You Are The Key (To Set Me Free), RaBB!verse, 1/1, PG, Gen
And so I begin my posting. yasminke, who was wonderful and won me at the fandom_flood_ap auction to benefit Australia, requested RaBB!verse fic. I delivered, and she insisted that it be shared. Now y'all know why she's awesome. Actually, there's more reasons, but for right now, just accept that she is awesome and lo, is sharing her hard-won fic with you.
Also, I couldn't make up my mind as to which one I wanted to write, so hence, she got two, as do you.
Also also, as I haven't posted in this verse in *coughcough*, this verse is about a protective!bigbrother!Dean who watches out for Sam through the years (as in pre-series and a few during the series). You can find all the fics compiled here at the masterpost.
Title: You Are The Key (To Set Me Free)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Series: Raising a Big Brother
Summary: For the wonderful yasminke who won me in the auction to help Australia: Dean's 8, Sam's almost 4. A rainy day makes the boys stay inside to play, except hide and go seek this time gets Sammy into trouble. Or, how Dean learned how to pick locks.
Wordcount: 2,394
“Dean...”
Oh god, that sound. The sound he'd been desperately trying to ignore was back. Worse yet, it sounded higher pitched than before.
“Deeeeeeeean...”
Definitely higher pitched. And closer. Dean buried his head down further. Maybe if he hid, it wouldn't find him. Or if it stumbled upon him, it would leave him be.
“Deeeeeeeean...”
It held a whine now, a dangerous one, and Dean shut his eyes tight, because it was almost, almost-
“Dean!”
Right on top of him.
With an 'oomph' Dean found himself with a lap-full of bored little brother. “Whatcha doin'?” Sammy asked.
“I was reading,” Dean grumbled. His comic book was put aside with a definite air of longing he hoped Sam would see. When he turned, however, Sammy was all wide eyes and hopeful for Dean to pay him attention. Hadn't probably even noticed that Dean had been reading anything.
Great.
“Can we do sum'fin?” Sammy asked eagerly. “M'bored.”
Of course he was. “Dad'll be back in a coupl'a hours,” Dean told him. “Go watch cartoons.”
“TV won't turn on,” Sam said, like he'd already tried that a hundred times. He probably had, knowing Sam. “Think it's broked.”
“Broken,” Dean corrected automatically. “You think it's broken.”
“Broken,” Sammy repeated dutifully. “Can we play a game?”
Dean could swing that. “Sure,” he said cheerfully. “We play rock, paper, scissors, and if you lose, I get to go back to my book.” It was worth a shot.
Sammy scrunched up his nose, and Dean knew his plan was toast. “Wanna play tag,” he said, and that was a definite pout in the making right there.
Dean slowly raised his head up to the window. Not that he'd had any doubts, since he could still hear the rain, but he couldn't help it. “It's still stormin' out, Sammy,” Dean told him. “You can't play tag.”
“Wanna play tag,” his three year old brother insisted, and yup, there was the pout, right on cue. God but Sam was stubborn.
Dean sighed and hung his head. The little townhouse wasn't that big, and they were only renting it for the week. It was April in Alabama, and the rains wouldn't let up. It'd been raining ever since they'd gotten there four days ago, and the dreariness was getting to them all. Dad was restless but focused on whatever evil thing he was getting rid of. Dean didn't know: Dad said he might teach Dean more about hunting once Sammy turned four. And that wasn't for another month.
At least Dad wasn't making him wait until he was nine. Dean figured eight was a respectable age for becoming a hunter.
Except until Sammy turned four, Dean was left with babysitting duties and no hunting at all. He wasn't even allowed to hold a gun unless in extreme emergencies. Dean scowled at the thought. He could probably shoot better than most if Dad gave him-
“Deeeeeean!”
...a chance. Dean turned his scowl towards Sam. “What?” he growled.
Sam pouted. “Please?” he asked sweetly. Like that was going to make the rain stop.
“Sammy, you can't,” Dean said, softening his tone. Sam's shoulders slumped. “It's raining too hard; you'd slip and hurt yourself out there. And no one else is gonna be around to play with, pipsqueak.”
“You would,” Sam mumbled, and the thing of it was, Dean knew he would, too. He was such a pushover.
Fine. Sammy wanted to play a game, he'd play a game. “We can play hide and seek,” Dean told him. “That's an inside game.” Perfect to make Sam disappear for a few hours.
Sam's eyes lit up, though, and Dean saw that plan get shot out the window, too. “'Kay!” he exclaimed happily. “I'mma go first!” He bounced on the balls of his chubby little feet, waiting anxiously for Dean to get up and hide.
Great. “Okay, listen up,” Dean said seriously, because he had a comic book with his name on it - literally, since he hadn't wanted Sam to touch it, and Sammy was actually really good about not touching things that had someone else's name on it - and he wanted to finish it. “We're gonna play three rounds. That's it. Then you have to find something else to do, because I want to read my book. Okay?”
“'Kay,” Sammy answered.
Dean nodded to himself and pushed himself off the sofa. Ten minutes, max, and he'd be reading his comic again.
Yeah, Dean didn't even know why he set up plans in his head. They never worked out right.
They'd been playing for half an hour now, and Dean was getting frustrated. Sam had found Dean easily enough the first time, but that had been because Dean had hidden himself pretty much in plain sight, a fact that had pissed his little brother off. “Hide better,” Sam had insisted before shoving Dean up the stairs. “Go!”
So Dean had put some serious thought into this one, and had tucked himself away inside the closet, wrapping Dad's long coat around him. He'd stuffed his feet into the boots there, making him virtually invisible save for the bulging of the coat around his frame. He'd even left the closet door a little cracked, on account of the fact that it was musty in there and that the knob was too high for Sammy to reach.
But twenty-odd minutes of waiting - or so said his light-up watch - were boring, especially when you had a three year old looking for you. One who'd passed by the closet twice already, and it sounded like he was aiming for a third.
Little steps pounded over to the door, and the hinges gave the blessed creaking sound as it opened. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, and Dean waited.
Hands shoved at him through the coat, and Sammy laughed in glee. “Found you!” he yelled happily.
“About time,” Dean told him, stepping out and rolling his eyes. “God, you took forever, Sammy.”
And there was the pout, right on schedule. “Okay, okay, you found me, yay,” Dean said quickly. “Now go hide, it's your turn.”
“'Kay!” Sam said, hurrying out of the room. Dean followed him out and down the hallway, stopping Sam from going back down. If the kid was going to hide, it was going to be somewhere easy, like upstairs. There were only two bedrooms and one bathroom, and then the open area that connected them all.
“Go hide,” Dean insisted, then closed his eyes. “I'm counting, Sammy!”
Pounding of little feet ensued. Dean grinned and started to count to thirty. After a moment, the footsteps dwindled into nothing, and the silence was broken only by Dean's voice.
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...” Dean let one eye pop open to scan the area. No Sam. Good enough. “...twenty-nine, thirty! Ready or not, here I come!”
No giggles. Wasn't anywhere nearby, then. Sammy always started giggling whenever he knew Dean was coming. Dean took off for their room first. The closet door was wide open, and no Sam inside. The beds were checked next, but his little brother wasn't there.
The bathroom was next, but he wasn't hiding in the bathtub, the small linen closet, or under the sink. Sammy got into some weird places when they played.
That left their dad's room. As the biggest room in the house, next to the living room, it was a really good place to hide. It was why Dean had chosen it. He stepped slowly into the room, eyes scanning around. “Hmm, wonder where Sammy could be,” he said loudly, listening intently for any giggling.
None. Huh. Pretty good, for once. He checked beneath the bed, in the dresser drawers, under their dad's clothes that was thrown on one of the chairs, and in their dad's duffel bag. Nowhere to be seen. What the-?
Had Sam actually gotten past him and down the stairs? No, he would've heard Sam scooting and crawling down, going down the way Dad and Dean had taught him. But there weren't any other places to hide upstairs, were there?
“Sammy?” he called out, eyes looking all over for anything that moved. No giggles, and that should've been Dean's first clue that his brother wasn't there. Sammy always giggled. “Sammy?” he called again as he leaned out into the hallway. No answer.
The first stirrings of panic were starting to rise in his stomach, making it twist in a bad way. “Sammy, you win,” he called again. “I can't find you, you win. You can come out now!”
No answer. Panic threatened to steal the breath from his lungs, and he forced himself to keep breathing. “Sammy!” he shouted, swallowing hard.
“Dean?”
“Sammy?” Dean immediately answered, eyes darting all over the place. The word had been muffled, but from behind him, he thought. He quickly moved back into their dad's room, eyes roaming all over. Had he gotten into the vent near the floor? God, how the heck was that even possible?
“Dean?”
No, not the vent. The stupid closet. The one Dean had hidden in, except the door was closed, and they'd taught Sam to never shut the door, especially one he couldn't open on his own. The knob was too high.
“Dean?”
The voice was full of fear now, and Dean could hear a tiny pounding coming from the other side. “Hold on, Sammy,” Dean said, hurrying over and pulling it open. “You're fine-”
Except it didn't open. Confused, Dean twisted the knob and tried again, pulling with all of his strength. The door wouldn't budge.
It was locked.
“Dean, lemme out! S'dark in here, wanna come out!”
Oh god. “Hold on,” Dean said again, but this time his voice shook. Dad had all the keys. He wished this one had a push-button like the other doors in the house, but this one was older. It had a real lock. And somehow, Sammy had locked it.
A sniffle came from the other side of the door. “D-Dean,” Sammy hiccuped.
Dad wasn't due home for another two hours, according to his watch. It was musty in there, made it hard to breathe. Sammy was stuck in there for two hours. And Dean couldn't do anything about it. He wished his dad was there, because Dad was a hunter, Dad could do anything, and Dean...Dean couldn't do a thing to help.
Wait. Yes he could. “Sammy, hang on, I'll get you out,” Dean promised, already racing over to his dad's bag. He tore through it until he found the small black wallet, fumbling with the button on it until he got it open. Silver tools gleamed back at him, all of them just as daunting as the next.
His dad used them to pick locks. He'd explained what they did, but he hadn't shown Dean how to actually use them. Dean had seen his dad do it a few times, though. He could do it on his own. He could be a hunter, help people, just like Dad did. And he could definitely help Sammy now.
He ran back over to the closet. Sam was crying softly now, hitched breaths that tore through Dean because there wasn't anything he could do about it. He slid two tools out - just like Dad had done - then dropped the wallet and looked at the lock. Works just like a key, Dad had told him.
“Just like a key,” Dean murmured. He shoved both picks in and wiggled them around, then tried the knob. It didn't budge.
Okay, one at a time. He slid the smaller one in, then the bigger one, moving it up and down, then side to side. Nothing moved, and Dean couldn't hear anything except Sammy's cries.
Maybe the other way. He pulled both back out and swallowed hard, then put the bigger one back in. Maybe he had the wrong tools. There'd been so many in there, but he was certain these were the ones that his dad used all the time. They looked less shiny than the others, too.
“Dean, wanna...w-wanna come out, puh-puh-ple-eeeease...”
Dean bit his lip. “I'm trying, Sammy,” he promised. “Just hang on for me, okay?”
There was a long pause before Sammy finally whispered, “'Kay.”
He was still crying, but it wasn't as bad as before. Dean slid the smaller one in beside the bigger one and moved it around. Up, down, side to side. Down, up, side to side. Side to side, up, down-
Something caught. Dean held his breath and carefully, carefully turned the pick to the side. Just like a key.
The knob turned, and the hinges squeaked as the door came open. “Sammy?” Dean said, yanking the door away. Sammy was sitting on Dad's shoes, tear-stained face shining in the light. He reached for Dean, crying anew when he saw his brother. Dean carefully lifted him up and pulled him out. Dad said Sammy was getting too big to carry, but Dean didn't think so. Especially not now.
“You okay?” Dean asked. Sammy sniffled but nodded, head buried in Dean's neck. “You sure?”
“Don' wanna play n'anymore,” Sammy whispered.
“Nope, we can't,” Dean agreed. He'd come clean up Dad's tools later. Not now. “You won anyways, remember? You hid and I couldn't find you, and then you found me, so you won, squirt.”
Sammy sniffled. “I did?”
“Yup.” Dean headed for the stairs, Sam's legs and arms still wrapped around him. It made walking difficult, but not by a lot. He'd get Sammy some of the animal crackers, set him down with cartoons-
Which he couldn't do because the TV was broken. Crud. Cartoons were a sure-fire way to make Sam happy.
Well. He had cartoons. They just didn't talk without someone else reading them. Dean smiled.
“Hey, you wanna read my comic with me?”
Sammy raised his head, rubbing at his red eyes. “Really?” he asked, but he looked excited.
“Sure,” Dean said. “We can do animal crackers. But you can't get any crumbs on my book.”
“Swear,” Sammy promised, and Dean grinned. This plan, at least, would work.
And maybe Dad would let him start hunting with him. He'd saved Sammy from the dark, and he'd figured the picks out himself. Dean was willing to bet that that plan would work out, too.
END
~Nebula
Also, I couldn't make up my mind as to which one I wanted to write, so hence, she got two, as do you.
Also also, as I haven't posted in this verse in *coughcough*, this verse is about a protective!bigbrother!Dean who watches out for Sam through the years (as in pre-series and a few during the series). You can find all the fics compiled here at the masterpost.
Title: You Are The Key (To Set Me Free)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Series: Raising a Big Brother
Summary: For the wonderful yasminke who won me in the auction to help Australia: Dean's 8, Sam's almost 4. A rainy day makes the boys stay inside to play, except hide and go seek this time gets Sammy into trouble. Or, how Dean learned how to pick locks.
Wordcount: 2,394
“Dean...”
Oh god, that sound. The sound he'd been desperately trying to ignore was back. Worse yet, it sounded higher pitched than before.
“Deeeeeeeean...”
Definitely higher pitched. And closer. Dean buried his head down further. Maybe if he hid, it wouldn't find him. Or if it stumbled upon him, it would leave him be.
“Deeeeeeeean...”
It held a whine now, a dangerous one, and Dean shut his eyes tight, because it was almost, almost-
“Dean!”
Right on top of him.
With an 'oomph' Dean found himself with a lap-full of bored little brother. “Whatcha doin'?” Sammy asked.
“I was reading,” Dean grumbled. His comic book was put aside with a definite air of longing he hoped Sam would see. When he turned, however, Sammy was all wide eyes and hopeful for Dean to pay him attention. Hadn't probably even noticed that Dean had been reading anything.
Great.
“Can we do sum'fin?” Sammy asked eagerly. “M'bored.”
Of course he was. “Dad'll be back in a coupl'a hours,” Dean told him. “Go watch cartoons.”
“TV won't turn on,” Sam said, like he'd already tried that a hundred times. He probably had, knowing Sam. “Think it's broked.”
“Broken,” Dean corrected automatically. “You think it's broken.”
“Broken,” Sammy repeated dutifully. “Can we play a game?”
Dean could swing that. “Sure,” he said cheerfully. “We play rock, paper, scissors, and if you lose, I get to go back to my book.” It was worth a shot.
Sammy scrunched up his nose, and Dean knew his plan was toast. “Wanna play tag,” he said, and that was a definite pout in the making right there.
Dean slowly raised his head up to the window. Not that he'd had any doubts, since he could still hear the rain, but he couldn't help it. “It's still stormin' out, Sammy,” Dean told him. “You can't play tag.”
“Wanna play tag,” his three year old brother insisted, and yup, there was the pout, right on cue. God but Sam was stubborn.
Dean sighed and hung his head. The little townhouse wasn't that big, and they were only renting it for the week. It was April in Alabama, and the rains wouldn't let up. It'd been raining ever since they'd gotten there four days ago, and the dreariness was getting to them all. Dad was restless but focused on whatever evil thing he was getting rid of. Dean didn't know: Dad said he might teach Dean more about hunting once Sammy turned four. And that wasn't for another month.
At least Dad wasn't making him wait until he was nine. Dean figured eight was a respectable age for becoming a hunter.
Except until Sammy turned four, Dean was left with babysitting duties and no hunting at all. He wasn't even allowed to hold a gun unless in extreme emergencies. Dean scowled at the thought. He could probably shoot better than most if Dad gave him-
“Deeeeeean!”
...a chance. Dean turned his scowl towards Sam. “What?” he growled.
Sam pouted. “Please?” he asked sweetly. Like that was going to make the rain stop.
“Sammy, you can't,” Dean said, softening his tone. Sam's shoulders slumped. “It's raining too hard; you'd slip and hurt yourself out there. And no one else is gonna be around to play with, pipsqueak.”
“You would,” Sam mumbled, and the thing of it was, Dean knew he would, too. He was such a pushover.
Fine. Sammy wanted to play a game, he'd play a game. “We can play hide and seek,” Dean told him. “That's an inside game.” Perfect to make Sam disappear for a few hours.
Sam's eyes lit up, though, and Dean saw that plan get shot out the window, too. “'Kay!” he exclaimed happily. “I'mma go first!” He bounced on the balls of his chubby little feet, waiting anxiously for Dean to get up and hide.
Great. “Okay, listen up,” Dean said seriously, because he had a comic book with his name on it - literally, since he hadn't wanted Sam to touch it, and Sammy was actually really good about not touching things that had someone else's name on it - and he wanted to finish it. “We're gonna play three rounds. That's it. Then you have to find something else to do, because I want to read my book. Okay?”
“'Kay,” Sammy answered.
Dean nodded to himself and pushed himself off the sofa. Ten minutes, max, and he'd be reading his comic again.
Yeah, Dean didn't even know why he set up plans in his head. They never worked out right.
They'd been playing for half an hour now, and Dean was getting frustrated. Sam had found Dean easily enough the first time, but that had been because Dean had hidden himself pretty much in plain sight, a fact that had pissed his little brother off. “Hide better,” Sam had insisted before shoving Dean up the stairs. “Go!”
So Dean had put some serious thought into this one, and had tucked himself away inside the closet, wrapping Dad's long coat around him. He'd stuffed his feet into the boots there, making him virtually invisible save for the bulging of the coat around his frame. He'd even left the closet door a little cracked, on account of the fact that it was musty in there and that the knob was too high for Sammy to reach.
But twenty-odd minutes of waiting - or so said his light-up watch - were boring, especially when you had a three year old looking for you. One who'd passed by the closet twice already, and it sounded like he was aiming for a third.
Little steps pounded over to the door, and the hinges gave the blessed creaking sound as it opened. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, and Dean waited.
Hands shoved at him through the coat, and Sammy laughed in glee. “Found you!” he yelled happily.
“About time,” Dean told him, stepping out and rolling his eyes. “God, you took forever, Sammy.”
And there was the pout, right on schedule. “Okay, okay, you found me, yay,” Dean said quickly. “Now go hide, it's your turn.”
“'Kay!” Sam said, hurrying out of the room. Dean followed him out and down the hallway, stopping Sam from going back down. If the kid was going to hide, it was going to be somewhere easy, like upstairs. There were only two bedrooms and one bathroom, and then the open area that connected them all.
“Go hide,” Dean insisted, then closed his eyes. “I'm counting, Sammy!”
Pounding of little feet ensued. Dean grinned and started to count to thirty. After a moment, the footsteps dwindled into nothing, and the silence was broken only by Dean's voice.
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...” Dean let one eye pop open to scan the area. No Sam. Good enough. “...twenty-nine, thirty! Ready or not, here I come!”
No giggles. Wasn't anywhere nearby, then. Sammy always started giggling whenever he knew Dean was coming. Dean took off for their room first. The closet door was wide open, and no Sam inside. The beds were checked next, but his little brother wasn't there.
The bathroom was next, but he wasn't hiding in the bathtub, the small linen closet, or under the sink. Sammy got into some weird places when they played.
That left their dad's room. As the biggest room in the house, next to the living room, it was a really good place to hide. It was why Dean had chosen it. He stepped slowly into the room, eyes scanning around. “Hmm, wonder where Sammy could be,” he said loudly, listening intently for any giggling.
None. Huh. Pretty good, for once. He checked beneath the bed, in the dresser drawers, under their dad's clothes that was thrown on one of the chairs, and in their dad's duffel bag. Nowhere to be seen. What the-?
Had Sam actually gotten past him and down the stairs? No, he would've heard Sam scooting and crawling down, going down the way Dad and Dean had taught him. But there weren't any other places to hide upstairs, were there?
“Sammy?” he called out, eyes looking all over for anything that moved. No giggles, and that should've been Dean's first clue that his brother wasn't there. Sammy always giggled. “Sammy?” he called again as he leaned out into the hallway. No answer.
The first stirrings of panic were starting to rise in his stomach, making it twist in a bad way. “Sammy, you win,” he called again. “I can't find you, you win. You can come out now!”
No answer. Panic threatened to steal the breath from his lungs, and he forced himself to keep breathing. “Sammy!” he shouted, swallowing hard.
“Dean?”
“Sammy?” Dean immediately answered, eyes darting all over the place. The word had been muffled, but from behind him, he thought. He quickly moved back into their dad's room, eyes roaming all over. Had he gotten into the vent near the floor? God, how the heck was that even possible?
“Dean?”
No, not the vent. The stupid closet. The one Dean had hidden in, except the door was closed, and they'd taught Sam to never shut the door, especially one he couldn't open on his own. The knob was too high.
“Dean?”
The voice was full of fear now, and Dean could hear a tiny pounding coming from the other side. “Hold on, Sammy,” Dean said, hurrying over and pulling it open. “You're fine-”
Except it didn't open. Confused, Dean twisted the knob and tried again, pulling with all of his strength. The door wouldn't budge.
It was locked.
“Dean, lemme out! S'dark in here, wanna come out!”
Oh god. “Hold on,” Dean said again, but this time his voice shook. Dad had all the keys. He wished this one had a push-button like the other doors in the house, but this one was older. It had a real lock. And somehow, Sammy had locked it.
A sniffle came from the other side of the door. “D-Dean,” Sammy hiccuped.
Dad wasn't due home for another two hours, according to his watch. It was musty in there, made it hard to breathe. Sammy was stuck in there for two hours. And Dean couldn't do anything about it. He wished his dad was there, because Dad was a hunter, Dad could do anything, and Dean...Dean couldn't do a thing to help.
Wait. Yes he could. “Sammy, hang on, I'll get you out,” Dean promised, already racing over to his dad's bag. He tore through it until he found the small black wallet, fumbling with the button on it until he got it open. Silver tools gleamed back at him, all of them just as daunting as the next.
His dad used them to pick locks. He'd explained what they did, but he hadn't shown Dean how to actually use them. Dean had seen his dad do it a few times, though. He could do it on his own. He could be a hunter, help people, just like Dad did. And he could definitely help Sammy now.
He ran back over to the closet. Sam was crying softly now, hitched breaths that tore through Dean because there wasn't anything he could do about it. He slid two tools out - just like Dad had done - then dropped the wallet and looked at the lock. Works just like a key, Dad had told him.
“Just like a key,” Dean murmured. He shoved both picks in and wiggled them around, then tried the knob. It didn't budge.
Okay, one at a time. He slid the smaller one in, then the bigger one, moving it up and down, then side to side. Nothing moved, and Dean couldn't hear anything except Sammy's cries.
Maybe the other way. He pulled both back out and swallowed hard, then put the bigger one back in. Maybe he had the wrong tools. There'd been so many in there, but he was certain these were the ones that his dad used all the time. They looked less shiny than the others, too.
“Dean, wanna...w-wanna come out, puh-puh-ple-eeeease...”
Dean bit his lip. “I'm trying, Sammy,” he promised. “Just hang on for me, okay?”
There was a long pause before Sammy finally whispered, “'Kay.”
He was still crying, but it wasn't as bad as before. Dean slid the smaller one in beside the bigger one and moved it around. Up, down, side to side. Down, up, side to side. Side to side, up, down-
Something caught. Dean held his breath and carefully, carefully turned the pick to the side. Just like a key.
The knob turned, and the hinges squeaked as the door came open. “Sammy?” Dean said, yanking the door away. Sammy was sitting on Dad's shoes, tear-stained face shining in the light. He reached for Dean, crying anew when he saw his brother. Dean carefully lifted him up and pulled him out. Dad said Sammy was getting too big to carry, but Dean didn't think so. Especially not now.
“You okay?” Dean asked. Sammy sniffled but nodded, head buried in Dean's neck. “You sure?”
“Don' wanna play n'anymore,” Sammy whispered.
“Nope, we can't,” Dean agreed. He'd come clean up Dad's tools later. Not now. “You won anyways, remember? You hid and I couldn't find you, and then you found me, so you won, squirt.”
Sammy sniffled. “I did?”
“Yup.” Dean headed for the stairs, Sam's legs and arms still wrapped around him. It made walking difficult, but not by a lot. He'd get Sammy some of the animal crackers, set him down with cartoons-
Which he couldn't do because the TV was broken. Crud. Cartoons were a sure-fire way to make Sam happy.
Well. He had cartoons. They just didn't talk without someone else reading them. Dean smiled.
“Hey, you wanna read my comic with me?”
Sammy raised his head, rubbing at his red eyes. “Really?” he asked, but he looked excited.
“Sure,” Dean said. “We can do animal crackers. But you can't get any crumbs on my book.”
“Swear,” Sammy promised, and Dean grinned. This plan, at least, would work.
And maybe Dad would let him start hunting with him. He'd saved Sammy from the dark, and he'd figured the picks out himself. Dean was willing to bet that that plan would work out, too.
END
~Nebula