Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even waffles.
Author's Note: I'm an older sibling, so that's probably what inspired this. Be kind. It's my first Supernatural fic.
Sam doesn't eat pop tarts. Dean shifts from foot to foot eyeing his brother with a mixture of annoyance and pity as the younger child sits, sobbing.
"Dean," he cries, "you know I don't like pop tarts." Which wasn't true ten minutes ago, but now that their father is out for the night, and it's Dean's job to feed both of them, breakfast prospects seem more dire.
And for goodness sake, he can't even argue with the kid, because it's his job to take care of him. He wonders briefly what mom would do, and then accepts the pang of grief. Mom isn't there. She hasn't been there for five years, and now Dean has to find something his little brother can more than just choke down.
"Well, what would you like?" he asks patiently. Dean is nothing if not patient.
"Snickers," cheers the little brother, and Dean tries hard not to laugh.
"Sammy, we don't have any Snickers." He opens the pantry, and sighs aloud at the prospects. It may not be his dad's fault, but there's nearly nothing there that Sam will eat. He moves to the freezer. "How about waffles?"
There's a moment of silence as Sam contemplates this, and then the little boy nods. "I guess waffles are good."
Dean smiles and puts two in the toaster.
"Dean?"
He glances at the table where Sam is assembling legos. "Yeah?"
"Dean, is Daddy gonna die?"
The words are searching, although it occurs to Dean that his brother probably doesn't even understand the concept. "Come on, Sammy. You know Dad's the best."
The younger boy shrugs. " I know. No one else could get the⦠Um, plathraguest."
"Poltrigiest."
"Right. Wasn't Mommy good too?"
He clears his throat and tries very hard not to think too much about it. "Yeah, Sammy, she was good. But there are some things people don't understand. And Mom didn't understand demons. But Daddy does."
"Which is why he won't die." And this isn't a question-it's been a very long time since Sam has doubted something Dean has told him. After all, it's Dean is who Sam can count on to be honest. It was Dean who explained about the fire demon, Dean who taught Sam to swim, Dean who, when Sam is very scared, ignores their father's direct orders and lets his brother sleep with him. It's Dean who's always there, and Sam has found he can trust that.
The toaster makes a pop sound, and Dean puts the waffles on a plate and brings the syrup Sam likes.
"Dean."
"Sam."
"Dean, am I gonna die?"
Dean doesn't quite know how to respond to that, and once again, he wishes he could field the question to another adult; any adult, really. His throat constricts, and he's suddenly reminded of last Mother's Day, when he found his father curled up in his room, silently sobbing.
"If you do," he replies carefully, "it won't be for a long time."
"How do you know?" Sam takes a bite of his waffle.
"Because Dad and I know how to protect you." Better than we knew how to protect Mom. He doesn't add that part, though.
There's a long bought of silence as Sam finishes his breakfast, and Dean cleans up the legos.
"Are you gonna eat?" Sam asks, taking a drink of his milk.
Dean brushes a lone tear from his cheek. "No, Sammy. I'm not hungry."
Fin.
