Prompt: The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and de-aged Dean or wee Dean or maybe kitten Dean (idek) gets stuck in a treeeee. There are tears.
A/N: This is just a little drabble, and it's all schmoop, but as I know schmoop has some fans out there, I'll just go ahead and put it up anyway. 8)
Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me, and I'm not making any money on this. Obviously.
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Cow-urd
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There is only one tree in the parking lot. One tree and two bushes, with the soil around them stamped hard into the ground by hundreds of little feet staying in the motel just across the lot over the years. The branches are worn smooth by grubby hands. Only the top ones have got leaves and, for a little while in the autumn, plums. The yellow, slightly sour kind.
There are no plums yet, but the ground is soft with little white petals, scrunched into the hard packed ground.
Four boys run away from the tree, one of them is missing his front teeth. They're laughing uproariously, looking at each other as the wind ruffles their hair and sneakers slap against the asphalt.
He hadn't meant to go so high. Or, he had, but it had seemed a much, much better idea at the time, and to be honest he'd been in a bit of a hissy fit. Marcus, the biggest one who's got the little scar on his cheek and chews his gum for days at a time and sleeps with it stuck behind his ear (he does too! Dean's seen it) said that little kids couldn't climb, and even though Dean knows his legs are too short still and that even though he can run faster this summer than he did last summer it's still not fast enough to keep up with the big boys he couldn't help it, because he said Dean was a coward.
And then they climbed really high and then Dean sort of followed, and it was much, much easier to go up than it is to go down. He can't really see the next step down, and every time he tries his sweaty hands lose their grip on the smooth bark of the tree and it's like he's falling.
He'll be stuck there forever, and he'll never get to go down and eat ice cream with Big-Sammy who's out for five minutes and then I'll be right back, all right, Dean? He'll have to live up here and never, ever have ice cream again and he needs to pee. Right now.
He settles himself with his upper body leaning against the trunk, legs dangling over to branches only just thick enough to hold his weight. There's a marble in his right pocket, and it digs uncomfortably into his thigh when he moves, because the shorts he's wearing are slightly too small, but they're all Sam could find last night, and..
Dean holds out for a very long time, because he's very brave, but the moment Sam steps out of the Impala and lays eyes on him it's too much. His chin wobbles dangerously, and then big, fat crocodile tears are running down his cheeks. And really, he's entitled to a few tears, because he was tricked up into a tree and now he can't get down, and everything's stupid.
His chest heaves with loud, wrenching sobs only young children manage properly, and his breath hitches in between sobs like he can't really get enough air in. Daddy says you shouldn't climb trees if you don't know how to get down, and this is the biggest and stupidest thing he's ever done, and Sammy's gonna be really mad!
Sam's hands are large and slightly sweaty against a tiny midriff as Dean's t-shirt glides up. His fingers barely reach the red cotton before they slip down, unable to keep his balance while standing on his tip-toes.
"You all right, kiddo? Can you get down?"
Dean's head shakes golden-blonde waves into his face and his eyes, and little hairs get stuck in the tear tracks on his cheeks.
"Marcus 'n the odders said that little kids can't climb 'n den I got stuck, Sammy!"
His squeaky voice carries a mix of blame and hope that Sam will believe that it really wasn't his fault he got tricked. He didn't have a choice, after all!
By the time he's finished the sentence Sam has settled long feet into nooks and corners made up by the lowest branches, and he's high enough up to wrap one firm, tan arm around Dean's pale stomach. There's a squeak from Dean as Sam pulls to make him let go and fall back against his chest, but the kid is stronger than he looks.
He holds onto the tree like a little monkey.
"Dun wanna fall down, Sammy!"
"It's okay, Dean. You wont fall. I promise, all right? Now come on."
But tiny, sweaty hands have a better grip on the tree than Sam had expected, and somehow wrenching him loose doesn't seem like quite the right way to handle it.
"You wont fall. I've gotcha. Okay?"
And those seem to be the magical words. Big hazel eyes look up at him, teary eyed and red rimmed in a filthy little face with pudgy cheeks, and Sam thinks his brother must be related to a chipmunk or something, because seriously. Seriously.
He's got two clammy arms wrapped so tightly around his neck he can hardly breathe just few moments later, heaving sobs leaving damp snot marks on his sweaty t-shirt, and holy fuck it's disgusting, but it's oddly satisfying at the same time, kinda.
He rubs the little back tentatively, but it seems to be doing some good, so he keeps it up.
"It's okay, Dean. It happens. You want some ice-cream, huh? And I've got you turtles-shorts. How about those? You want to go try them on?"
He expects shouts of joy and tiny, pumped fists in the air, but he gets a tentative nod from the clingy figure on his hip instead. Dean twists sideways to watch where they're going, two fingers stuck firmly in his mouth. There are tear tracks on his face and his fingers are absolutely filthy, and fifteen minutes later he falls asleep still tightly wrapped around Sammy with a belly full of strawberry ice cream and a face still sticky from a disgusting wet wipe.
As Winchester summer holidays go, it's not the worst they've had.
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