Seven Drabbles of the Wee!Sam Variety
spn_bigpretzel held a Drabble Challenge over the weekend. It was tons of fun, and the writers were divided into two groups, Team Sam and Team Dean, and asked to write as many sweet, "aww" inspiring, or funny drabbles as they could for their chosen brother. Links to all the Dean Drabbles can be found here; links to all the Sam Drabbles can be found here.
I was on Team Sam. Below are seven of my drabbles. All of these were written for Weechester/Teenchester Sam. I hope you enjoy. I'll be adding two more updates with the rest of my drabbles set during Stanford Era and Season 7.
Title: Seven Drabbles of the Wee!Sam Variety
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Setting: Pre-series
"Art Prodigy, He is Not"
Daddy said, "Stay in the car," but Sam was five, big enough to be sneaky. If Dean got to see what was in the warehouse, he could, too.
Later, he'd tell himself the monster was scary like clowns and Godzilla: fake but bad. But Monday, when Mrs. Peasley wanted him to draw a picture about what he did over the weekend, he still figured the monster was real.
Mrs. Peasley thought the drawing was cute: "Oh, is your brother teaching the puppy how to shake?"
Daddy thought it wasn't. "Jesus Christ!"
Dean said, "Thank God your drawing skills suck, Sammy."
"Soccer Practice"
Mormo: Greek spirit that steals away bad children. Weakness include being decapitated and burned before having time to reanimate. Plan? Easy enough. Provide a bad child.
Sam had been the surliest, rudest 12-year-old in the county. Wasn't really hard, not when he was already upset that he was missing Sue's party for a hunt.
When Mormo's head went flying, Sam stepped forward, delivering a kick. The skull hit the bonfire at dead center, throwing up sparks. The creature screamed in defeat.
Dad patted Sam on the shoulder. "Guess the soccer practice paid off."
Maybe it was worth missing the party.
"Why Sam Winchester Doesn't Juggle Knives"
"Sonofa…!"
"Dean-oh God, I didn't see you-I'm so sorry! Just sit still-don't pull it out!"
"What the heck just happened? Where did a-wait, did you throw a friggin' knife in the air?"
"You told me to knock down the nest!"
"I told you to… What? What?"
"You said to knock the nest down!"
"So you threw a knife in the air?"
"Quit touching it, Dean!"
"Dad's going to kill me-this is my last pair of jeans."
"Dean. Seriously? I think he might be a little more upset about the knife sticking out of your leg."
"Winning Sucks"
Winning the Prank War would be awesome, Sam thought. He was wrong.
He'd spent most of his lunch break formulating the plan. He'd seen the recipe for fake blood in Boy's Life; the prank was born: pretend to sharpen his brother's favorite hunting knife, let said knife slip, simultaneously slicing the tip off a half-eaten hot dog while nicking the plastic baggy holding the "blood."
Thud.
He hadn't expected his brother to take one look at the red spray and pass out.
"We will never speak of this again," Dean growled, minutes later. With a little pride: "Nice one, Sammy."
"Not Crossing a Line"
The key pressed into his palm.
Dean's "baby," newly gifted to the eldest son, was sitting in the school's parking lot. A shining beacon. It would be easy, taking the tip of the jagged apartment key to her door. The scar could be buffed out. Dean would never know it was him, either.
But, Sam would know.
He sighed. Jerk of the Day or not, Dean was still his big brother.
He pocketed the key a second before a leather-clad arm swooped over his shoulder, pulling him into an apologetic half-hug.
"Sorry about the cafeteria thing, Sammy."
"No problem, Dean."
"In Retrospect"
"This is stupid!" Sam snapped.
"Dad said to train today. Would you rather be sparring in this heat wave?"
Sam refocused. The wind from the Impala's open window lifted his bangs off his sweaty forehead and brought with it the smell of water. Sam instinctively tried to open his eyes, but his lashes caught on the tight blindfold.
"Mud Lake?"
"Good job, Sammy. Now, how many turns have we made since leaving the motel?"
Sam sighed. "I just don't see this skill ever coming in handy. Since when do monsters drive you around in cars, blindfolded?"
"Stranger things have happened."
"Sam Perfects the Poker Face"
Dad looked like he was about to rip Dean's ear off and scream in it. Sam itched to point out that the dent was easily fixed and the accident wouldn't have happened if Dad had let Dean get some rest instead of making him drive through the night to meet him. Things could have been much worse.
"It was a Taraxippus," Sam said. "Drives horses off the road. It's upgraded to cars."
Dad's eyes narrowed, smelling a lie. Dean's eyes widened, fearing its discovery.
"In Kentucky?"
Sam shrugged. Poker face time. "We blessed the curve in the road. Easy job."
I was on Team Sam. Below are seven of my drabbles. All of these were written for Weechester/Teenchester Sam. I hope you enjoy. I'll be adding two more updates with the rest of my drabbles set during Stanford Era and Season 7.
Title: Seven Drabbles of the Wee!Sam Variety
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Setting: Pre-series
"Art Prodigy, He is Not"
Daddy said, "Stay in the car," but Sam was five, big enough to be sneaky. If Dean got to see what was in the warehouse, he could, too.
Later, he'd tell himself the monster was scary like clowns and Godzilla: fake but bad. But Monday, when Mrs. Peasley wanted him to draw a picture about what he did over the weekend, he still figured the monster was real.
Mrs. Peasley thought the drawing was cute: "Oh, is your brother teaching the puppy how to shake?"
Daddy thought it wasn't. "Jesus Christ!"
Dean said, "Thank God your drawing skills suck, Sammy."
"Soccer Practice"
Mormo: Greek spirit that steals away bad children. Weakness include being decapitated and burned before having time to reanimate. Plan? Easy enough. Provide a bad child.
Sam had been the surliest, rudest 12-year-old in the county. Wasn't really hard, not when he was already upset that he was missing Sue's party for a hunt.
When Mormo's head went flying, Sam stepped forward, delivering a kick. The skull hit the bonfire at dead center, throwing up sparks. The creature screamed in defeat.
Dad patted Sam on the shoulder. "Guess the soccer practice paid off."
Maybe it was worth missing the party.
"Why Sam Winchester Doesn't Juggle Knives"
"Sonofa…!"
"Dean-oh God, I didn't see you-I'm so sorry! Just sit still-don't pull it out!"
"What the heck just happened? Where did a-wait, did you throw a friggin' knife in the air?"
"You told me to knock down the nest!"
"I told you to… What? What?"
"You said to knock the nest down!"
"So you threw a knife in the air?"
"Quit touching it, Dean!"
"Dad's going to kill me-this is my last pair of jeans."
"Dean. Seriously? I think he might be a little more upset about the knife sticking out of your leg."
"Winning Sucks"
Winning the Prank War would be awesome, Sam thought. He was wrong.
He'd spent most of his lunch break formulating the plan. He'd seen the recipe for fake blood in Boy's Life; the prank was born: pretend to sharpen his brother's favorite hunting knife, let said knife slip, simultaneously slicing the tip off a half-eaten hot dog while nicking the plastic baggy holding the "blood."
Thud.
He hadn't expected his brother to take one look at the red spray and pass out.
"We will never speak of this again," Dean growled, minutes later. With a little pride: "Nice one, Sammy."
"Not Crossing a Line"
The key pressed into his palm.
Dean's "baby," newly gifted to the eldest son, was sitting in the school's parking lot. A shining beacon. It would be easy, taking the tip of the jagged apartment key to her door. The scar could be buffed out. Dean would never know it was him, either.
But, Sam would know.
He sighed. Jerk of the Day or not, Dean was still his big brother.
He pocketed the key a second before a leather-clad arm swooped over his shoulder, pulling him into an apologetic half-hug.
"Sorry about the cafeteria thing, Sammy."
"No problem, Dean."
"In Retrospect"
"This is stupid!" Sam snapped.
"Dad said to train today. Would you rather be sparring in this heat wave?"
Sam refocused. The wind from the Impala's open window lifted his bangs off his sweaty forehead and brought with it the smell of water. Sam instinctively tried to open his eyes, but his lashes caught on the tight blindfold.
"Mud Lake?"
"Good job, Sammy. Now, how many turns have we made since leaving the motel?"
Sam sighed. "I just don't see this skill ever coming in handy. Since when do monsters drive you around in cars, blindfolded?"
"Stranger things have happened."
"Sam Perfects the Poker Face"
Dad looked like he was about to rip Dean's ear off and scream in it. Sam itched to point out that the dent was easily fixed and the accident wouldn't have happened if Dad had let Dean get some rest instead of making him drive through the night to meet him. Things could have been much worse.
"It was a Taraxippus," Sam said. "Drives horses off the road. It's upgraded to cars."
Dad's eyes narrowed, smelling a lie. Dean's eyes widened, fearing its discovery.
"In Kentucky?"
Sam shrugged. Poker face time. "We blessed the curve in the road. Easy job."