driver picks the queue shotgun shuts his cakehole – Page 19

babybrotherdean:

“You know it’s Easter, right? Not Halloween?”

Dean decides to ignore the skepticism in his brother’s voice as he adds another box of chocolates to their shopping cart. They’d needed to do groceries, anyways, and they’ve already got the basics covered, but as soon as he’d seen the array of pastel-coloured displays and plastic rabbits…

Well. He couldn’t help himself.

“No children are going to come wandering by our door looking for candy,” Sam tells him, and Dean rolls his eyes. Poor kid still doesn’t know how to have fun. “And if you eat all that chocolate yourself, Dean, I’m not gonna be the one to scrape you off the floor when you die of a sugar overdose.”

“It’s not all for me.” Admittedly, the thought is very tempting, and Dean has plenty of fond memories of Halloweens and Easters past, mostly spent stuffing himself with candy and then regretting it shortly afterwards. “And c’mon, Sammy, where’s your Easter spirit? You used to love this stuff.”

When he glances towards Sam, Sam seems to be biting back a smile. Not nearly as grumpy as he’s trying to appear. “I’m not a little kid, Dean. You can’t buy me with chocolate anymore.”

Dean purses his lips at that. “I think that just means that nobody’s tried to buy you yet with enough chocolate. Amateurs.”

That pulls a laugh out of Sam, and Dean grins, happy to continue down the aisles and pick up a few more treats along the way. Some festive marshmallows, some chocolate bunnies, and even half a dozen mini pastel cupcakes that give Dean some ideas for later. With everything he wants to get, he starts towards the checkout counters, talking to Sam again as they go.

“You think Charlie’s free?” He’s going down a list in his head, friends and allies who could use an excuse to relax. “And Jody? Kevin and his mom, too… Cas, obviously. Oh, and Garth… guess we’ve got some phone calls to make.”

Sam softens as Dean continues mumbling to himself, and together, they start calling around, inviting everybody over for a little celebration.

“Why not, right?” Dean shrugs on their way back home, candy safely loaded up in the back and engine rumbling around them on the way down the road. “‘Tis the season.”

There’s no harm in taking a little time to be happy.

88/365

sammichgirl:

Dean was nervous when he got called down to the principal’s office during social studies. He hadn’t even done anything today. Not that he remembered. He was pretty sure. This time.

So as he walked down the long empty hallway, slip of paper in hand granting permission to walk to the administration area, he dawdled, dragging out the inevitable. He thought over the events of the morning and lunch, he couldn’t pinpoint anything that would give pause or concern over from authority figures.

And as he mused, it dawned on him that it might very well not be about him. All warning bells fired off at the same time, and as his heart raced, his feet started running.

Sammy.

He skidded to a stop right outside the office door, took a deep breath and opened it wide, scanning for his little brother.

The secretary glanced up, and her frown turned into a smile, one Dean wasn’t used to seeing on her face, not when it came to him. Did that mean Sam was ok?

“He’s in with Mr. Davenport. He’s fine, Dean. Just – well, go ahead in, you’ll see.” And she barely contained a chuckle as Dean slowly walked towards the frosted glass door that led into the place he found himself more often than not. Had they called dad? Was dad even reachable right now? Sammy never got in trouble. And he was only in kindergarten. He took another deep breath, swallowed, and pushed the door open, his bottle-green eyes wide in distress.

He stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight before him. Sammy was sitting on a cream colored tarp in the middle of the floor, seemingly ok, but completely covered in paint. Sam had his patented dimpled grin in place and at the sight of Dean, quickly stood up on chubby little legs, turned and made to move towards his big brother.

“Stop!” Mr. Davenport’s voice was not harsh, but firm. Sam stopped and turned around, his lower lip trembling, hazel eyes filling with tears ready to spill over. Dean knew that look. Puppy face of doom. First came the sniffles, and the wobbly response of, “Sorry,” as he sat back down on the tarp, fidgeting with his shoelaces. “Please stay on the tarp, Samuel. The paint is still dripping from your hair.” A quirk of lips hiding a smile, Dean could tell, showed that the principal was not truly angry, more perplexed by the whole situation. As was Dean. Sam was a good kid, not one for making waves – that was Dean’s thing.

Dean walked forward and crouched down near Sam, checking him over visually for obvious injuries. He was quickly assured there weren’t any, because Sam appeared to be fine when that dimpled smile shyly returned and his tears spilled over. Dean reached out a finger to wipe the wetness away from his cheek, and brushed a lock of hair in the process. His finger came back with dots of red and yellow. Giving Sammy a puzzled look, he turned to Mr. Davenport who was patiently waiting for Dean’s protective assessment to be done.

“Your little brother’s class was decorating papier-mâché Easter eggs. Apparently the painting got a tad out of control.” Mr. Davenport was trying not to let laughter creep into his voice and having trouble hiding it.

“A tad, yeah, looks like.” Dean turned back to Sammy, who was tugging on Dean’s pants leg, little green and blue paint spatters all over his small hands.

“Sorry, De.” Sam looked up at Dean, his sweet cherub face full of sorrow and innocence, seemingly not understanding why he was in trouble. “But I made you an egg.” And Sam pulled out a gaily decorated egg from his backpack. Dean couldn’t make out the designs on it, but he knew Sam had concentrated on making it just for him because it was mostly in his favorite color, shades of blue, and a distinct D shaped letter was colored in a deep navy hue. Those green eyes lit up, and the biggest grin Mr. Davenport had ever seen on Dean Winchester’s face broke wide.

“’S ok, Sammy. Just uh, we need to get you cleaned up.” Dean took the egg from Sam, noting it was still tacky from not yet dried paint, and made a face. There was gonna be paint everywhere – Sam, his books, his backpack and probably anything he touched until he got into a bathtub. He swung his gaze to Mr. Davenport, who watched in amusement. “Sir, is he in trouble?”

“Officially Dean, no. Maybe just take him home and get him cleaned up? We tried reaching your father, but the calls went straight to voicemail, so he must be rather busy at his job.” He shuffled some papers, smoothed back his hair and got up. “You’re both excused for the day. And Samuel,” here the principal crouched down to speak to Sammy in a whispered tone, “maybe don’t make a ‘game’ with Tommy out of art time, ok?” He stood up to open his door for the brothers. “Dean, you might want to keep the tarp wrapped around him for a bit – he’s pretty soaked through. Be safe walking home.”

“Yes sir. C’mon Sammy, let’s roll.” Dean swaddled Sammy in the tarp, grabbed the backpack, and Sammy’s hand. Sam let himself be led, happy that he didn’t seem to be in trouble and that he’d made Dean smile.

As they left the principal’s office, Dean held onto his little brother. He looked down at the egg in his other hand and kept the laughter at bay. As they hit the sidewalk outside the school, he thought to ask Sam, “Hey, kiddo, what happened with Tommy?”

Sam stopped and dropped his head, scuffing his shoe on the curb of the asphalt sidewalk. “Punched him in the nose.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise – Sammy wasn’t a fighter. But Sam had started talking, and the waterworks were gonna start again, he could see it – Sam’s breathing became erratic and his little face was all furrowed in anger.

“He told me it was stupid to make you an egg. And he flicked paint on me. So I flicked paint back then there was paint all over and he punched my arm. So I punched him in the nose. De, I made his nose bleed.” And Sam got real quiet, tears once again flowing. “He had to go to the nurses’ office.”

Dean was in shock. Sam had had his first fight. And won. An odd sort of pride settled over him, but he knew he couldn’t let Sammy get away with that. Dad would be pissed if Sam got in trouble under Dean’s watch.

“Sammy.” And he tried to put on a stern face, but those eyes of Sam’s locked on his, and he could see from the set of his jaw and the thrust of his chin Sam wasn’t really that sorry about Tommy. Just worried about getting into trouble – about getting them both in trouble. Dean sighed, he’d taught his brother a bit too well, if he was gonna start acting just like him.

“He said making an egg for you was stupid!” Sam stomped his foot and pouted. Dean couldn’t even resist how adorable little Sammy fighting for Dean’s honor was. Paint or no, he pulled Sam into a tight hug.

“Alright – let’s just get you – us, back and washed up. Ok? And then pizza tonight, maybe a movie.”

“Not gonna tell dad?”

“No, this is just between us.”

Sam smiled and grabbed Dean’s hand again, and they started walking back to their motel. Tomorrow Sam planned to tell Tommy how happy the egg had made Dean as a lesson on not messing with Sam about his big brother. Dean deserved a happy Easter treat too, and he still didn’t know about the candy Sam had stolen out of Tommy’s lunchbox to seal up inside the egg.