As the older brother, Dean had a lot of responsibilities that the littlest Winchester would never have. Make sure Sammy gets his bath. Make sure Sammy gets to bed on time. Don't let Sammy drink shampoo or stick his tongue into any outlets. And even before John felt comfortable leaving his boys alone for long periods of time without an adult, it was Dean's job to get Sammy breakfast on those days Dad got an early start hunting, slipping out before the first glow of morning light.
So it was at a young age that Dean learned to put up with the capricious whims of small children.
It was always something with breakfast, something that would start the whining tone in Sam's voice, a voice that when combined with the beginnings of tears threatened the start of a full-blown tantrum.
"No, no I hate eggs! "
"Dean, you burned the toast. It's gross toast now!"
"No, I want Coco Puffs now! Coo coo for coco puffs!"
"I don't like Coco Puffs. I want Lucky Charms! Please!"
"Sandwiches aren't for breakfast, Dean!"
And then there was the nightmare time when Sam refused to eat anything that wasn't covered in whipped cream after an overly enthusiastic waitress filled his entire plate with the sweet confection, throwing in a free cup of hot chocolate covered in the stuff.
Dean hated making Sammy breakfast and while he groused and sighed and yelled, he always gave in, trying his best to prepare a meal his picky brother would accept, with varying results. More often than not, Dean stormed out of the hotel room to escape his brother and the disappointment he felt in not being able to give his little brother what he wanted, punching the button of the vending machine a little harder than necessary to get a soda, thinking of what he dad would say if he came home to Sam kicking the bed and wailing because he hates applesauce, and why can't he just have hashbrowns?
Dean hated making breakfast, unless he had a stove. Then he could make what was sure to be a crowd pleaser, with Sam practically jumping with joy as Dean tilted the pan over the burner, trying to work the batter into animal shapes.
It didn't matter if they were burnt, or misshapen, or if Sam only was eating blue foods that week.
Sam loved pancakes for breakfast. "There ya go, squirt. Eat up."
"Smiley face!" Sam's delighted shriek of laughter at the shapes on his plate filling the small hotel room. "Thank you Dean." Sam didn't even bother using a fork, tearing into the pancakes with his bare hands, while Dean watched as he filled his own plate.
"No problem Sammy."
Dean hated breakfast, unless he could make pancakes; pancakes made him a breakfast hero.
