WARNING: No direct spoilers, actually. :)

Author's Note: This is a birthday present for my good friend GuestJ. She had long ago made a couple interesting requests which I've combined here. First was this so-called 'crazy idea': "A neighbor lady knits young Sam a pair of pink and white (girly) mittens. John insists Sam wear them to school to show his gratitude. Big brother Dean comes to Sam's rescue." She also had (twice) requested a story involving Dean's cat allergy that was mentioned in 8x15 "Man's Best Friend With Benefits". Finally, she had asked for me to use the word "ratty" and the word "torn" in a story containing humor. Well, I've mixed all of these ideas into this story. This takes place when Sam was about 8 and Dean was about 12. Enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

"What do you mean you lost them? You lost your scarf last week, too. You've got to keep better track of your belongings, Sam. Misplacing important items is one of the fastest ways to mess up a job," John lectured the younger of his two sons while the three Winchesters climbed the stairs up to the apartment they were renting that month.

"I'm sorry Dad," Sam replied sullenly.

Dean watched the exchange, torn between feeling bad for his little brother who clearly appeared ashamed of his mistake, but also understanding his father's perspective. Sam had lost a couple of their more recent winter-gear purchases from a local thrift shop over the past handful of weeks, and his inattention to where he left his things was dipping into their family's limited funds.

With an exasperated sigh John said, "I'll get you a new pair of gloves as soon as I can. But you must be more careful about these things, son. We can't afford for you to make these kinds of mistakes, do you understand?"

Sam only nodded in response, and Dean felt another pang of sympathy for the kid. Sam must've been awfully embarrassed and guilty for having lost so many items recently.

Just as John was turning the key in their apartment's lock, the door across the hall opened to reveal the squat and round form of little Mrs. Larkin, their current neighbor. She was an elderly woman who lived alone, save for her four cats.

Dean's nose began to tingle as he spotted one of the cats poking its gray, fluffy head out from behind her legs, eyeing him up. He glared at the animal, challenging it to come any closer. The tingling persisted and the boy chose to glance away, hoping that not seeing the cat might trick his nose into forgetting he was allergic to said creature.

"Oh Mr. Winchester!" Mrs. Larkin called out in her high, albeit raspy voice. All three Winchesters turned their attention to her as she declared, "I couldn't help but overhear that your son there lost his gloves. I have a spare pair I can give to him that should fit, if you give me just a moment."

John said with a smile, "Thank you. That's nice of you to offer, but-"

Mrs. Larkin waved off whatever refute their father had been preparing and squeaked, "It's no trouble! Just hang on a tic." Then she shuffled back into her apartment, leaving the gang of Winchesters to wait patiently in the hall, peering with curiosity at her classically-elderly-woman style living room and the three-out-of-four cats who had clustered in her door frame to stare back at them.

A slender tan and white tabby made prolonged eye-contact with Dean, the tingling in Dean's nose piqued again, and this time it built to an actual sneeze.

"Hachoo!"

At the abrupt noise the cats scattered, bolting for cover behind and under the lady's lacy, floral-patterned couch.

Just then Mrs. Larkin reappeared, carrying in her hands a pair of carnation pink knit gloves with a thick strip of white frill around each of their wrist holes.

Dean was sure their father would step in and reject the offering, but to Dean's surprise and Sam's barely-restrained dismay, John reached out and accepted the gloves from the old bird.

"I knit those myself for my granddaughter last week, and I confess I had kept your youngest there in mind as a model for what size to make them. Sadly it turns out they were a bit too small for her anyway. Lucky for you all, I guess," the woman proclaimed, a hint of pride at her handiwork surfacing in her voice.

Sam was clearly at a loss for words as he and Dean watched John carry the gloves back towards them.

John thanked Mrs. Larkin again, and after she'd gone back into her apartment he opened the door to their own and led them all inside.

"I can't use those," Sam insisted immediately upon hearing the door close behind them.

John turned to face Sam wearing a look of parental confidence as he replied, "Yes you can, and you will. This will help you to learn why it's important to keep better track of your things. On a hunt, if you lose your weapon you're forced to improvise, and rarely is the alternative something just as good as the original plan. You seeing the lesson here? Besides, that woman has just offered you a free pair of gloves to replace those which you lost. It was kind of her and you'll wear them to show your gratitude."

Sam looked mortified but he didn't argue.

Dean stepped in to try and help, saying, "Dad, come on. He can't wear those to school tomorrow. Not in front of people!"

"Until I can get him a new pair, he's going to have to," their father stated in a tone that assured his sons the discussion had reached an end.

OoO

Later the afternoon after John had left to do some research at the library, Dean was seated on their couch flipping through an old comic book that Bobby had recently given him.

He heard the soft patter of socks brushing carpeting and realized Sam had come to stand beside him.

"Can I help you?" Dean joked, glancing up from what he was reading. The look on Sam's face wiped the teasing from his own. "Sammy?" he immediately questioned.

"I have to tell you something. You can't tell Dad, please," the younger boy begged, eyes wide.

Now completely serious, Dean agreed, "Yeah, ok. What's up?"

"I didn't lose my gloves," Sam confessed, his attention fixated on a spot of carpet in front of the couch.

"What do you mean?" came Dean's inquisitive reply.

Sam looked up to meet Dean's gaze. "I didn't lose them. Or the scarf. I… I got rid of them because Janet Turner was saying they looked old and ratty, and I got embarrassed, and Dean, I don't know what to do because these new ones are way worse!" he rambled, appearing increasingly distraught.

Dean was surprised to learn Sam had intentionally discarded the scarf and gloves, though the kid's reasoning was less shocking. So Sam had been trying to save himself from another kid's taunts - a girl's taunts at that - only for his efforts to backfire horribly. If this Janet brat had thought Sam's Salvation Army gloves and scarf were bad, the knitted nightmares in pink that Mrs. Larkin had given Sam would only give the bully better ammo to attack with.

Processing the revelation quickly, Dean addressed the first issue, asking, "Why don't you want Dad to know the truth?"

Sam looked sheepish as he explained, "I feel bad. I know we can't buy new stuff all the time. I know I shouldn't have gotten rid of them. But mostly I don't think Dad will like that I let Janet get to me so much, and I think he'll still make me wear the pink gloves."

Dean had to admit Sam had a point. Their father might very well still expect Sam to wear the frilly accessories to learn his lesson about consequences.

Thinking fast, the elder brother said, "Alright, I think I can help you. Here's the plan…"

OoO

Dean sent Sam across the hall wearing the pink gloves to knock on Mrs. Larkin's door.

He listened through their own apartment door to the conversation that transpired.

The elderly woman greeted, "What can I do for you, young man?"

Dean heard Sam's innocent voice reply, "I wanted to say thank you for these gloves, and also ask if I can meet your cats. My dad says we can't have a pet since we travel a lot for his work, but I've always wanted one. I love cats."

"Oh, well aren't you a dear? Yes, let me see if Biscuits will come out and say hello," Mrs. Larkin said before beginning to call out for her cat Biscuits to venture forth and 'come meet the nice boy'.

For the next five minutes Dean listened to Sam cooing over the cat who had indeed braved the meeting, and Dean smiled as he listened to the sincerity with which his little brother praised the creature. He knew Sam really did love animals, so this part of their plan was hardly problematic for him.

Eventually, Dean knew they had to get Sam back inside the apartment before John would return, so Dean called out through the door, "Sammy! Time for dinner!"

He then listened as Sam thanked Mrs. Larkin a final time, said his goodbyes to Biscuits the cat, and marched back across the hall.

Once Sam was back in the apartment, Dean's nose immediately began to tingle and tickle. "I can see things went well," he said, trying not to sneeze.

Sam took off the pink gloves that were now thoroughly coated in cat fur, and began carrying them to the bedroom, saying over his shoulder, "Yup! I don't think Dad is going to be able to get the fur out of these. That cat shed a lot."

At that moment Dean sneezed loudly, causing Sam to turn back and appear apologetic. "Thanks for doing this for me, Dean," the boy offered his gratitude, his eyes brimming with honesty.

Dean reached for a paper towel and dabbed at his nose, supplying, "No problem. But you're gonna owe me one."

The younger boy smiled and continued towards their room.

OoO

Later that night, John returned from the library to find his eldest son sneezing repeatedly and rubbing his hand at itchy, watery eyes.

"Dean?" John addressed Dean with mild concern.

"I think Sam's gloves have cat fur on them," Dean stated, wiping his nose only to sneeze again.

John called for Sam to bring the gloves to him to be inspected. The amount of fur was unmistakable, and even after several attempts to pull the stuff from the material, a large amount remained woven deeply into the yarn.

With a heavy sigh, John declared, "I guess I should have checked before. Four cats in one apartment, the fur is bound to get on everything… Well these are no good to us this way, making Dean sick. Sam, we'll have to get you some new gloves tomorrow after school. You'll wear Dean's to classes, and Dean can wear mine. You'll both just have to deal with baggy gloves for the day."

"Yessir," the brothers chimed in unison.

Suddenly Sam added, "And Dad, I really am sorry for- um- for losing my stuff before. It won't happen again. I have learned my lesson."

The corner of John's lips quirked upward as he looked at his younger son and assured, "It's ok, Sam. Maybe I was being too harsh, anyway. These gloves are pretty…well, pretty."

Sam smiled at the comment before John grabbed a plastic grocery bag to deposit the feminine gloves into and tie off tightly, sealing away the pet-dander from the surrounding air.

OoO

A couple hours later, once the brothers were settled in their beds for the night, Dean heard a small voice from the bed next to his.

"Dean? You awake?" it asked in a hushed tone.

"Yeah?" Dean whispered to Sam in return.

The younger boy then said, "Thank you. You didn't have to do that for me today. I really do owe you."

"Dude, you're only allergic to pollen. How are you supposed to repay me? Have me drag you through some flowers? Nah, let's just call it even," Dean joked.

"I meant-" Sam began to argue, but Dean interrupted.

"Really Sammy, we're good. Just the next time a someone insults your gloves, throw them at their face and not a trash can. Ok?"

With a quiet huff of laughter, Sam agreed, "Sounds good to me."

There was a pause and then…

"Goodnight, jerk."

Dean yawned.

"Goodnight, bitch."

Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! If you have a moment, please do leave feedback. It's always greatly appreciated! :)

Special Note To GuestJ: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! You are a superbly wonderful person and you deserve to have an equally wonderful birthday (which sets the bar VERY high for the birthday gods lol). I wish you all the best of things today, and I wish you many more magnificent birthdays to come. *hugs* :D