Title: Hamster Dance
Author: neitherxnory
Rating: K+
Characters: wee!Sam, teen!Dean, John
Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to Supernatural or the boys.
Warnings: a little Dean-whump
Word Count: 1465
Summary: Basically, the wee!chesters get in a fight over Red Vines. Sammy wins. Sorta.
Prompt from the hoodie_time hurt/comfort challenge meme: Gen. Wee!Chesters. Sam and Dean are walking home from school or the store or whatever. They start goofing around the way brothers do and Dean gets hurt. Bonus if he's embarrassed that his little brother whipped him (even if it was an accident).
Friday, Sammy Winchester decided, was a good day in Middle of Nowhere, Vermont. The nine-year-old was outside, the sun was shining, and there was no school for two whole days. Better yet, Dad was home for a change, and with three people living inside it their dumpy apartment was taking on the comforting tone of barely-controlled chaos. Sammy and Dean had survived alone for a week without burning the place down or causing a catastrophe of any notable size, so Dad was rewarding them (get you two out of my hair for twenty minutes) with three bucks to spend at the gas station.
From the second the cash hit Dean's outstretched hand it had been a mad rush to the door, down the concrete stairs and across two vacant lots to the rinky-dink convenience store. Not even the clerk's disapproving gaze could burst the boys' bubble as they raced down the claustrophobic aisle towards their prize. And there, in the back of the store, lived the Red Vines. Ropey, artificially dyed and pretty much the only foodstuff the boys ever agreed on. Three dollars would get them two big packs and change left over for cafeteria dessert on Monday (if they didn't manage to spend it first.) Life was good.
Except that Dean was being infuriatingly Not Nice. Sammy knew he was short… but he was only nine, after all. Was it his fault that Dean was always going to be four years older and four inches taller than him? (Even when you're, like, fifty, dude.) Dean, enjoying his "big brother privilege," took it upon himself to rub Sammy's nose in it on a fairly regular basis. Dean was skinnier, frecklier, faster and, most importantly, had longer arms. Longer arms that were currently holding Sam's pack of Red Vines waaay over Dean's head.
"Looks like I'm eating good tonight, Sammy boy!" the thirteen-year-old crowed as he shook the package a good five inches out of Sam's reach.
"Dean! I'm serious! Give them baaack!" Sammy whined, kicking agitatedly at the curb as Dean danced out of reach on the sidewalk. "I'll make you give them back!"
"I'd like to see you try, midget," Dean chuckled, scrunching up his freckled nose like Sammy had told the funniest joke in the world.
"They're little people, you big meanie!" Sam cried in frustration, jumping for the candy as his brother playfully batted him away with one hand. Sam huffed loudly as Dean laughed , taunting the younger boy as they circled each other on the cement. Finally fed up, Sammy frowned mightily, stepped back and socked his brother in the stomach as hard as he could.
Alright, so maybe Sammy was a whole lot stronger than he'd thought, because even as Dean laughed at the wimpy hit he stumbled back a step or two.
Right off the curb.
The smile fell off Dean's face like it had been greased, and there was a second or two where Sammy laughed at the funny windmill dance that his brother did in midair. And then Dean was down on the ground, blinking like a kicked puppy. Sammy cackled, feeling like the king of the world as he scooped both packages of Red Vines off the road where Dean had tossed them.
When turned back to Dean, ready to flaunt his quarry, his big brother looked less like a puppy and more like the class hamster, curled up in a ball on the empty street and making little noises like something was hurting. Suddenly the Red Vines and his Hulk strength seemed a lot less cool, and Sammy scurried over to the older boy.
"Dean? Dean, you ok?" he asked, feeling suddenly guilty and a little bit sick. Dean, however, rolled over so he was looking up at Sammy and smiled.
"Dude," he said, sounding a little less loud and a lot less happy than he had a minute ago, "you totally fell for that one!" Sam sputtered, crossing his arms and stomping his foot in a fit of justifiable rage.
"I can't believe you, you meanie!" he yelled, turning away from his slippery, no-good brother and stomping back towards the apartment building.
"Sammy, wait up!" Dean pleaded, but the younger boy didn't turn around. He heard Dean scuffling around on the street, and something that could have been a moan as the blonde got to his feet. Any minute now Dean would come up behind him and mess with his hair, smug in his successful trick. And Sammy did not want to deal with that.
But Dean never caught up with him, and as Sammy reached the concrete steps up to their unit, he reluctantly stood and waited for Dean. Dean who was still fighting through the tall grass of the lot across the way, walking funny and looking almost… like he was going to hurl?
"Thanks, short-stuff," the older boy panted as he finally caught up to Sammy. He stopped and panted breathily for a minute, looking up at the stairs like they were Mount Everest (the world's biggest mountain and Sam was so going to climb some day.) Dean was sweaty, too, which was weird for early October in Vermont. Sam, still wary, went out on a limb.
"Are you okay, Dean? For real?"
"Dude, I'm always ok. What, did you think my baby brother could do anything to me?" Dean chuckled, but it sounded funny. Sammy gave up.
"Fine. Sorry for caring," he bit out before racing up the steps two at a time. Down the walkway and through the door before Dean had even reached the top step; Sammy felt righteous and victorious all at once. Dad looked up from the paper when the door banged open, frowning as Sam barged into the apartment on his own.
"Where's Dean?" He asked gruffly, rubbing at his forehead and undoubtedly wishing for five more minutes of peace.
"Slow. And mean!" Sammy exclaimed, flopping down on the couch and victoriously opening both packages of Red Vines. Dean finally appeared in the open doorway, panting again. He shut the door, shuffled over to the couch and flopped down next to his brother.
"Alright, Deano, what gives?" Dad asked, putting the paper firmly down on the table and frowning at Dean now. Dean said nothing, but curled into the couch a little like he was cold and sleepy all at the same time.
"Dean?" Sammy asked, poking his brother in the ribs and just waiting for Dean to fess up to his mean trick. Dad, on the other hand, looked less amused and more…. Worried?
"Sammy, go wash your hands before you eat that sugary crap," Dad said, standing up from the table and walking towards the couch. When the smaller boy hesitated, wanting to see Dean get told off, his father gave him a little swat and sent him on his way. Huffing, Sammy stomped to the little bathroom, but stopped just inside to eavesdrop a little.
"Deano?" Dad was speaking softer now, kneeling by Dean's knees. "What on earth have you done now?" Dean sniffled something that could have been a whimper or could have been "fell."
"Your arm?" their father asked, reaching for the hand that Dean had tucked against his body the whole way home. "Let me see... uh huh." Sammy couldn't see much with the couch in the way, but he saw the way the unbalanced furniture rocked when Dean flinched bodily away from the probing fingers.
"Sorry, dude," Dad said, gently putting Dean's arm back in his lap and rocking back on his heels. "That's one hell of a broken arm. It's ER time." Dean whined, and Sammy thought he looked like a hamster again, just like he had for thirty unguarded seconds on the street.
"Sammy, get your things buddy!" Dad called, heading for the big heap of shoes next to the apartment's door. "We're taking your mean old brother to the doctor. Bring one of your books, ok?" Sammy, still frozen in the doorway, ducked his head and scuttled into their bedroom without looking at Dean once.
Saturday morning was much quieter than Friday evening had been. Sammy was just kind of awake, sleepily watching cartoons on the TV that Dad had moved into the bedroom for Dean. His brother was sleeping again, curled up like a hamster with his bright green cast propped up on every pillow Sammy could scavenge from around the house. But Saturday Dean wasn't curled up on the street or alone on a couch or even in a bright hospital cubicle. Dean was curled up around Sammy, snuffling occasionally like a drowsy, happy hamster.
And if both packages of Red Vines were laying next to Dean's meds on the nightstand, there was no one to call Sammy out on it.