Disclaimer: To my everlasting despair, I own nothing related to Supernatural.

THE CUPCAKE KID

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Eight-year-old Dean Winchester rolled over in the bed with a sigh and bunched his pillow up under his chin with his hands before stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes. It felt good to be in a nice, fresh-smelling bed and it was doubly nice to be warm, with not one but two soft blankets piled on top of him. That was one of the joys of staying with Uncle Bobby while Dad was away on yet another extended hunt.

He yawned and rubbed his face into the pillow, wiggling a bit to find that perfect position in which to fall asleep again. Dean was just about to drift off when a sudden realization had his eyes snapping open. He didn't hear Sammy's noisy breathing coming from the other twin bed! Alarmed, the young boy swiftly sat up and pushed aside his covers, scrambling to turn on the small lamp on the rickety nightstand separating the two beds.

His heart sank when he realized his fear had come true. Sam's covers had been pushed back into a jumbled mess, the pillow standing on end against the aged headboard. The bed was empty.

Slipping out of bed, Dean grimaced and shivered when his bare feet hit the cold floor. Crossing the room, he opened the door and stepped into the hall, gaze roaming carefully around his environs. Dean moved quietly but quickly to the end of the hall where he peeked into the dark bathroom, enough ambient light from the well-light junkyard outside the house allowing him to see that the tiny room was empty. Turning, he hurried to the staircase, ears attuned to the buzz saw snoring emanating from Bobby's room at the opposite end of the hallway.

As he crept down the stairs, the snoring faded, allowing Dean to listen intently for anything out of the ordinary but all remained quiet except for the usual old house pops and groans and the familiar tick-ticking swoosh the furnace made as it labored to deliver the heated air and hold back winter's bitter chill. A scan of the living room revealed no little four-year-old brother, but thankfully, no suspiciously open doors or windows. Dean noted that all the salt lines remained intact and felt his shoulders drop a little as some of the tension eased.

Still alert, he crossed the room, intent on checking the small den on the other side but his steps slowed when he heard a soft happy humming coming from the kitchen. Dean turned and scurried that direction. Crossing the threshold, he stopped dead and gasped. In the pale yellow light issuing from over the stove, Dean found his little brother seated at the table, little legs kicking merrily back and forth. Before him sat the tray of chocolate cupcakes Bobby had mysteriously baked earlier in the day, which Bobby had ordered them to stay away from because they were 'for a neighbor lady'. Two cupcakes were gone, and Sammy was apparently happily munching away on his third, humming a winsome tune around a mouthful of confection. The four-year-old looked up at Dean and offered him a bright smile, a ring of chocolate circling his mouth, a dollop decorating the tip of his nose, streaks meandering across both cheeks, and finger-sized daubs centered on his forehead.

"Hi, Dee!"

"Oh no, Sammy, what did you do?" groaned Dean hurrying farther into the room. "You know Uncle Bobby told us not to touch those!" He frowned worriedly at the remaining cupcakes, the discarded wrappers, and the copious amount of crumbs in front of, and all over, Sam.

Sam held up a chocolate-covered hand in offering. "Mmmm. Cup-CAKE!"

"I know." Dean surveyed the lopsided individual cakes with multi-colored sprinkles. He knew they were off limits but treats such as this were beyond rare to the Winchesters and Dean's stomach growled just a little with longing. His fingers twitched with want but he held still, turning his attention instead to Sam with a sigh.

"Bobby's gonna be so mad," he muttered glumly, already resigned to some sort of punishment for not watching Sammy closer and keeping him out of trouble. He moved toward the sink intending to wet a washcloth and begin the chore of cleaning up one very messy brother. He'd only taken a step or two when the overhead light was snapped on. Dean froze.

"What in tarnation is going on down here at two o'clock on the morning?" Bobby growled. He stood in the doorway in an old t-shirt and his boxers, a ratty robe partially hanging from on shoulder, its belt trailing on the floor. The grizzled hunter looked odd without his ever-present trucker's cap.

Instinct had Dean placing himself firmly between his little brother and the older man. He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Uncle Bobby. It's my fault Sammy got into your cupcakes. Don't be mad at him."

Sam peeked around Dean, an apprehensive look settling on his chocolate-painted face.

"Well, I'll be…" Bobby sighed and ran his hands through his mussed hair.

"You can't punish him, Uncle Bobby. He's just a little kid. He didn't mean to do anything bad. I swear."

"Boy…"

Bobby stepped farther into the room and Dean tensed, stumbling back a couple of steps to be closer to his sibling.

"I won't let you hurt him."

"Relax, ya idjit. I ain't plannin' on hurtin' nobody."

Still on alert, Dean watched Bobby march up to the table and count the cupcakes while eyeballing the mess Sam's late night snacking had made.

"Three of 'em, huh? That's a lotta cupcake for such a little squirt." Bobby grabbed a washcloth and wet it at the sink before making his way over to Sammy. "But from the looks of ya, ya got more on you than in you." The hunter began to wipe Sam's face. "Much more an' I'd have ta take ya outside in the yard and hose ya down," he joked.

Wary, Dean offered, "He's really sorry. Right, Sam?"

"Right!" Sam giggled as the washcloth passed over his forehead and into his hair, which sported a few streamers of chocolate frosting amongst the curls.

"I hope the neighbor lady isn't too mad about the cupcakes, Uncle Bobby." Dean shuffled anxiously from foot-to-foot.

Straightening up from the wiggly four-year-old, Bobby tossed the dirty washcloth in the sink. He scratched at his chin. "Well now, young man, I've got a confession to make. Ya see, those cupcakes weren't for the neighbor lady, Dean. They were for you."

"Me?"

"They were for your birthday."

Dean frowned in confusion. "But it's not my birthday."

"I know that, ya idjit." Bobby rolled his eyes. "I know it's a few weeks away yet. But I thought you and me and that little scamp of a brother of yours could celebrate it a bit early. You know, since you're here and all. Was gonna go get a tub of ice cream tomorrow—well, today now—and have the cupcakes and ice cream after dinner."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Whatdaya take me for—a darn liar? But since your brother has already dug in and spoiled the surprise, would you like one now with a glass of milk?"

Dean's eyes lit up. "Yes! You think maybe I can have two?"

"Sure, you can have two." Bobby leaned down and poked at Sam's belly. "But not three, three's too many."

Sam looked up, wide-eyed and oh-so-innocent. "Milk?"

Bobby shook his head, chuckled, and grabbed three glasses from the cupboard. "I think I'll have a couple myself."

Having made quick work of his two chocolate cupcakes, Dean finished the last of his milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Uncle Bobby?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Can we still have ice cream after dinner tonight?" Dean's voice quavered with hope. "With the rest of the cupcakes?"

"I'll think about it," Bobby muttered, knowing full well he'd never say no. He swallowed the remainder of his own milk. "Now, how about both ya idjits go on back to bed. I'm thinkin' we all need some more sleep." He cocked his head and looked at Sammy whose eyes were drooping shut.

Dean acquiesced and slid off the chair then helped a sleepy Sammy down. He held the younger boy's hand and led him upstairs, tucking him in when they got back to their room. Having done that, Dean crawled back into his own bed and quickly turned on his stomach. Before he could wiggle into comfortable bliss, he heard a little voice.

"Deanie?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"My tummy hurts."

Dean rolled on his side. "You wanna come over here with me?"

"Yes."

"Okay, c'mon. Bring your pillow." Dean held up his blankets and waited for the four-year-old to settle in. "Better?"

"Yes."

Dean sighed, burying his face into his pillow, enjoying the dryer sheet scent now accompanied by a whiff of baby shampoo from his brother's hair.

"G'night, Sammy."

"'night, Dee."

Silence quickly descended, save for the soft even breathing of the two Winchester boys. The furnace kicked on with a disgruntled groan before smoothing to a steady tick-tick-ticking swoosh as it labored to deliver the heated air and hold back winter's bitter chill.

FIN