Dean practically hammered his fists into Sam's shoulders, awakening him from possibly the best slumber in years. Sam tossed his head lethargically and ran his wrists over his eyes, blinking hard at the familiar figure towering over him. "Dean?" he slurred. "What's going on, is someone here?" He hastily tossed beneath his sheets to grab his switchblade under his pillow.
Dean reassured him by smoothing his flannel from where his fingers had dug into. "No, no, it's not that," he said in a loud whisper, "its just..."
"What?" he yawned.
Dean laughed nervously. "Nevermind."
Sam tossed his sheets aside, sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Now that I'm awake you might as well tell me," he retorted in sheer annoyance. His brown eyes were inevitable, especially when the moonlight spilled through the curtains, emanating the golden rings.
"Sammy," he began, grinning widely as he pulled out a glove and ball from under his bed, "you wanna play some ball?"
"Are you in a stupor?" he asked incredulously, searching Dean's jade eyes.
Dean furrowed his brows, his eyes falling to the ground. "I thought you'd wanna play baseball."
Sam let out an exasperated sigh and shifted to the nightstand. "At twelve in the morning? Besides, when have I ever liked sports?"
"Just get out of bed," he muttered, "I promise I won't ask you for anything ever again," he added as a convincing sidenote.

Sam moaned as Dean tossed him a glove and headed out front. "Oh yeah, that'll last long."

"Bitch."
"Jerk."

The one good thing about living in an isolated area was no one could see you for miles around.
Sam would have been screwed coming to the realization that he was only dressed from his waist up. Knowing Dean, it was probably his full intention to out his brother. However, to his surprise, he didn't bring it up. He merely handed him a a wooden bat and acted as pitcher, winding the ball and releasing it in one solid motion. Sam decided to play along, smashing his foot into the ground tauntingly and swinging his bat in a small circular motion. First pitch and Sam struck out. "Sammy, you're gonna have to try harder than that." Second pitch was no different. "Stop swinging like a girl." Third pitch, Sam swung again only this time, the ball cracked off the bat and soared through the air. Dean nearly stumbled backward attempting to catch it. Though there were no real bases, Sam ran past three large oak trees, his velocity gaining as he tapped the second and ran back to what served as home base. Sam threw his arms in the air, declaring a soundless victory. Dean collapsed from what seemed like acres away into the wet grassland, an invisible white flag blowing in the wind. Sam chuckled before jogging to his brother; he always hated sore losers and he wasn't about to be one. He extended his arm as a balance for Dean to grab onto. Dean laid there for a minute, absorbing the galaxy above him before grabbing onto the ginormous hand and positioning himself upright though having slight difficulties. Sam used his other arm to steady him.
"Are you okay?"
"I think I broke my ankle," he grunted, attempting to walk but fumbling forward. Sam wrapped his arm around his shoulder, advising him to sling his. "I'm fine, I've had worse," he insisted.
"Dean, we need to get you to a hospital-"
"Sam, I'm fine," he repeated. Sam had craned his head, wondering why he was being so stubborn (and how he'd gotten on the other side of the fence).
Truth was Dean was smiling through the pain, happy that he gave Sam a piece of childhood he never had the luxury of enjoying.