Losing Winner, 1/1, G, RaBB!verse, SPN Gen
Hey! Yeah, I know, it's been awhile since I've posted fic, huh? Well, you're getting a treat: two fics today. Yay?
Title: Losing Winner
Rating: G
Chapter: 1 of 1
Verse: Raising a Big Brother
Fandom: Supernatural Gen
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I write to keep my sanity and muse in line.
Summary: Wee!chesters: Dean's 8 and Sam's 4. Dean's got to finish his homework, but Sam wants to play. Maybe a quick game, like rock, paper, scissors? Of course, Sam's got to win for it to be quick...
Warnings: Schmoop, bigbrother!Dean, happy!brothers. This is your candy intake for the day.
This is dedicated to tahirire, who gave me the prompt: "How come Dean always picks scissors?" And my muse and I looked at each other, and my muse gave me TWO ideas, and I've finally gotten her to write them both. I hope you guys enjoy!
“Dean! Dean!”
Dean glanced up from his homework as Sam hurried into the room as fast as his little feet would take him. “Let's play!” he exclaimed, beaming expectantly.
Dean sighed and glanced at his homework. The stupid stuff had to be done by tomorrow. “I can't, Sammy. I have to finish this up.”
Sam's smile fell. “Oh. Okay,” he said, looking down at his socks. There was a hole in one of them, and Dean started making another shopping list in his head. He was going to have to teach Sam the greatness that was bare feet: he kept sliding in his socks, falling down all over the place, and his running was putting holes in the bottom which meant splinters.
“I can come play in a little bit, I promise,” Dean said, smiling big and bright. It didn't matter: the four year old's face was focused down at the floor, disappointment visible.
“'Kay,” Sam said again, then turned to trudge off.
Dean glared at his homework, then with a quick decision, slammed the book shut and let his pencil fall to the table. “I gotta take a break, though,” he said, sliding off his chair. “We can play something really quick.”
Sam turned back around, surprise and happiness on his face. “Really?”
“Really,” Dean confirmed. “What do you want to play?” Hopefully not hide and seek. The last time they'd played, it hadn't ended well, and there'd been an instituted rule to both of them not to lock doors anymore.
“Rock, paper, skizzors,” Sam declared.
Dean gave him a look. “When did you learn that?”
“Your bus stop,” Sam said, beaming proudly now. “Daddy and I were waitin' for you, and Joey teached me.”
“Taught you,” Dean corrected, his mind thinking. Joey...must be one of the Carone brothers. They were an okay bunch of kids, and they got the whole thing about being brothers. Dean's big brother stance went from high alert to moderate again. “You sure you know how to play?”
Sam nodded vigorously. Quick game, at any rate. Like thirty seconds worth, at the most, and then Dean could get back to his homework AND have played with Sam. Perfect. He held out his left palm, facing up, and put his right hand as a fist on top of it. Sam did the same, and Dean waited, letting the anticipation mount. Then, “One, two, three.”
Sam proudly held out his fist, still as rock. Dean's flat hand of paper reached over and covered Sam's, and Sam made a face. “Go 'gain,” he insisted.
Dean sighed but nodded. “Okay. One, two, three.”
Sam's hand was now flat as a paper, and Dean bit back another sigh. Sam's face fell, and Dean used his scissor fingers to reach out and pretend to snip Sam's hand in two. A brief giggle was his reward, before Sam was biting his lip again. “Go again?” Dean guessed.
Sam nodded, looking determined. Dean had a pretty good idea of how this one was going to end, and it wasn't going to be good. Maybe Sam would do something different then what Dean did. Dean prepped himself, gave out the countdown, and then left his fist as it was.
Two little fingers were split into scissors. Sam bit his lip even harder, and Dean winced. If he didn't do something fast, Sam was going to start crying, and the worst part of it was, Sam didn't cry about every little thing. He'd fallen and scratched up his knee a little the other day, and hadn't said a word. No, the worst part was watching the tears roll down his face, even as he tried to not cry so he could be more grown up.
“One more time,” Dean said, and Sam nodded after a minute. “You do the countdown this time.”
Sam blinked. “Really?” he asked in a tiny voice.
“Really,” Dean said, holding out his fist. “I'm ready whenever you are.”
Sam quickly put his hand into a fist as well. “'Kay. One, two, three!” Sam left his in a fist, as Dean had predicted, and Dean's fingers were waiting with scissors. Sam's eyes widened, a big, wide grin forming on his face. “I won!” he cheered.
“Go again,” Dean encouraged, and prayed Sam would keep to his winning choice. Sam counted down again and stayed true to the rock, and Dean stayed true to the scissors. Sam giggled and reached his fist out to carefully crush Dean's scissors, laughing when Dean pretended to make them groan.
He didn't mind losing, not to Sam. Especially when winning made Sam grin like that. He was losing the game, but scoring pretty big points as a big brother, he figured. That was good enough for him.
“Again!” Sam said, and Dean merely grinned and held out his fist.
~Nebula
Title: Losing Winner
Rating: G
Chapter: 1 of 1
Verse: Raising a Big Brother
Fandom: Supernatural Gen
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I write to keep my sanity and muse in line.
Summary: Wee!chesters: Dean's 8 and Sam's 4. Dean's got to finish his homework, but Sam wants to play. Maybe a quick game, like rock, paper, scissors? Of course, Sam's got to win for it to be quick...
Warnings: Schmoop, bigbrother!Dean, happy!brothers. This is your candy intake for the day.
This is dedicated to tahirire, who gave me the prompt: "How come Dean always picks scissors?" And my muse and I looked at each other, and my muse gave me TWO ideas, and I've finally gotten her to write them both. I hope you guys enjoy!
“Dean! Dean!”
Dean glanced up from his homework as Sam hurried into the room as fast as his little feet would take him. “Let's play!” he exclaimed, beaming expectantly.
Dean sighed and glanced at his homework. The stupid stuff had to be done by tomorrow. “I can't, Sammy. I have to finish this up.”
Sam's smile fell. “Oh. Okay,” he said, looking down at his socks. There was a hole in one of them, and Dean started making another shopping list in his head. He was going to have to teach Sam the greatness that was bare feet: he kept sliding in his socks, falling down all over the place, and his running was putting holes in the bottom which meant splinters.
“I can come play in a little bit, I promise,” Dean said, smiling big and bright. It didn't matter: the four year old's face was focused down at the floor, disappointment visible.
“'Kay,” Sam said again, then turned to trudge off.
Dean glared at his homework, then with a quick decision, slammed the book shut and let his pencil fall to the table. “I gotta take a break, though,” he said, sliding off his chair. “We can play something really quick.”
Sam turned back around, surprise and happiness on his face. “Really?”
“Really,” Dean confirmed. “What do you want to play?” Hopefully not hide and seek. The last time they'd played, it hadn't ended well, and there'd been an instituted rule to both of them not to lock doors anymore.
“Rock, paper, skizzors,” Sam declared.
Dean gave him a look. “When did you learn that?”
“Your bus stop,” Sam said, beaming proudly now. “Daddy and I were waitin' for you, and Joey teached me.”
“Taught you,” Dean corrected, his mind thinking. Joey...must be one of the Carone brothers. They were an okay bunch of kids, and they got the whole thing about being brothers. Dean's big brother stance went from high alert to moderate again. “You sure you know how to play?”
Sam nodded vigorously. Quick game, at any rate. Like thirty seconds worth, at the most, and then Dean could get back to his homework AND have played with Sam. Perfect. He held out his left palm, facing up, and put his right hand as a fist on top of it. Sam did the same, and Dean waited, letting the anticipation mount. Then, “One, two, three.”
Sam proudly held out his fist, still as rock. Dean's flat hand of paper reached over and covered Sam's, and Sam made a face. “Go 'gain,” he insisted.
Dean sighed but nodded. “Okay. One, two, three.”
Sam's hand was now flat as a paper, and Dean bit back another sigh. Sam's face fell, and Dean used his scissor fingers to reach out and pretend to snip Sam's hand in two. A brief giggle was his reward, before Sam was biting his lip again. “Go again?” Dean guessed.
Sam nodded, looking determined. Dean had a pretty good idea of how this one was going to end, and it wasn't going to be good. Maybe Sam would do something different then what Dean did. Dean prepped himself, gave out the countdown, and then left his fist as it was.
Two little fingers were split into scissors. Sam bit his lip even harder, and Dean winced. If he didn't do something fast, Sam was going to start crying, and the worst part of it was, Sam didn't cry about every little thing. He'd fallen and scratched up his knee a little the other day, and hadn't said a word. No, the worst part was watching the tears roll down his face, even as he tried to not cry so he could be more grown up.
“One more time,” Dean said, and Sam nodded after a minute. “You do the countdown this time.”
Sam blinked. “Really?” he asked in a tiny voice.
“Really,” Dean said, holding out his fist. “I'm ready whenever you are.”
Sam quickly put his hand into a fist as well. “'Kay. One, two, three!” Sam left his in a fist, as Dean had predicted, and Dean's fingers were waiting with scissors. Sam's eyes widened, a big, wide grin forming on his face. “I won!” he cheered.
“Go again,” Dean encouraged, and prayed Sam would keep to his winning choice. Sam counted down again and stayed true to the rock, and Dean stayed true to the scissors. Sam giggled and reached his fist out to carefully crush Dean's scissors, laughing when Dean pretended to make them groan.
He didn't mind losing, not to Sam. Especially when winning made Sam grin like that. He was losing the game, but scoring pretty big points as a big brother, he figured. That was good enough for him.
“Again!” Sam said, and Dean merely grinned and held out his fist.
~Nebula