Wow! Uploading fanfiction? What is this blasphemy?
No really. Hello to anyone that stumbles across this. Here is information on this story that no one cares about.
In Writing Underground, my college's Prose/Poetry Writing Club, we were given a prompt to "verb a noun". My verb was drink and my noun was rocket. Hence, I needed to write a story about how to "Drink a Rocket". That is how this silly idea was formed. Since one cannot actually drink rockets or rocket fuel, I have created a cereal. It is called Rocket Marshes and is almost exactly the same as Lucky Charms, only with little rocket shaped marshmellows. Originally, these were just two random boys, but my brain wouldn't allow that. So it became Sam and Dean, six and ten respectively.
Blah blah, I don't own the characters, blah. If I did, Season 5 would have ended the RIGHT way. Unst.
So yeah. Here. Enjoy your random bout of Weechester.
Sammy stood up on his itty-bitty tip-toes upon a motel kitchen chair, stretching his whole body to reach the sacred box of "Rocket Marsh's" on the top shelf. The six year old's chubby fingers groped around for the handle to the cereal cabinet. If he were but two inches taller…!
From the "living room" of their current home, Dean strode in from watching some ridiculous cartoon, glancing haphazardly at his little brother's plight before heading toward the fridge on his own quest for nourishment.
Pouting hazel hues stared longingly at his brother's taller form, for the umpteenth time wishing for the day to arrive when he'd be that big too. With a sigh, the boy turned back to the task at hand. Asking for help would be too easy—that was a sign of weakness. Big Brother Dean was never weak, and Little Brother Sammy wanted to be just like Big Brother Dean.
Leaning his weight to one side, Sam stood on one foot, extending his person just a bit more…!
Just as his fingers brushed the box, the younger brother lost his balance. There was a sharp yelp as he started to helplessly tumble—before a larger, stronger arm whipped out to steady him. "Y'okay, Sammy?" Dean had saved him again.
Sam's pouty face returned in full force. He didn't like needing help. With a frustrated nod, he used his brother's support to reach much strived for box and pull it down. Assured he wouldn't need any more help, he scuttled across the kitchen, reaching up for a clean bowl—
Yet there were none. Sam stuck out his lower lip, defeated.
Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess Dad didn't do the dishes again…" Sam knew Dad was busy… but he wanted cereal…! But with no bowl, there wasn't any other way. With a sigh, the shorter Winchester drooped his shoulders and started for the snack cabinet instead.
Munching on his lip, Dean watched his little brother mope… but soon snapped a finger up, an idea signaled. "I got it! Go get the milk." Heading over to another group of cabinets instead, dean pulled down two glasses. Sam, now thoroughly curious, did as he was told and rummaged through the refrigerator to retrieve the jug of milk.
On the table, Dean promptly poured out the entire contents of the box. "You only eat the marshmallows anyways, right?" With skill, Dean separated the little vaguely rocket-shaped balls of sugar from the boring corn flakes. Pouring two glasses of milk, the shmallows were gathered up, and large handfuls were dumped into each glass.
Sam watched on, utterly mesmerized by his brother's antics. He had to blink a few times when suddenly one of the glasses was pushed his way. Dean picked his own glass up, making a toasting gesture. "You drink the rockets. No bowls needed."
Childish excitement flooded through Sam's face, eagerly snatching his own concoction and sipping happily. He still didn't like accepting help, but he supposed it was alright every once and a while. Drinking rockets sounded pretty cool.
"Thanks, Dean."