A/N: Please enjoy the Wee!chesters.
There was a reason why Dean drove.
As a child, he always sat in the back seat with Sam. The kid had been a log, sleeping through anything; the road could have caved in and the boy wouldn't have batted a lash of his eye. Dean, however, felt every turn and every curve of the road. It was unlike the occasional roller coaster Dad would take them on. He could deal with those, though they were not his favorite, but being a stubborn older brother he didn't want to look weak as his little brother rode the big metal death trap, while he stayed safely on the ground, two feet planted.
As of now, Dean's eyes were slammed shut, desperately trying to keep anything from entering his cornea. He'd go blind if he had to, watching always seemed to make it worse. Strong currents of cool air messed with Dean's soft boyish hair. Dad had told him three times to close the window; Dean hadn't listened. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was willing to deal with his father than with is stomach. That thing was a monster, something that should be ripped out of him and stomped until it breathed no more.
Dean felt another strong curve.
Of all the routes to take, Dad took the one through the mountains. Dean glared at the back of the older Winchester's head without opening his eyes. He heard Sam giggle; the glare was turned onto the little beast.
"Deany, you're greeny."
Dean felt it prudent to open his eyes so he could see the pain when he mutilated little Sammy.
"Shut up-"
"Dean, watch your language." Called out from the front, without turning toward the boys. No eye watching, but ears certainly perking, waiting for any indication of subversive behavior.
"Yes, Sir." Dean's eyes were consumed by his lids again as another smooth turn made him lean into the door at his side.
"And close your window." Dean understood which tone he had reached and did as he was told.
Sammy's fingers found their way toward Dean's unprotected stomach, knowing the defenses were down. A sadistic smile played across his face that Dean couldn't see.
Regret followed immediately after his attack. He hadn't really thought it through. The reaction wasn't anything he could have expected, hadn't believed it was possible, though Dean had done it before, just not that often.
Dean taught Sam a lesson in never tickling a defenseless brother while on a curvy mountain road by throwing up on him.
The car swerved so sharply to the side of the road that Sammy felt the door handle enter his kidney. John pulled Dean out before Sam registered the smell exploding in the car. He stared out the open door at the retching back of Dean, whose hands and knees were planted firmly into the pavement, Dad by his side.
It took some time before Dean's stomach ended its war against food. After a couple of false endings, John carefully helped Dean sit cross-legged, back leaning upon the Impala, eyes closed, before getting water for his son. Reaching into the front of the car, John caught sight of Sammy. The boy hadn't moved since they had stopped.
"Sammy," John called lightly, "Sammy boy," he called again. His little boy's eyes snapped to his. "Why don't you get your shirt changed out." Sammy looked down at himself and John nearly grabbed for him thinking he was going to have a repeat showing of a movie he did not want to see, but Sammy swallowed slowly then crawled out of the car door, peeling off his shirt, waiting by the trunk.
John pulled the key from the ignition before handing the water to Dean and only opened the trunk after he made sure the water stayed down.
Sammy watched from the safety of the trunk as Dean passed the uneventful minutes by carefully avoiding his mess upon the asphalt.
"Better?"
Through closed eyes, Dean nodded tightly at his Dad while wiping at his mouth with the whole length of his arm.
Sammy pulled out the plastic bag hidden on the far right of the trunk placing his dirty shirt with a few others in similar condition, mostly blood stained, from the last hunt. Some articles took more time and care than others.
"I'm sorry," he said weakly after finishing with the task of cleaning himself up. From the angle the boy was at, he could only see the legs of his brother, Dean's torso and head was blocked by the Chevy.
"You do that again and I'll make sure all of it hits you."
Sam says nothing, but Dean's quite sure he heard him squeak. After a few minutes of a scared Sammy fidgeting, almost cleaning the stuff within the trunk, John finally starts to ask Dean if he is ready to get up but Dean's already pulling himself up, using the car as leverage, as John musters air for the question. Sam almost flinches.
Turning as he brushes off dirt from his pants, Dean finally catches Sammy's eyes. It only took throwing up on his little brother, but at least Dean knows he won't try what he did again.
Dean's just not sure his Dad learned the lesson about mountain roads.