacket and noticed the drop of red blood that now decorated the fabric

next to the haphazardly abandoned needle.

"Aw, Sammy:" he thought to himself and he couldn't stop the uncalled-for tears that welled up in his eyes

at the thought of his little brother performing such a menial task just for him.


Sam was outside on the bench at the side of the Motel still nursing his thumb and starting to feel

the guilt creep over him for the way he had yelled at his brother.

Dean couldn't have known he had a needle in his hand but the little bugger had hurt when it had pierced his thumb

and his reaction had been purely reflexive, although if he was to be completely honest

he had also been embarrassed to have been caught sewing on Dean's button.

He had thought it to be a quick job, and that by the time Dean returned he would have been back at his lap-top.


He felt more than heard his brother's approach as he sat down beside him on the seat.

"Sam..." he began.

But Sam interrupted him before he got a chance to go any further.

"Look, Dean. I'm sorry, alright. The pain caught me by surprise and I just lashed out at you instinctively.

Pretty funny for one who has suffered the tortures of the Cage for one hundred and eighty years," he joked ironically.


"Sammy." Dean's voice was soft, not at all like the one that he used to scold, and Sam turned to meet his glistening eyes.

"Sammy, you're the best little brother a guy could have. C'mere," and he pulled his astonished brother into a loving hug,

not caring two hoots about his chick-flick rules, but just about letting Sam know that the little things mattered just as much as the big ones

and that even a lowly button could be a symbol of love.