Timeline: Sam is 12; Dean is 16. Two years after Hershey Kisses and Salt Lines
Dean eyed up the clouds overhead, but was unable to keep his attention on the growing darkness.
He was laying on his back out in the field past Bobby’s house, absently fiddling with some tools he’d taken from his dad’s supply before the oldest of the Winchesters had taken off. It was a good distraction, taking apart the various spare parts Bobby kept around his junkyard, and a good way to avoid homework.
Sam wasn’t far from the sixteen-year-old, busy exploring the ground around his older brother to see what was there. Dean kept a sharp ear out for the kid, always alert for any dangers that might lurk near them.
Sam was, after all, only just barely three inches tall, having hit a brief growth spurt over the summer. It pained Dean to know that if not for the curse, Sam might tower over even him one day. The kid showed no sign of slowing down yet.
A cool breeze rustled over the grass, and Dean turned his head to watch Sam, distracted from his attempts to pry open the rusty machinery.
Sam turned slightly at Dean’s shift, despite the fact that Dean was convinced he’d done it silently. More and more, Sam was growing almost impossible to sneak up on. He always seemed to know when Dean, Bobby or John were around, even if Dean took care to slow his breathing. Good instincts to have at Sam’s size, but also a problem for Dean when he was trying to catch his brother off guard.
This wasn’t one of those times. Dean gave Sam a half wave from where he was stretched out on the ground, his body flattened and still much higher than Sam was tall.
Sam grinned broadly when he spotted Dean’s movement, waving back at his older brother. Despite the fact that the kid was only a foot away from where Dean was laying, it seemed much farther for the twelve year old. Distances became extreme at his size, and he always had his knife on hand for any unexpected surprises, like an opportunistic bug or spider lurking in the shade provided by the tall green stalks of grass. He also had a cloth satchel slung over his shoulder, full of items he’d collected over the last week of staying at Bobby’s, and a safety pin thread combo that served as a climbing implement, given to him by his good friend Oscar, a young boy they’d met a few years back in a dead end motel. Sam hoped to see him again in the future, but with their drifter lifestyle with John Winchester, there were no certainties. Sam couldn’t even recall the name of the motel from those days, only the refreshing feeling of knowing someone his own size.
Dean might not be his size, but the brothers remained as close as they’d ever been.
Sam was in the middle of contemplating an attempt to climb up an especially thick blade of grass when it happened.
Something wet and cool hit his head, completely soaking his fluffy hair and making him sputter in indignation as he tried to wipe his eyes clear.
Dean snorted with laughter, his deeper voice easily heard despite the water clogging Sam’s ears. “Smooth move, pint-size. You’re lookin’ all washed up.”
Sam glared at Dean through the sheen of water dotting his face, but tilted his head up at the sky above. The cloudy day had turned dark while he was distracted, and now the heavens were opening up.
Another drop hit Sam square in the face, and he lost balance, tumbling backwards onto his butt. Dean still sniggered, but this time actually sat up, brushing a few stray drops of rain from his spiky hair. At his scale, the rain was cool and refreshing. At Sam’s, the rain was heavy and clung to him after it struck, leaving him sodden and bedraggled. If he was on his own in the field, he’d need to seek shelter fast. Flash floods were very much in danger of sweeping him away.
The ground around Sam darkened more, and he looked up to see Dean’s hand suspended above him to ward off the raindrops. Dean might tease, but he never slacked off if Sam needed help. His other hand flattened on the ground close by, offering Sam a ride.
Sam accepted without any complaints, still trying to brush the water from his hair.
“I think we’ll have to wait for a better day to go outside,” Dean commented, laughter lurking at the edge of his voice as he lifted Sam up and tucked his two hands close to his chest. “Otherwise you might be floating down the stream soon.”
While the rain grew harder and more insistent, Dean started to make his way to the old house waiting for them, wondering if there would be food waiting.
Prompted by @tiny-sam-is-my-jam and @unicornzombieapoclypse!
Brothers Apart 