Tell me, what makes you so special.

[Set in canonish. wentdwnthatroad used with love to make up for the prompt of lame. (Dean’s opinion, not mine.)]

Dad had told them to go occupy themselves.

He gave them money to get ice cream from the ice cream truck, and told them to go out and play on their own. At eight years-old, Dean had better things to do than babysit Sammy, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was stuck while Dad was off doing whatever it was he was doing, and he wasn’t fond of it. Plus, with Sammy around, he had less money for ice cream so he was stuck with a stupid popsicle instead of the ice cream fudge bar.

Lame.

They had returned to Pastor Jim’s after getting the ice cream, and Sammy was starting to get sticky from his, but Dad wasn’t done yet. He had tossed the bag of toys and books that they kept for car rides at the boys, and told them to head outside, leaving them alone again. Dean was really starting to get sick of babysitting Sammy.

“Vrrrrrr vrrrrrrroooooom vrrrrrrrrrroooooooooooom,” Sam said to himself, staying sprawled on top of one of the sturdier card tables that one of the church ladies left out near the side of the road. He had pouted his way into getting a second turn with the Matchbox cars, which left Dean with the legal pad and the markers. He was drumming along to one of Dad’s songs on the edge of the pad, before glancing around to the different people that were in the area.

School was out so there were a few kids out along the street with lemonade and all different kinds of stuff. There were a few yard sales, where people were coming over and walking away with stuff that they had paid for. Apparently, if you put stuff up for sale on the side of the road, people were willing to pay a lot of money for it, and fast. Each item, had its own kind of price tag and sign. He considered for a moment, before starting to write in big letters across the front of the paper.

( *** )

1261 words

[Not binding on any canon muses mentioned herein.]

i.

“SNOW!”

The newly three year-old Dean Winchester had barely been up five minutes before he looked out his window and saw the inches of white stuff covering the lawn in front of his house. It was everywhere, blanketing everything across the neighborhood, and Dean’s eyes went wide in amazement as his nose pressed up against the glass of the window, taking it all in and wondering how he got to be this lucky.

Then he asked himself what he was doing there, staring at the snow from inside the house, when it was clearly so much better to be outside.

With that, he bolted, taking off down the stairs from his room and heading right for the front door of the house. When he hit the bottom of the stairs he stepped on the pant leg of his pajama pants on accident, lost the traction between his feet and the hardwood floors and the leg slid out from under him, sending him flying onto his side with a loud BANG!

“Dean?”

Dean paid no mind to his mother’s voice, or how much that slam had hurt, and just scrambled up onto his feet, bounding for the door. He got it open as quickly as he could, before running out into the snow: bare feet, PJs and all.

It was cold. The chill ran right through his feet and up through his body but he didn’t care. He just giggled at the shivers that ran through him and headed full on head first into the drifts, soaking himself to the skin faster than Mary probably had anticipated, and he didn’t stop until he felt the jerk of his body being picked up and hauled into the air.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, little man?”

“It’s snowed,” Dean grinned up at his mother as she pulled him in closer. He was finally starting to feel the cold, and his little body shivered violently against his mother’s hold, teeth chattering in the breeze. “On my birthday. It snowed for me.” He paused for a moment, before looking up at her. “How did they know what I wanted?”

“I’ve got an angel hotline,” Mary said with a teasing smirk. “I made sure they got you just what you wanted.”

Dean practically beamed at the woman holding him, reaching up to throw her arms around her neck tightly. “Best birthday ever!”

( *** )

3974 words