Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: Dean decides to be the bigger man.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: There's FIC, I tell you! FIC! It's taken me a year and a half, but I've finally written something! 750 whole words! This was written for spn_bigpretzel's 1 Year Anniversary Par-tay prompt #1.2 Cramped. (Look at me! I've never written for a prompt before!)
A/N 2: As I've completely forgotten how to post fic on LJ, I apologise now for any formatting errors. Needless to say, this was written in twenty minutes and isn't exactly beta'd.
“It’s not funny, Sam.”
“I told you not to eat the cake, Dean.”
“It had a sign on it that said, ‘Eat me,’ genius!”
Sam sighed. “Dude. Did you never read Alice in Wonderland?”
Dean rolled his eyes. And Sam was pretty sure he heard it. “Dude,” he echoed. “Do I look like the sort of guy who reads fairy tales?”
“It’s actually pretty interesting social commentary if you just …”
“Not helping, Sam.”
Sam considered the situation, walking slowly from one side of the Impala to the other and shaking his head melodramatically. “You always said you wanted to die in your car.”
“When I’m eighty, Sam! Getting hot and heavy in the back seat with a nice sixty year old lady who’s into burgers, Zeppelin and shuffleboard!”
“Dean, there’s about as much chance of you playing shuffleboard as there is of you reading Lewis Carroll. Or living till you’re eighty.”
“Okay, Gigantor, I get it, now just fix me, will ya?”
“Gigantor?” Sam echoed the nickname with a raised eyebrow and his arms folded ironically across his chest. “You’re calling me ‘Gigantor’?”
“Will you just—
The rest of Dean’s demand was drowned out by a yelp and a groan.
“I got cramp in my leg.”
“That’s not all you got cramped in.”
“Not helping, Sam!”
“Well you did always like to play big brother, big brother!”
The plaintive note of whining in his brother’s voice had the unexpected effect of making a lump form in Sam’s chest. “Can you stick your head out of the window any further?”
“Not if I don’t want to get choked by my own car.”
“How about if I open the front and back passenger doors? You could put a leg out of each.”
“And risk the jewels? No thanks, Sammy!”
“Well if we don’t stop you growing soon, you and the Impala are going to become a little bit more intimate than I think even you ever intended.”
“You know what you’ve got to do, Dean.”
Dean sighed heavily. “Alright already, dammit!”
Sam waited. “Well?”
“Stupid Alice in stupid freakin’ Wonderland…”
Sam waited a little more, Dean eventually mumbling something so below the threshold of human hearing that even a dog would have struggled to pick it up.
“What was that?”
Dean glowered at him from his giant head.
“I don’t want to be bigger than you.”
“I didn’t quite catch that.”
Sam was pretty sure Dean growled.
“I said I don’t want to be bigger than you. Okay? Gigantor? Can I go back to being me-sized now?”
“For telling me if I didn’t stop growing when I was a kid, you’d make me ride with my head stuck out of the window like a sheepdog.”
“Oh my God, Sam, are you really a thirteen year old girl?”
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I threatened to make you put your head out of the window like a sheepdog if you got any bigger. God forbid I should have threatened your ‘do’ there, Dolly.”
“You wanna be Dean-sized again, or what?”
“Gimme the goddamn cure, Sammy!”
“Or what? You might shake your fist at me and get even more stuck in your own car?”
“You ever see Transformers, Sam? ’Cause I could totally do that. Me ‘n my baby got a karmic understanding going on.”
“Which relates to you becoming the first human-Chevy hybrid?”
“Cure, Sam. Now.”
Sam pulled the little bottle labelled, “Drink me” out of his pocket and gazed at it thoughtfully, running his toe in uncertain little circles in the roadside dirt at his feet.
“Remember that growth spurt I hit at sixteen?” he asked slowly.
"When I had to spend days cramped up in the back of the car because you and Dad decided driving from Connecticut to Carmel would be a really great idea?”
Sam continued to gaze at the bottle.
“Sammy. I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic when you were going through your transformation into Sasquatch.”
“Gimme the cure.”
“Say sorry and mean it.”
Dean sighed heavily. And the car shook. “Sammy. I’m reeeeeally sorry. Okay? Can I be short again now?”
“Heh. You admitted you were short.”
“Yep, I’m a six foot one inch midget. Now gimme the goddamn cure! Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam murmured, before throwing the bottle in through the Impala’s open window. “Jerk midget.”
“Shut up, Sam.”