Captain Awesome Big Brother and the Boring Motel Room of Doom

By Kadysn and PlatinumRoseLady

Prompt: Wee!chesters - Bored banter. The boys are bored, stuck inside, the TV is broken and John won't be home for at least two more days.

Characters: Eight yr. old Dean, aka "Captain Awesome Big Brother" and 4 yr. old Sammy, aka, (according to Dean) "Bored, bratty, pain-in-the-ass little brother." John is mentioned. Word count: 2,537.

As Dean Winchester slowly woke up, two things made their way into his sleep-fogged brain:

It was raining outside - he could hear the drops striking the motel room's window.

And...

He was clinging to the edge of the bed like a spider monkey, thanks to his little brother. Sammy was, as usual, sprawled all over the mattress, tiny arms and legs splayed out like a starfish in hand-me-down PJs.

Dean sighed; how could a four-year old take up that much space?

But, because he was an awesome brother, he rose slowly from the bed, hoping he didn't wake Sammy up.

He made it to the bathroom and back, doing his best to keep as quiet as he could. When he rounded the foot of the bed to dig through his bag of clothes for whatever fresh jeans and t-shirt he might possibly find, he glanced back at Sam and sighed with relief.

Still sleeping. Awesome!

Dean walked into the kitchen, and stared down at the note Dad had left. A huff of annoyance broke through his lips; did Dad think he was a baby? He was eight years old for crying out loud. He could keep an eye on Sammy without instructions.

Besides, Dad was only going to be gone for two days, he'd said. They had plenty of food, Dean had a few new comics, and they had a TV.

Everything would be cool. So what if it was raining? It wasn't like they could go outside and play anyway.

He checked the food supply, and finding a new box of Lucky Charms, he set it and two bowls on the small kitchenette table, along with two plastic spoons he dug out of a little box they'd picked up in the last mom-and-pop store they'd hit a couple days ago.

Every few minutes, he glanced over at Sam then he'd look at the small travel alarm clock sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

7:15.

7:24.

7:33.

He sighed. It wasn't usual for Sammy to sleep in this late. Usually, he'd be the one routed out by Dad's hand shaking his shoulder, and Sammy'd be the one standing by the doorway, antsy to be on their way.

Not so this morning.

He waited until it was just a little shy of 8:00 before he gave up, crossed the room to the bed, and poked his brother in the ribs.

"Sammy. C'mon, brat. Up and at 'em. Breakfast is on the table."

Sammy muttered something that might've been "Sleepy, Dean - go away." Or it might have been some other language altogether since it sounded more like "sweepyd'ng'way." He grasped the covers in his tiny hands and burrowed under them so all that was showing was a tuft of brown hair at the top and two little bare feet sticking out at the bottom.

Again, because he was an awesome brother, and because the temptation was way too strong, Dean reached out and ran the fingernail on his right index finger down Sammy's left foot.

SCORE!

Sam kicked out and barely missed Dean as he squirmed deeper under the covers, pulling his feet under and out of Dean's reach.

Or so the sleepy kid thought.

Dean chuckled wickedly - his little brother wasn't going to get away that easily. His hands snaked under the covers, and quickly found his brother's soles again.

"Saaam-mmmy..." he said, his voice a singsong, full of pretended menace, "you'd better wake up before the Tickle Monster gets you..."

The blanket was lowered just enough for Dean to see Sam's left eye peek out. His dark hair, which needed a cut, was sticking out like Sammy'd stuck his finger into a light socket. The blanket lowered even more until Dean could see his brother glaring at him.

"G 'way, Dean. I'm t'red."

"Sorry, kid. You're not gonna sleep the day away. Dad's gone and he left us a note. C'mon, Sammy. Get. Up."

That got Sam's attention. He threw off the covers and sat up, pulling his feet out of Dean's reach. He yawned, and his blue-green eyes opened a little wider. "Daddy's gone? Where'd he go?"

Dean looked down at the floor for a minute. He hated this part. Hated lying to Sammy - but the kid didn't know where Dad went…what Dad was looking for.

If it were up to Dean, he'd never know.

"Dad... had to go away for business. But he'll be back in a few days," Dean replied.

Sam looked a little doubtful. "Promise?" he questioned, and his eyes got that soulful look in them that Dean would do/give/say anything to make Sammy not have that look.

He grinned. "I promise. Now get your butt up and get cleaned up for breakfast. Or else."

"Or else what?" Sam questioned, his tone slightly defiant, even though there was the start of a grin on his lips. He'd played this game with Dean for as long as he could remember.

"Or else you can't watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." Dean knew how serious a threat that was. Sammy was almost obsessed with the cartoon characters.

Sam gave Dean a puppy pout that, on a scale of 0 to 10, went off the scale. "Really? No Turtles?"

"No turtles. Hop to it, bro. Your cereal's gonna get soggy."

Dean watched as Sam dashed to his own little bag and pulled out a pair of jeans and his favorite t-shirt, with said TMNT emblazoned across the front.

Every couple minutes, as Sam got himself dressed, he'd glance back at his brother to make sure Dean was serious.

After the struggle to find his sneakers (which somehow had ended up in Dean's bag,) and the ritual of Dean tying Sammy's shoes (all the while muttering how he would probably be doing that until Sammy was 20,) the boys sat at the scuffed kitchen table and chowed down on Lucky Charms. Sammy finished the sugary cereal and tipped his bowl back, swallowing the milk and cereal bits. When he pulled the bowl from his lips, Dean chuckled at his little brother's milk mustache.

"Put your bowl in the sink, Sammy, before you turn the TV on." Dean watched as Sam did as he was told, the boy clearly anxious to settle himself in front of the boob tube. As soon as Sam dashed across the small room toward the old TV set that sat on a scarred cart, Dean turned to the sink and put his own bowl inside.

"DEAN!" Sam's panicked voice startled him. He turned on a heel, worried something evil had appeared and was attacking his baby brother.

Instead, he frowned as he saw huge tears slide down Sammy's cheeks. "What? What is it, Sam?" He crossed the room and threw himself to his knees in front of his crying brother.

Sam's right hand was clenched in a fist right over his heart, and the child was trembling all over. "I-I didn't m-mean to b-b-break it, D-Dean. I was j-just t-turning it o-on and it we-went sn-snap and and..." Sam unclenched his fist and showed Dean what he'd been holding; the knob from the TV rested in his trembling palm.

Dean sank back on his haunches as relief flooded his body. "Sam, it's okay. Really. This piece of junk is super old. You didn't break the TV." Dean took the knob from his brother's hand and put it back where it belonged. "Now watch." He flicked the TV on and, for a moment, the screen crackled to life... right before it made a popping sound and went dark.

There was silence, except for Sam's sniffling.

Dean muttered "Sonofabitch!"

Sam gasped and clamped his hand over Dean's mouth. "You said a naughty word, Dean! I'm gonna tell Daddy!"

Dean screwed his face up and growled, "Not if you wanna watch your cartoons. Don't be a baby, Sam. Go sit on the bed while I fix this." He pointed at the bed and gave another growl until Sam stomped over to Dad's bed and crawled up on it.

Sighing, Dean turned back to the TV and studied the black screen. He turned the knob again...and nothing. "Crap." He got up off the floor and went to check where the cord was plugged into the wall. It looked ok, but he pulled it out, then replaced it. He went back around and tried turning the TV back on, but nothing happened.

He looked over at Sam, and felt bad. His baby brother sat there, curled up against the pillows, his thin arms wrapped around his pulled up legs, his face still damp from the tears he'd shed minutes ago.

"C'n you fix it, Dean?" Sam's teary voice wavered. "I wanna watch the Turtles," he began to whine.

Dean sighed. Even at eight, failure was a bitter pill to swallow. "Sorry, Sam, the TV's not working."

Sam's eyes filled with tears again, and Dean expected him to start wailing about missing the Turtles.

Instead, Sam curled into an even tighter ball and whispered, "I really did break the TV..."

Dean walked over and sat down beside his brother, placing his arm around Sam's quivering shoulders. "Sammy, this isn't your fault! The TV was crap and it was old. The same thing would've happened if I'd turned it on."

"R-really?" Sam questioned, one tear slipping down from his right eye to roll down his cheek.

Dean reached over and tenderly thumbed the tear away. "Really. So we don't have a TV. So what? We can think of other stuff to do."

Several hours later, the only thing Dean could think of to do was lock himself in the bathroom and stay there until Dad came back.

It was that, or lock Sam in the bathroom, and leave him there until Dad came back, but he had a feeling Dad would raise holy hell at that plan.

Instead, he sighed and, after a moment's thought, pulled the forest green crayon from the plastic container that set between him and Sam as they sat across from each other at the table. If he had to color one more page in this kiddie coloring book, he was gonna snatch himself bald. That, or Sam. Kid needed a haircut anyway.

Sam knelt on his chair, and leaning over the table, peered at his brother's page. "What'cha gonna color with that, De? I'm makin' Le'nardo this green!" he said with a smile as he showed Dean the crayon in his little hand.

Dean didn't have the heart to mutter as he wanted to. What he wanted was to check out the motel office to see if they had any video games, but when he'd last glanced over at the window, he could see the rain still pelting it. He sighed again, absolutely bored to tears.

Sam stopped coloring, satisfied with his work on making Leonardo the perfect shade of green.

He looked at the coloring book, then looked back at Dean.

Coloring book. Dean.

Dean tensed. He could hear them. Those three little words he'd heard All. Day. Long.

"Dean, I'm bored."

It took every ounce of Dean's willpower not to bang his head against the kitchen table.

"Well, what do you want me to do about that?" he asked, teeth slightly gritted.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno."

"We could play cards," Dean suggested. "You like playing 'Go Fish'."

"We already played that," Sam retorted, "we played that after lunch, silly. Did you forget?"

"No, Sam, I didn't forget, but that's the only card game you know."

"Oh, yeah." Sam got up from the chair, walked over to his brother and before he knew what was happening, Dean had a lapful of munchkin looking up at him with a shy smile.

Dean knew that smile. That was the "Please Can I Have?" smile.

He sighed. Whatever it was, he knew he'd give it to his pain in the ass little brother. "What?" he asked.

"Can I have a story?" Sam asked softly.

Dean thought about it for a minute. "What kind of story?"

Sam climbed down from Dean's lap, and dashed over to his brother's duffle bag. He pulled out the latest comic Dean had been able to buy, and trotted back to the table. He slapped the comic down with a smile. "This! Please tell me this story, Dean!"

Dean looked at the Batman comic and looked back at his brother. "Are you serious?" he asked, and when Sam nodded, Dean couldn't help but smile.

Maybe there was some hope for the Turtle-loving little squirt after all, if he wanted to hear about Batman. "Okay, Sammy, I'll read this to you."

Sam clapped his hands gleefully and scrambled back up onto Dean's lap. Dean opened the comic and began "Okay, now Batman's been chasing the Joker, see, and..."

"Dean, you're doing it wrong."

Dean stopped. "Doing what wrong?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Stories start with 'Once upon a time!' Everybody knows that!"

Now it was Dean's turn for an eye roll. "Okay. Sorry, Mr. Expert Storyteller," he said, giving Sam a quick poke in the stomach for emphasis (and to make Sam giggle.) He cleared his throat, and started again "Once upon a time in Gotham City, Batman was chasing the Joker..."

Sam leaned back against his big brother with a contented sigh.

Sam hadn't been happy with just one comic book. After Batman, he dug an older comic of Dean's out, this one Spiderman (Dean loved his superheroes, but Batman was the awesomest!) but once that one had been read and set aside, Dean saw that bored look glaze over Sammy's eyes again.

Cutting the kid's complaints off at the pass, Dean pushed Sam off his lap and said, as he dropped to the ratty carpet, "Okay, Sammy. How 'bout some 'Airplane?'"

Sam's eyes grew huge. "Really? You tole' me last time I was gettin' too heavy." Sam loved it when their dad or Dean played Airplane with him. Neither one had offered to do it in way too long. Just the thought made him a little giddy.

"Would I have offered if I thought I couldn't lift you?" Dean reached out and yanked his brother forward. "Arms out, bro. Time for lift-off!"

As Sam spread his arms out wide, Dean lay back on the floor and lifted the boy up, their hands clutched together, with Sam's slight body balanced on Dean's socked feet.

Sam squealed with glee, then began to make his version of airplane motor sounds. "Let's fly, De! Higher!"

Dean grunted as Sam's body squirmed, his little arms waving, almost making him lose his balance. "Hold tight, Sam! Don't make me drop you!"

"I'm flyin', Dean! Bbbbbbrrrrrrr..." his lips vibrated, sending spittle out of his mouth to land on Dean's flushed cheek.

"Hey, say it, don't spray it, shorty!" Dean laughed, wiggling his toes against his brother's stomach for emphasis. Sam's eyes grew even wider and the giggles that spilled from his lips made Dean feel a million feet tall.

Batman could have Gotham City.

Spiderman could keep New York.

Right now, in this drab motel room, Dean's alter-ego, Captain Awesome Big Brother, was the superhero of Sam Winchester's young life.

fin

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