Sammy is tired, and annoyed, and angry.
He doesn't like this place. He doesn't have his high chair, and he doesn't have his crib. Daddy and Dean and he keep moving around to new places with strange smells and creaky beds, and he doesn't like it at all. He doesn't like all the time they spend in the car too, with Sammy strapped to the car seat, all hot and itchy and unable to move around, and with no Dean, because Dean sits in the front with Daddy.
"No!" Sammy declares stoutly, banging his spoon on the table. He doesn't want the mushy thing in the bowl that Daddy is making him eat. He wants chocolate! He cannot pronounce it all that well, but he loves eating it – it's all sweet and tasty. He loves sucking on it, because Dean's told him he's only supposed to suck on it and not swallow it whole or it'll get stuck in his throat and hurt him. He knows Daddy has a big bar of chocolate in his jacket pocket; Sammy saw Daddy buy it in the afternoon when they stopped at some strange place where Daddy and Dean ate burgers that Dean seemed to love, while Sammy only had to drink yucky milk.
"Sammy," sighs Daddy; he sounds like he's annoyed. "You have to eat this. Enough of all the tantrums now."
"No, no, no!" shouts Sammy. He points straight at Daddy's pocket, where he knows he's hidden the bar of chocolate, all sweet and delicious.
"No," says Daddy firmly. "No chocolate until you finish your oatmeal."
"NO!" yells Sammy, throwing the spoon away. He doesn't want the yucky oatmeal. He wants chocolate, and then he wants to go to sleep in his crib, not on the creaky bed next to Daddy. He wants his own crib, where he wakes up in the morning and finds Dean on one side of him, curled around him, keeping Sammy warm, while Dean's fluffy rabbit with the long ears lies on his other side.
"Sammy, no throwing things!" says Daddy sternly, taking another spoon and putting it in the bowl.
"Don't want!" says Sammy stubbornly.
"Sammy, finish your oatmeal, and then you can have the chocolate. Come on, I'll feed you."
"NO!" screams Sammy. He pushes the bowl away furiously, watching it careen towards the edge of the table, hoping it falls off, but Daddy catches it before it can fall, and plops it back on the table in front of Sammy.
"Enough, Sam!" says Daddy; his eyes are large and he's standing up now, staring down at Sammy.
Sammy feels tears pricking at his eyes. Daddy calls him Sam only when he's angry with him.
"Dean!" whines Sammy, turning to Dean who's sitting there silently, staring at Daddy and then at Sammy again. He knows Dean doesn't like to see him cry. He knows that because Dean says that Sammy's real smart. He knows that if he scrunches up his face and wails a little, Dean always gives in to everything he says.
"Pwease, Dean!" says Sammy, feeling the tears fall down his cheeks. "I don't wanna eat this! I want the—"
"Sammy, I told you," says Daddy, "No chocolate until you finish your oatmeal. Open your mouth now, come on."
"Dad, he doesn't want to eat the oatmeal," says Dean, his hand reaching out to Sammy, but Daddy gently pushes Dean's hand away from him.
"He's hungry," says Dean, "and he only drank milk in the café—maybe he can just eat the chocolate today—"
"No, Dean," says Daddy firmly. "Sam's old enough now, and we've been spoiling him a lot. It's time he learns to take a no, and do what he's told to. Now, Sam, open your mouth, you're going to finish your dinner and then go to bed. No chocolate for you today because you're being a very bad boy."
Daddy holds both of Sammy's hands together, so that he can't push the spoon away like he usually does, and then he tries to put the spoon into Sammy's mouth.
"No—" Sammy tries to shout, but Daddy is smart too, and when Sammy opens his mouth to shout the no, Daddy puts the spoon with the yucky oatmeal right into his mouth.
"NO!" Sammy sputters and coughs and then spits it out, sniggering when he sees that he's sprayed it all over Daddy's jacket. He looks at Dean, hoping Dean is laughing too, but Dean is all quiet and wide-eyed.
"Sam Winchester!" shouts Daddy. "No spitting out your food! How many times have I told you that!"
Daddy's standing over him now, eyes big and angry-looking, and Sammy's suddenly scared. His lip starts to tremble, and there's a large lump in his throat, and then Sammy's crying, loudly, noisily.
"Dad, he's crying!" says Dean. He gets off his chair and comes to Sammy, wiping off his tears with his hands.
"Let him cry," says Daddy. "He's growing up now, and he needs to be a big boy. We can't give in to everything he says every time he starts crying. I'll go clean this up." Daddy takes off his jacket. "You finish your dinner and go to bed. I'll handle Sam."
Daddy walks away as Sammy keeps crying. He doesn't want Daddy to be mad at him, but he doesn't want to eat his dinner. He doesn't like how it tastes, and he's tired, and he's hungry, and he's sleepy too.
"Dee!" he cries in between his sobs. He knows he's supposed to call Dean Dean, but sometimes, Sammy wants to call him Dee like he used to when he was little… like now, when Dean drags his own chair close to Sammy's, and rubs his hand on his back and holds him oh so close, until his sobs only turn into soft sniffles.
"Daddy's not mad at you, Sammy," says Dean quietly. "Daddy's just sad because he's missing Mommy, and because he was talking to somebody in the phone booth in the afternoon, and then he got angry at the man. He's not angry at you, alright, Sammy?"
That makes Sammy feel a bit better, but he still is hungry, and not for the stupid oatmeal.
"Look, if you finish this, I'll tell Dad to take us to the park tomorrow. The one we went to when we were here last month, do you remember?" says Dean.
Sammy doesn't remember it, not really.
"We both sat on the swings together, and we ate the cotton candy after that, remember? It was all pink and sweet," says Dean.
Sammy smiles now. He does remember that. He does want to eat the cotton candy again, and then go to the park and sit on the swings with Dean.
"And there were all the airplanes in the sky every now and then, remember?" says Dean, "They were going zoom, zoom, zoom!"
Dean has a spoon in his hand, and he's moving it high up above Sammy's head, making funny noises and swinging the spoon around, making Sammy laugh.
"You have to catch the plane, Sammy!" exclaims Dean. "Come on, open your mouth, and catch the plane!"
Dean's hand moves swiftly, zooming and zooming as he makes loud airplane noises, Sammy opens his mouth, trying to catch the plane, Dean taking his hand away every time Sammy gets close to the spoon, until finally, he finds the spoon in his mouth, reflexively swallowing all the oatmeal.
"Dean!" Sam protests, annoyed that Dean cheated him. He didn't want to have the yucky oatmeal. But despite it, Sammy's still chuckling, because Dean's laughing too – that special laugh which Sammy loves so much, with Dean's eyes all bright and his cheeks all pink and when he's all happy, when he laughs because Sammy's laughing, and Sammy laughs because Dean is.
"Let's see if you can catch the plane again, alright?" says Dean, quickly dipping the spoon into Sammy's bowl and swinging it above him again. "Zoom! Zoo—oom!"
Sammy's smiling and laughing and by the time they're done playing, Sammy's caught the plane a lot many times, and his bowl of oatmeal is all empty.
When he hears Daddy's loud chuckles joining in Dean's laughter, Sammy sees that Daddy's standing there, watching them both.
"Look, Dad, Sammy's finished all his dinner!" exclaims Dean. "You can give him his chocolate now! Sammy's been a good boy!"
Daddy comes over to them. He ruffles Dean's hair and tells him that he's a very good brother, and then lifts Sammy into his arms, wiping his face with a towel, and then kissing his brow.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Sammy," says Daddy quietly.
"Sammy sowwie too, Daddy," says Sammy, chuckling when Daddy kisses his cheek, and his stubble tickles him.
That night, long after Sammy's finally gotten to eat his chocolate and he's tucked into his bed, when Daddy's sitting out in the other room watching TV, Dean slips into Sammy's bed.
"You awake, Sammy?" whispers Dean.
Sammy grins, always so glad when Dean curls his arm around him.
Dean hands him a piece of chocolate. "This is for you."
Sammy's eyes go wide. He knows it's Dean's. Daddy gave one piece to Sammy and one piece to Dean.
"Yours," says Sammy.
"I saved it for you," whispers Dean, giving it to him.
Sammy only sinks his teeth into it, biting into half of the piece. He grabs the other half and puts it into Dean's mouth.
"For you, Dean."
Dean smiles, teeth white in the semi-darkness, eyes so bright. It's the smile Sammy loves – all wide and happy, when Dean looks at him like he likes Sammy more than his toy car and more than the floppy-eared rabbit and more than the burger he had and maybe more than everything.
"Sammy," he says softly, before he puts his arm around Sammy, tugging him close, and kissing his cheek. "Love you, Sammy."
"Wuw you too, Dee."