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Dean’s head hung off the sofa seat while his legs dangled over the top. It was mid-July, 1988 and the weather was scorching. The boys had been left to their own devices while John hunted anything within a 200 mile radius. Summers were synonymous with training till they collapsed for the Winchester boys but upon Dean’s faking a flu and Sam’s foolproof puppy dog eyes, John gave them some time off.
Dean was considering rolling off of the sofa and doing some training of his own, but the humid weather kept him glued to his seat. That and the fact that he was drenched in sweat and his clothed were stuck to his back and the worn leather sofa. His eyes flitted over to the six year old who was oblivious to the humidity and heat as he played with a monster truck he’d gotten as a birthday present a week ago. It was a couple of months late and Dean felt a guilty about it but the hug and smile and terribly slobbery kiss he got in return was worth it.
“Sam.”
His baby brother continued to make monster truck sounds with his mouth as his hand maneuvered the truck over a giant lego stack that toppled with a loud “BAM!” coming from Sam.
“Sammy.” Dean said, louder this time.
The truck flew over an overturned shoe and landed on the coffee table, continuing its journey to the sofa.
Dean sighed sat up, waiting for Sam to make his way to him. The truck decided to break down three inches from him.
“Whups. Sorry Dean, I’ll have to go and fix the truck before I can listen to you.” Sam looked up at him through the hair that fell over his eyes, his tongue poking out mischievously.
“That’s it.” Dean jumped up, a glint in his eyes, ready to chase down his baby brother. Sam yelled and took off, monster truck left upturned on the sofa. For a few minutes the cramped motel room seemed bigger and less boring and the heat didn’t really bother them as they ran over clothes, books, toys and shoes scattered on the stained grey carpet.
Dean closed in on him and got a fistful of Sam’s shirt before Sam slipped free again, suddenly speeding up. Dean made another grab for Sam but the boy ducked and ran towards the door, throwing it open and running outside.
Dean shook his head, his ten-year-old body winded. His hands were on his knees as he tried to catch his breath when he realized that Sam had run off into the parking lot barefoot. Dean grabbed his shoes and rushed outside, expecting to see Sam standing in the shade of the lone tree smackdab in the middle of the parking lot but nobody was there.
His eyes grew wide and panic took less than three seconds to kick in. Before he knew it, Dean was pounding across the gravel and to the opposite corridor. He checked behind every pillar and vacant room, trying to keep his vision from blurring from the tears he could already feel piling up. Dean pushed through the glass doors and up to Reception, he stood up on his toes, “Hi?”
The old man lowered the newspaper from his face and eyed Dean wearily, “Yes?”
“My brother – Sam. Have you seen him? I was chasin’ him around the room but he ran out and I can’t find him – Have you seen Sam?” Dean felt a stab of anger at himself, his voice betrayed him and shook with every word that left him.
“You talkin’ bout the chubby little kid … brown hair? Always in his eyes … needs a damn haircut … bright, happy lookin’ kid?”
“Yes! Yes, him!”
“He’s right behind you, son.”
Dean turned around immediately and found a timid looking Sam staring at him. His hazel eyes showed that he had seen Dean panic and knew that they weren’t playing a game anymore. Dean dropped Sam’s shoes in front of him and waited for him to put them on.
Sam always put the wrong foot in the wrong shoe and it took him several tries to get it right. Dean could feel Sam getting flustered and embarrassed at his repeated failure so he bent down and put his shoes on for him, perhaps too harshly.
Sam let out a weak “Ow.”
Dean grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back to the room, slamming the door once they were inside. Dean kicked off his shoes and let go of Sam, making his way to the bed and turning his back to Sam once he got in.
Sam stood there in the middle of the motel room for a while, wondering about whether or not he should tell his big brother about the burns on his feet when he ran out onto scorching hot gravel of the parking lot.
“De?” Sam called out to him from where he stood, “I burned my foots.”
Sam tried to hide his smile when Dean sat up with a sigh, “Feet.”
“What?”
“It’s feet. Not foots.” Dean grabbed him and sat him on the bed, getting some water and a washcloth. He gently cleaned both of Sam’s feet and tried to keep a straight face and pretended that Sam’s giggling and squirming wasn’t threatening to pull some laughter out of him too.
“Tickles.” Sam squealed.
“Sit still.”
Dean wiped the feet dry and inspected them closely before getting some gauze and an ointment, “You need to be more careful.”
With both of his feet bandaged, Sam suddenly backed up to the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. His lips jutted out in a pout and he angrily pushed the hair out of his eyes. Sam’s brows were furrowed and he fixed Dean with the deadliest death glare his facial muscles could muster.
Dean covered his mouth with his hand.
“You were so mean to me! We were having fun!” Sam slammed his fist on the bed, “We were having fun and then I was hiding but you came out and got all angry and sad-looking and I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING WRONG! You looked like how Dad looks when he comes back late from work! It was so SCARY, Dean!” Sam continued to punch the mattress, “And then you threw my shoes at me and Mr. Henley SAW! You know I can’t put them on right yet and I-” Sam looked up, a wild glint in his eye, he was going to say the baddest word he knew, “I felt stupid.” He mumbled.
“You what?”
Sam grinned, “STUPID! I FELT STUPID!”
Dean couldn’t keep it in any longer. He laughed.
Sam’s grin faded and he jumped off the bed, stomping away to the furthest corner of the room, whispering ‘ow!’ with every angry step he took. Dean’s gaze followed Sam, and his grin grew wider when Sam assumed his angry-scowl-with-hands-folded-over-his-tiny-chest position.
He waited for a few minutes.
And then he waited a few more.
Sam’s anger usually dissipated quickly, but today he seemed intent on not even looking at Dean.
Dean brushed his hands on his jeans and went to sit across his baby brother.
“Sammy” he cooed.
Sam jerked his head to the side.
“Sammy boy, come on” he poked at his arms
Sam hit Dean’s arms.
“Okay, that was deserved. I’m sorry.”
Sam finally made eye contact.
Dean laughed, “Sammy, I’m sorry I really am … it’s just ... you’re so cute when you’re angry it-”
Sam glared at him. He wasn’t cute.
“Oh right! Sorry! You prefer adorable, right?”
Sam's small fist connected with his shoulder
"Ow! ... you like handsome better?"
Sam nodded slowly and tried to hide his blush.
“Just… umm … try to be madder next time okay? Make it convincing.”
“Comvinsing” Sam nodded.
“Convincing” Dean repeated.
“Yeah, that!”
Dean moved to stand up but Sam tugged him back down, “Wait.”
“What is it, sport?”
“Can we try again?”
“Try what again?”
“I’ll be madder at you! See if it works.” Sam was determined.
Dean nodded solemnly, “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”
Sam straightened up and fixed Dean with a death glare identical to the one he’d given him before. Dean scrunched up his brows and looked to the ground, lip’s forming a pout. He lowered his gaze slowly, trying to look as upset as he possibly could.
They made eye contact.
Sam burst out laughing.
“What?” Dean snapped, defensive.
Sam was on his back, laughing even harder, “Whaaat?” Dean asked, this time, successfully looking offended and convincing Sam that the sound of his laughter was definitely not making Dean's day infinitely brighter and better.
Sam sat back up and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders, “Promise me … you’ll never act.”
He stared at him, slack jawed. His baby brother was sassing him.
Dean glared at him and Sam laughed, “See! From now on … you be angry and I’ll be sad.”
The boys shook hands, “Deal.”
“Twerp.”
“… Stupid.”