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“Sammy!” Dean banged his fist against the bathroom door again. “Come on, we’re gonna be late!”
He pressed his ear close to the wood to listen, heard a rustling and muffled grunting coming from the other side.
“Sammy?” Dean called again, his hand reaching for the knob.
“Dee, help!” The muffled reply had Dean smiling as he turned the handle and pushed open the door. Inside he found his seven-year-old little brother standing in the middle of the small room, both arms up over his head, one twisted at a weird angle, the other tugging at the fabric of the shirt that was tangled around his head and upper body. He couldn’t help chuckling.
“C’mere,” Dean said, reaching for Sam’s elbows. The kid stopped struggling as soon as he felt Dean’s hands on him, fingers working in the mess of fabric, searching for the edges. It took a minute or two of twisting the shirt and poking Sam’s limbs, but he finally got the shirt straightened out and pulled down – as far as it would go, at least. It came to rest an inch above Sam’s waistband, and the shoulders were stretched tight. “Did you go and grow again, Sammy? This shirt is too small, that’s the problem.”
“Well, I can’t help growing, Dean!” Sam huffed, raising one hand to his hip and rolling his eyes up at his big brother. Dean smirked, one corner of his mouth pulling upward.
“I know, buddy. Just teasing. Let’s find you something that fits, okay?” Dean reached out and grabbed the hem of the shirt, pulling it upward while Sam raised his arms up so it could slip off easier than it went on. They headed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where Dean plunked Sam’s duffel bag on the bed and started rummaging through it.
Every shirt he pulled out was the same size – small. One of them would probably still fit, but Dean didn’t feel like making Sam try them all on, and they were almost late for school already. Dean grumbled and shoved everything back in the duffel, then turned and grabbed his own. He dug down to the bottom and pulled out a worn black t-shirt that he hadn’t even looked at in months, hadn’t bothered to get rid of.
“Here, wear this.” He tossed the shirt at his brother, smacking Sam in the chest with it. Sam’s fingers wrapped around it, then he dropped it down out in front of him, looking at the front of it. His eyes grew wide.
“But Dean– this is your Metallica shirt!” Sam’s mouth stayed open, lips forming an amazed ‘oh’. “It’s your favorite !”
“I know, kiddo. But it doesn’t really fit me anymore. You’re the little brother, you get the hand-me-downs.”
“Whoa!” Sam sighed as he pulled the shirt over his head, thrust his arms through and tugged it down his body. He looked down at himself, awed. “Hand-me-downs are cool!”
Dean chuckled.
“If you say so, squirt.”
The next few minutes were filled with a flurry of shuffling as Sam got his shoes on and shoved his homework in his backpack, and then they were out the door and headed down the sidewalk toward the school.
The next day, Dean walked with Sammy across town to the thrift store, filling two bags with clothes, bought with the money he kept stashed away in his duffel bag. Just one item was for him – a faded black Metallica shirt.