School was hard enough when Dean had full use of both arms. Dean struggled to finish his project on Alexander Graham Bell at the kitchen table; trying to keep the books open with his cast while writing as neatly as he could on notebook paper. Hopefully, Mr. Harrington understood that he couldn't make the paper look neat when he couldn't hold the paper still when he wrote on it.
The other kids at school thought Dean's cast was pretty cool. No one really questioned it when he said he broke it on a werewolf hunt. Mr. Harrington even laughed when Dean told him, chalked it up to wild imagination. Dean kind of liked the attention he got from his classmates, how they all wanted to sign his cast and stuff. He'd never really had that before.
Dean never really noticed how much he used his left hand until he couldn't. Opening doors, reading the text books, making dinner for Sammy and Dad, all of a sudden became ten times harder but since it was his fault that his arm was broken there was no use in asking for help. Sam tried to the best he could, but being seven, it was more being in the way than actually helping.
"I can do it Dean!" Sam argued as Dean pushed Sam out of the kitchen while he tried to make spaghetti with one hand. "I've seen you do it a million billion times."
"No," Dean said seriously. "Just get out of my way. You're not helping."
"Dean!" Sam whined, planting his feet on the threshold and pushing his back against his brother as Dean tried to shove him out of the room.
"Knock it off," John groaned from the other room. "Just let Sam help and stop messing around before you break something else. You know he won't stop unless you just let him."
"Fine," Dean huffed, stepping back quickly so Sam stumbled backward and almost fell over. "Just fill the pot with water and stick it on the stove. Then get out of the way."
"No," Sam said shaking his head. "I can stir it and everything. I can do it. I bet I'll be really good at cooking. I watched you do it. If you can do it, it can't be too hard."
"Thanks, jerkface," Dean said rolling his eyes.
"No, if you can do it with one arm it can't be that hard," Sam corrected. "Not that it wasn't hard cuz you're stupid or nothing."
"If you want to help, you'll stop talking," Dean sighed.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said softly. "I didn't mean to be mean to you."
"Whatever just get the pots so we can do this," Dean grumbled.
"Okay," Sam nodded climbing into the cabinet to find the pots they'd been using for spaghetti while they lived in that apartment.
Dean stood back and watching Sam climb up onto the counter to get the boxes Angel Hair pasta out of the cabinet.
"How was you gonna break this in half to fit in the pot with one hand?" Sam asked seriously as he tossed the boxes across to Dean before hopping down.
"I've managed before," Dean answered.
"Nuh-huh," Sam snorted. "We've been having elbows or spiral macaroni since you broke your arm. You don't gotta break that in half."
"Then we woulda had one of those for dinner," Dean mocked.
"We don't have anymore," Sam said sticking out his tongue. "We only gots this and the gross noddley soup things."
"Whatever," Dean sighed. "Just put it in the water so you can get out of the way and let me finish so you don't hurt yourself."
"Dean," John called from the other room. "Come here a minute."
Dean turned on his heels and walked over to his dad who was sitting in front of the TV in the living room, leaning on to the coffee table writing in his journal.
"Yes, sir?"
"Why wouldn't you let Sammy help?" John asked dropping his pen down on the page he was writing.
"Cuz it's my job to make dinner," Dean answered. "You asked me to do it. So I was doing it."
"What's the harm in getting some help?" John said. "You only got one arm. Sammy's just trying to help, Buddy. He's being nice."
"I don't need help," Dean said irritably, looking at the floor. "I've been doing just fine without Sammy being in the way. He's taking over and climbing on everything. He can't even reach the stove all the way. He has to stand on a chair."
"Dean," John said softly, pressing his thumb under Dean's chin to make the boy look at him. "You have one arm. Just let Sam do it, supervise to make sure he doesn't catch himself on fire or burn everything, but let him do it. He'll probably get bored waiting for the water to boil anyway."
"But it's my job," Dean mumbled. "I'm supposta do it."
"It's okay to have help," John said. "You don't have to be so tough."
"But," Dean said shifting weight from one foot to the other. "If you have a job, you don't just let someone else do it."
"No," John smiled. "But sometimes I ask for help, from your Uncle Bobby or somebody else that does the same job as me. You're not not doing it, Buddy. You're just getting help cuz it's hard to do with one hand. It's fine."
Dean exhaled loudly. "Okay I guess. But he's gonna burn it or ruin it."
"Not if you supervising," John smiled. "Go help."
Dean nodded and ran back into the kitchen to watch Sam who had a kitchen chair pressed up against the stove stirring spaghetti. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
"If you stir it too much, it won't cook," Dean said leaning against the stove next to Sam. "You just kinda gotta let it be for a while."
"Okay!" Sam said taking the spoon out and placing it on the stove. "When do you start the sauce? Do we have meatballs? Do you think we can make spaghetti and meatballs?"
"Check the freezer," Dean answered. "If we got 'em you can cook 'em."
"Yes!" Sam said excited, fist pumping into the air jumping from the chair and skipped over the freezer. "We do have some left! Like half a bag. Is that enough?"
Dean nodded, "Bring 'em over, grab another pot for the sauce. I'll open it so you don't cut yourself."
Sam nodded and climbed back into the cabinet for the sauce pot as Dean found the can of sauce in the cabinet. Maybe it wasn't so bad having someone help him. Maybe if Sam liked helping making dinner he could do it all the time. It would be easier, especially until he got his cast off. They did make a good team. His dad was right, it wasn't hurting anything to let Sam help a little bit; kid seemed to be enjoying himself. It was kind fun, actually.
"How do you know when it's ready?" Sam asked as he stirred the meatballs and sauce.
"When you can cut the meatballs with the spoon," Dean answered. "They're, like, pre-cooked so you only gotta warm them up so they're not frozen. So it only takes about ten minutes."
"What about the spaghetti?"
"That's a little harder," Dean replied. "Sometimes you gotta taste it, or you can pull a piece out and throw it at the wall and if it sticks then it's gotta be cooked more, but that wastes a lot, so I just kinda guess usually."
"Can we do the throwing?" Sam asked excitedly.
"In a little bit," Dean said looking down into the pot. "It's not really close yet. It's gets whiter and fluffier when it's close to done."
"Can you teach me how to cook more things?" Sam asked as he put the spoon down on the stove again.
"I don't really know how to cook much," Dean said. "But yeah, if you want."
"I'd like that a lot," Sam nodded. "I like to help. I wanna learn to do all the cool stuff you do to help dad and stuff.
"I guess I can do that then," Dean smiled. "S'long as ya keep doing good in school and stuff. It'll be like a reward. How 'bout that."
"I like it," Sam agreed.
Dean smiled as Sam turned back to making dinner. He decided to set the table since Sam had the cooking under control for a few minutes. When he turned he saw his dad watching them from the doorway, a happy little smile on his face.