Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word Count: 305
”Sam! What the hell...?”
The motel room was a mess. The two beds had been toppled and were lying on their sides. The pillows, blankets and sheets that had covered the mattresses had been stripped, and were now covering the hole left between them. And in the middle was a six-year-old, face smudged with crayon and brandishing a dagger that, in his hand, looked like a proportional sword. His face shone with a mix of enthusiasm and defiance.
”I made a fort!” he squealed happily, a big smile on his face that was missing a few teeth.
Looking back at it now, Dean was pretty sure that it was in that moment, in 1989, that he'd realised it. Taking care of Sam wasn't going to be an easy job.
Something banged against the metal door of Bobby's panic room. Sam screamed inside. Dean took another swig from his bottle.
The whole situation wasn't nearly as shocking as he was pretending. At age six, it had taken Sam exactly 5 minutes to turn an entire room upside down. Sam had always been able to pull one over on him, it was as simple as that. Dean knew his brother better than anyone – and the fact that he never missed a chance to turn everything on its head the minute Dean turned his back for even a second – that was as big a part of Sam as anything.
So, four months in Hell or five minutes at the vending machine, Dean just should've known better than to leave the kid by himself. Ruby and the demon blood was just the latest motel-room-turned-fort.
Sam screamed again. Dean took another swig and leaned his forehead against his palm. He closed his eyes, and all he could see was his little brother's grin. Toothless, and proud as anything.