Ten-year-old Dean was in a tiny motel kitchen, cartoons playing in the other room as he made mac and cheese. He burned himself on the stove. "Shit," he cursed in his boyish voice. He ran his hands under the cold water, barely noticing half of Sam peeking out from the door frame, his one visible eye fixed on his older brother. "You ok?" asked Sam timidly.
"I'm fine," Dean spat impatiently, nursing the burn. "Go back to your show."
Sam shuffled the foot that Dean could see, finally peeking his entire head out from behind the wall. "I just wanted to make sure" said Sam softly.
Dean sighed, raising his hand up to Sam to show him he was ok. "See?" he said, holding it underneath the light,"No big Deal." He walked up to his little brother, Dean's head barely a foot taller, but his voice was sure.
"You're the little kid, Sammy, it's my job to watch out for you," Dean said, his face serious. Sam nodded, but didn't move to leave.
Dean sighed, then placed his hands on Sam's shoulders, ignoring the sting from his burn. "Sam," he said slowly, "I don't need anybody. Now go watch your cartoons."
Dean's eyes flew open as he woke from his dream. He rolled over grabbing his head with his palms, groaning. He didn't know if it was his sleeping trip down memory lane, or his drinking from the night before, but he had a massive headache. He squinted against the sun's light streaming in from the windows before falling out of bed and making his way to the kitchen.
"'Morning," came Sam's voice and Dean grimaced at the sound, making his way to the medicine cabinet. Cas smiled slightly as Dean walked by and the hunter ran into the side of an open cupboard.
"Damn it, Sam," he said, shutting it loudly.
Sam laughed. "You had too much to drink last night, Dean," he said.
So quickly it could almost be missed, Dean glanced at Cas. "Not nearly enough," he said quietly. Cas scrunched his eyebrows, giving a concerned look. Sam continued cooking, the sound of sizzling bacon permeating the kitchen.
By the end of breakfast and two ibuprofen, Dean seemed to be feeling better. "Whelp," he said, "what's on the schedule for today?"
Sam looked at him, his face showing hesitation. "Grocery shopping," he said, waiting for Dean's bored face. It didn't surface, so he continued. "Look, I know you hate that kind of menial crap, but. . ."
Dean sprung to his feet, quickly. "Sounds good, let's get going," he said, downing his orange juice. When both Sam and Dean gave him confused looks, he replied a little too enthusiastically: "We gotta eat, don't we? Let's get a move on."
Sam shrugged and Cas's face was unreadable. Dean glanced at Cas's messy hair, the back of it touching the collar of Dean's borrowed jacket and T-shirt. He looked away, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. Just keep busy, he thought, tripping a as the group cleared breakfast and made their way to the car.
Once they got there, Dean sat in the driver's seat, letting out a small sigh of relief as Cas sat behind the passenger's seat, glad he couldn't see him in the rear view mirror. I don't need anybody, Dean thought, willing himself not to look back at the denim clad angel staring out the window of the back seat of his car.