Author's Note: Sammy's probably about 11 here, so that makes Dean 15. Blame John on painkillers if you must.
Dude, Where's My Pie?
Sammy returns from his lunch run with three plastic bags. He hands one to Dad (who's resting up with a broken leg), one to Dean (who's resting up with a mild concussion), and takes the last one over to the table in the corner since both beds are filled.
Dad's the first to open his bag. He balances the ready-made sandwich on his cast and puts the can of soda on the bedside table next to his knife. He peers into the empty bag, frowning, before looking up at Sammy with a kicked puppy expression.
"You got that pie I asked you for, right, Sammy?"
Sammy strikes his own forehead. "Uh... I forgot..." he replies, and when he meets his dad's gaze the disappointment is crystal clear in his eyes. "Sorry, sir," he adds, mumbling.
With a sigh Dad turns his head to watch Dean unpack his bag. "You got me pie, didn't ya, Sammy," Dean asks no one, tone doing nothing to mask the denial, "'cause I'm your favourite." He lifts out the sandwich and the soda and his face falls as the hope dies and he shakes the empty bag.
"Oops," Sammy says, looking sheepish.
"Damn it, Sammy!"
THE END