A long sigh came from the kitchen, and John's trained ear heard it as one of exasperation. He remembered Mary doing the same thing when he gave Dean ice cream before bed.
"Alright in there?" He called. Silence. "Sam." Now it was an order. He heard some shuffling, then:
"I...I can't reach." The last bit was practically mumbled. A few steps led John into the kitchen, and to an amusing sight.
Sam had one leg hooked onto the counter top, which looked like it had taken some effort, and was stretching his free arm toward the top of the fridge. He didn't notice John come in, and opted to bring his previously dangling left leg onto the counter also, in order to stand. His head still didn't touch the ceiling. Finally, chips in hand, he noticed John. A blush crept up his delicate neck.
"Whoever threw these on top of the fridge is a jerk."
"That was you Sam, when you were tall." John had a hard time concealing his bemusement. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Whatever."
"You need to learn to ask for help, Sammy. You're at a disadvantage now, so neither of us will object to helping you out. Lifting stuff, reaching stuff, opening doors, you name it. Chivalry is not dead in this family." Sam huffed, and gracefully hopped down from the counter. Sam being graceful: a miracle.
"I'm not crippled just cause I'm smaller for now. I'll survive till I'm back to normal."
"I know that, Dean and I both do. But you have to face the fact that you're more vulnerable now, and not just because you're a 'petite young lady'. You're unused to this body, your balance is off, your aim is way off, and you're overestimating what you're capable of." John ticked off his fingers, listing Sam's uselessness. "Think you can throw or flip Dean in a sparring match? Think again. You've got two options here: either start learning how to cope with this body, or stay damn well out of the way because face it, Sam, you're a liability."
Sam crossed his arms, chips still in hand. "Why are you acting like this is my fault? I just want to be me again. Girl Sam is no fun. I got cat called going to get a freaking soda and... and I have too much hair, just too much everything I don't want. I mean I have basically zero upper body strength, I'm terrified of getting jumped or something and barely being able to throw a punch! What am I supposed to do then?!"
He looked at his feet; clearly that last part wasn't supposed to come out. John dragged hand through his hair, blowing out.
"I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm saying you need to quit acting like this is no big deal, and decide where your position is in this damn hunt. Geez, Sammy, you think I take a witch targeting you lightly? I don't. I know you want the old you back, we all do." Silence reigned for about three seconds. "And when did you get cat called? What are you talking about?"
Sam idly twirled a strand of chocolaty hair, still looking vaguely at the floor.
"I dunno, I went out for a soda while you and Dean were asleep, and these weird guys were sitting on the hoods of their cars. I guess they were drinking, whatever. They called me slut and stuff, and said...nasty things involving...my...girl parts. Anyway, one of them acted like he was going to come over to me, so I ran inside." Sam leaned against the counter, opening the chip bag, but not eating. John scowled, trying to remember if he had seen any men lurking around their motel room door.
"Well...did you get your soda?"
"No."
"Do you still want one?"
"Not really, no."
"Okay."
Later that day, Sam found a grape soda sitting by his computer. He drank it, even though his favorite flavor was orange.
