I have NO EXCUSE.
Honestly? I am blaming this ALL ON MY GIRLY BITS because jesus - *I* can't even believe I wrote this. You'll completely see why.
Its also kind of sad that I have NO IDEA where to post Gen fic in this fandom. Anyways:
G.I. Joes Need Not Apply
[SPN Gen, 1000 words - (Sam is 4)]
“Dean,” Dad says and Dean goes. A grey shirt with Spiderman on the front is thrust into his hands, Dad turning back to root through the bins some more. “See if this’ll fit him.”
And that’s that.
Dean wanders around the Salvation Army thrift shop, trying to figure where Sammy has gotten to now. He’d kept a diligent eye on his little brother, honest, but Sam could be slippery when he wanted too.
It doesn’t take long. Dean simply peels back hangers of clothes and on his third try, finds Sammy plopped down in the very center of the round, metal rack, obscured by dangling bits of beaded fabric and lace.
“Sammy,” Dean says, his voice a warning. His little brother looks up at him hopefully, eyes shining wide.
“Dean,” he squeals. “You found me!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles. He nods politely to the blonde woman looking down at them with a smile on her face. She maneuvers to the other side of the rack, metal hangers scrapping along in soft rhythm.
“Get outta there,” Dean whispers and reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Sammy’s chubby little wrist. He tugs his brother to his feet and nearly melts into the floor as shame burns his cheeks red-hot. “What are you doing,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Sam’s beaming, a plastic baby doll clutched under his arm. He spins in a slow circle, still a tad unsteady on his feet and the skirt he has hiked over his jeans blossoms out. Dean wants to die.
“I’m a princess,” Sam exclaims, delighted. He holds the doll up in the air for Dean’s inspection. “And this is my baby.”
Dean can do nothing more than sputter. He feels his jaw unhinge and spins away, stalking over to Dad, cotton still bunched tightly in his fist.
“Dad.”
“Hmm,” Dad mumbles. He’s knelt down next to the bins now, small piles of tee shirts and jeans at his side. “If it’s a little too big, that’s alright. He’ll grow into it.”
“Dad,” Dean tries again and his father finally glances his way.
“What, Dean? Where’s Sammy?” His voice gets tight and Dean knows it’s to mask his concern, to keep the unasked question of What did you let happen? at bay. Dean simply shakes his head, clueless as to how to explain.
“I’m right here,” Sam sing-songs. He steps up to Dean’s side, standing straight and proud, perfectly in formation and protocol.
Well, except for the skirt.
It makes Dean feel a little bit better that Dad’s reaction is the same as his own had been. His face goes slack, hands falling to his sides. Beside Dean, Sammy swishes side-to-side.
“Sam,” Dad croaks. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I’m playing, Daddy.” Sam giggles then studies their father, apparently not understanding why everyone keeps asking the obvious. Sam cradles the baby doll closer to his chest, waiting.
Dad just looks from Sam to Dean and back again. He beckons Sam in with a single finger. “Sammy,” he says. The corners of his mouth tilt up a little and Dean feels something inside him unclench. He’s not in trouble then. “Little girls wear skirts and have dolls. Big boys,” and his eyes flicker over to Dean, “Big boys play other games. Don’t you want to be a big boy like Dean?”
Sam tosses a glance over his shoulder and Dean smiles helpfully. His little brother turns back to their father and Dean moves a little closer, sees Sammy gnawing on his lower lip.
“No,” he says. He thrusts the doll up, showing it to their father. “I want to be a big brother like Dean.”
The slight smile on Dad’s face falls instantly and Dean shuffles his feet, drawing closer. He places one hand on Sam’s shoulder; the other goes tentatively on his father’s.
“Sammy,” Dean says and his voice is a near-whisper. He blinks once, twice, pushing the fading image of their mother further back in his mind. He knows Dad is doing the same. Sam just stares at Dean, lips in a pout, eyebrows scrunched together at the sudden silence of their father. “You can’t…you have me. You get a big brother, isn’t that better than a little one?”
“No,” Sam states, forceful and insistent. “I want a baby too. ‘S not fair.”
He pulls the doll back into himself, little arms wrapped tightly around the fabric and plastic. Dean feels Dad stiffen under his palm and sneaks a glance out the corner of his eye. His father’s face slowly reassembles into the confident mask Dean knows and Dean takes a deep breath; draws his hand back. Dad said he was a big boy, so he has to be. He blinks rapidly.
Dad reaches out for Sammy and he rushes into their father’s arms; buries his face against Dad’s neck when he stands up, hefting Sam along with him. Dean can hear the faint pop of joints, remembers Dad with an ice pack pressed to his knee only weeks ago, Dad stumbling in, wincing, the muttered stupid poltergeist. Dean’s hands itch at the thought and he scrubs them against his jeans.
“Tell ya what,” Dean hears and tilts his head up, watching as Dad runs a palm over Sam’s back, soothing. “How about we trade the skirt for the super cool Spiderman shirt and I’ll let you keep the doll?” Sam sniffles against their father’s chest but turns, curious. Dad drops his voice into a consperitory whisper. “Dean picked it out special just for you. How about that?”
Dean holds the shirt up for Sammy to see, his arms suddenly heavy as lead. Sam nods, eyes glistening slightly. He kicks his legs a bit and wriggles, so Dad places a kiss on the top of his head and bends, depositing Sam back on his own two feet. He reaches out for the shirt.
“Can I pick one out for my baby?” he asks and Dean glances up, thinking that Sammy might be pushing it now. Dad just nods, his throat working fast, and turns away.
“C’mon Sammy.” Dean threads his fingers through his little brother’s and Sam goes.
Its also kind of sad that I have NO IDEA where to post Gen fic in this fandom. Anyways:
G.I. Joes Need Not Apply
[SPN Gen, 1000 words - (Sam is 4)]
“Dean,” Dad says and Dean goes. A grey shirt with Spiderman on the front is thrust into his hands, Dad turning back to root through the bins some more. “See if this’ll fit him.”
And that’s that.
Dean wanders around the Salvation Army thrift shop, trying to figure where Sammy has gotten to now. He’d kept a diligent eye on his little brother, honest, but Sam could be slippery when he wanted too.
It doesn’t take long. Dean simply peels back hangers of clothes and on his third try, finds Sammy plopped down in the very center of the round, metal rack, obscured by dangling bits of beaded fabric and lace.
“Sammy,” Dean says, his voice a warning. His little brother looks up at him hopefully, eyes shining wide.
“Dean,” he squeals. “You found me!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles. He nods politely to the blonde woman looking down at them with a smile on her face. She maneuvers to the other side of the rack, metal hangers scrapping along in soft rhythm.
“Get outta there,” Dean whispers and reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Sammy’s chubby little wrist. He tugs his brother to his feet and nearly melts into the floor as shame burns his cheeks red-hot. “What are you doing,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Sam’s beaming, a plastic baby doll clutched under his arm. He spins in a slow circle, still a tad unsteady on his feet and the skirt he has hiked over his jeans blossoms out. Dean wants to die.
“I’m a princess,” Sam exclaims, delighted. He holds the doll up in the air for Dean’s inspection. “And this is my baby.”
Dean can do nothing more than sputter. He feels his jaw unhinge and spins away, stalking over to Dad, cotton still bunched tightly in his fist.
“Dad.”
“Hmm,” Dad mumbles. He’s knelt down next to the bins now, small piles of tee shirts and jeans at his side. “If it’s a little too big, that’s alright. He’ll grow into it.”
“Dad,” Dean tries again and his father finally glances his way.
“What, Dean? Where’s Sammy?” His voice gets tight and Dean knows it’s to mask his concern, to keep the unasked question of What did you let happen? at bay. Dean simply shakes his head, clueless as to how to explain.
“I’m right here,” Sam sing-songs. He steps up to Dean’s side, standing straight and proud, perfectly in formation and protocol.
Well, except for the skirt.
It makes Dean feel a little bit better that Dad’s reaction is the same as his own had been. His face goes slack, hands falling to his sides. Beside Dean, Sammy swishes side-to-side.
“Sam,” Dad croaks. “What exactly are you doing?”
“I’m playing, Daddy.” Sam giggles then studies their father, apparently not understanding why everyone keeps asking the obvious. Sam cradles the baby doll closer to his chest, waiting.
Dad just looks from Sam to Dean and back again. He beckons Sam in with a single finger. “Sammy,” he says. The corners of his mouth tilt up a little and Dean feels something inside him unclench. He’s not in trouble then. “Little girls wear skirts and have dolls. Big boys,” and his eyes flicker over to Dean, “Big boys play other games. Don’t you want to be a big boy like Dean?”
Sam tosses a glance over his shoulder and Dean smiles helpfully. His little brother turns back to their father and Dean moves a little closer, sees Sammy gnawing on his lower lip.
“No,” he says. He thrusts the doll up, showing it to their father. “I want to be a big brother like Dean.”
The slight smile on Dad’s face falls instantly and Dean shuffles his feet, drawing closer. He places one hand on Sam’s shoulder; the other goes tentatively on his father’s.
“Sammy,” Dean says and his voice is a near-whisper. He blinks once, twice, pushing the fading image of their mother further back in his mind. He knows Dad is doing the same. Sam just stares at Dean, lips in a pout, eyebrows scrunched together at the sudden silence of their father. “You can’t…you have me. You get a big brother, isn’t that better than a little one?”
“No,” Sam states, forceful and insistent. “I want a baby too. ‘S not fair.”
He pulls the doll back into himself, little arms wrapped tightly around the fabric and plastic. Dean feels Dad stiffen under his palm and sneaks a glance out the corner of his eye. His father’s face slowly reassembles into the confident mask Dean knows and Dean takes a deep breath; draws his hand back. Dad said he was a big boy, so he has to be. He blinks rapidly.
Dad reaches out for Sammy and he rushes into their father’s arms; buries his face against Dad’s neck when he stands up, hefting Sam along with him. Dean can hear the faint pop of joints, remembers Dad with an ice pack pressed to his knee only weeks ago, Dad stumbling in, wincing, the muttered stupid poltergeist. Dean’s hands itch at the thought and he scrubs them against his jeans.
“Tell ya what,” Dean hears and tilts his head up, watching as Dad runs a palm over Sam’s back, soothing. “How about we trade the skirt for the super cool Spiderman shirt and I’ll let you keep the doll?” Sam sniffles against their father’s chest but turns, curious. Dad drops his voice into a consperitory whisper. “Dean picked it out special just for you. How about that?”
Dean holds the shirt up for Sammy to see, his arms suddenly heavy as lead. Sam nods, eyes glistening slightly. He kicks his legs a bit and wriggles, so Dad places a kiss on the top of his head and bends, depositing Sam back on his own two feet. He reaches out for the shirt.
“Can I pick one out for my baby?” he asks and Dean glances up, thinking that Sammy might be pushing it now. Dad just nods, his throat working fast, and turns away.
“C’mon Sammy.” Dean threads his fingers through his little brother’s and Sam goes.