Rating: Gen, G
Summary: – Little Sammy wants to be like his big brother
“It’s not my fault, Dad.”
It wasn’t like Dean to try to pass the buck, especially where his little brother was concerned. John encouraged that behavior in more ways than one.
“Really,” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, sir,” Dean answered it like one though.
“So who was in charge?” John had only been gone long enough to get food for the week. Sammy had been exhausted so he’d left him with Dean.
“So who was the chargee?”
Dean mulled that around a moment as if trying to figure out what John meant.
“Sammy,” Dean answered, finally satisfied that he understood the question.
“So?” That was a question.
Dean racked his shoulders back looked John in the eye, “So, I guess it is my fault.”
John eyed Dean back just as solemnly, “No, son. This is your mom’s fault.”
Dean’s eyes widened, “Mom?”
“She’s the one who had the freckles.”
Dean grinned then, “Yeah, but then it’s really your fault.”
“Huh?” John couldn’t help the astonishment in his voice. He shouldn’t have though, Dean was genetically programmed to defend his mom.
“Yeah, you’re the one who must’ve messed it up somehow.”
“Yeah, Dad,” John twitched a brow in Dean’s direction. Dean amended his statement, “I mean, yes sir."
“How’s that, son?”
“Well, if you had freckles and Mom had freckles, than Sammy would’ve too."
Then as if John had no concept of genetics, Dean continued, “You don’t have freckles.”
John looked at his sleeping four year old, son. Sammy was naked except for a pair of superman underwear and from his shaggy head to his feet he was covered in magic marker “freckles.”
Dean dropped his head and blushed and lifted his brother’s leg up and allowed it to flop back on the couch. It settled with a thump. Just long enough for John to see all of Sammy’s artwork.
Sammy didn’t move a muscle.
“Besides, Dad,” Dean concluded his argument, “It can’t be me or mom, neither one of us ever had freckles on the bottom of our feet.”