ht_murray | Ficlet, Incredible Shrinking Dean, PG-13, Gen

Title: Incredible Shrinking Dean
Author:

tru_faith_lost
Rating: PG for grumpiness and language
Pairing: None. Gen.
Words: 456 according to Firefox
Summary: Early season 4. None of Dean's clothes fit right and only Sam knows why. Schmoopy and a little hurty mixed with crack.
Warnings: If you haven't seen Lazarus Rising, you'll be spoiled. Mentions of jock itch. Possible language.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't profit. Don't intend to defame or claim.
A/N: Found this one when I was going through my tags. Don't know why I never crossposted, but with a new season approaching, a little dose of brother love and banter seemed to be on order.

The Incredible Shrinking Dean

The Incredible Shrinking Dean

"I'm gonna..." Frustrated grunt. "UUURGH! Friggin' angel! All powerful, my ass!"

Dean rants.

Sam listens.

And ducks.

T-shirt over the lamp. Button down on the doorknob. Boxer briefs... oomph... dangling from Sam's ear. Nice.

Dean's a whirlwind, all Tazmanian devil and goobledy gabbledy aaaargh, buzzing through his entire wardrobe without dislodging the chip on his shoulder, and slumping down on the bed in just his underclothes, fingers threaded in his hair.

"'Raised me from perdition,' he said. 'Gripped me tight,' he said. Well, maybe he should've gripped a little tighter, because some of me slipped through his fingers."

"Dean, what the fuck are you talking about?

"I'm talking about how none of my clothes fit me anymore. They're all baggy and saggy." He looks looks down at himself with disdain. "I shrunk!"

"Ohhh. Dude, TMI." Sam ducks away as casually as he can, tugging at his shirt collar because the chafe mark around his neck from months of wearing everything just a little too-tight suddenly itches like a freshly pulled scab.

"Ah!" Dean squirms. "And how the hell did I get jock itch? I'd remember if I had jock itch, you know, before I lost my jock."

Sam makes a mental note to buy a fresh tube of Tinactin at the pharmacy rather than explaining to Dean why he has a half-empty one in his bag.

"Look," Sam says, hands on hips, "J. Buckley got a brand new credit card in the mail this morning. Gander Mountain's three blocks away. We'll get you new clothes to go with your sparkly new life."

"I'd rather have whatever Tall, Dark, and Eyeball Melty left out when he put me back together."

"Beggars can't be choosers."

"I guess not." Dean starts gathering up his clothes, tossing them one by one into the wastebasket.

"W-wait! What are you doing?" Sam fishes them back out, realizes how it must look, and sticks out his chin. Clearing his throat, he says, "G-Good Will. Good Will wants these. You know, for the underprivileged."

All gathered into his arms, the pile of clothes smells more like Dean than any one piece ever did through all the months of not washing.

"Whatever," Dean shrugs. His face twists. "Dude, J. Buckley?"

"I was feeling..." clears his throat, "...nostalgic."

"More like, giant pussy," Dean smirks.

"Giant, being the operative word," Sam retorts, standing to his full-height, shoulders back with a gleam in his eye. Then on a whim, he squeaks, "Shrinky-Dink!" and ducks into the bathroom to avoid flying socks, chuckling to himself and shaking his head.

Dean will never get used to being the littler brother.

Sam scratches the red mark at his collar one more time. He'll never get used to being bigger.

It chafes.

A/N: The prompt was: Back from Hell, Dean's bitching because none of his clothes fit anymore.
A/N2: Sorry if I offended anyone by implying Sam has jock itch. I was just noting that if he was too depressed to do laundry, there was bound to be a fungus amongus.