Hurling Hotdogs in Harrisburg

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. The only things I own are the errors. ;) Happy Reading!

Just an idea that came to mind, and instantly knew I had to write about it. Basically just a short little story that could very well have actually happened in the young Winchester's childhood. Filled with a little bit of humor, and really just an excuse to write about some brotherly love. :)

Today was the day. Sam was finally going to start pulling his own weight around the house, so to speak anyways, since both him and Dean had been living in not a house, but instead a rundown motel for the past two and a half weeks.

Their father had only planned on being gone about a week and a half, but the job he was currently on turned out to be more complex than expected and had called to let them know that their stay at "The Howl Resort" would be extended. Because of their prolonged stay, at what Sam joked at as "The Owl Sort" due to certain letters of the sign flickering out, both of the boys had been running low on cash.

Somehow they had gotten on the manager's good graces, so they hadn't gotten any threats of being thrown out for not paying to stay extra. Either that, or the old man who looked too decrepit to even walk without crumbling into ash simply didn't care, since they were probably the only tenants he had gotten in quite awhile.

So rent wasn't a problem, however food was.

Sam wasn't old enough to get a part time job yet, and Dean had been working at some local mechanic shop to get some extra money. But he wouldn't be getting paid until he got off of work Monday, and today was Friday. Whenever one of their stomachs had growled, they tried to ignore it or go to the fridge to stare at the lonely stick of butter and jar of mayonnaise on the bottom shelf before closing the door in defeat yet again.

This was seriously starting to get bad for them, having nibbled down on their last pieces of bread and slices of various deli meats until yesterday morning when even crumbs weren't left behind.

It was 5:00 in the evening and Sam was sitting on his bed, since he had finished his English essay about a half hour ago there wasn't much else to do. Dean had been at work since 9:00 this morning, and wouldn't be home until 7:00 that night.

Plenty of time to run off and do what needed to be done without his brother getting wind of it and trying to stop him.

Sam stumbled off of the edge of his bed he had been perching on, and made a grab for his sneakers with barely contained excitement that came in waves, causing him to jitter. It was the time of year that transitioned from Spring to Summer, so the weather was fairing nicely as of late so that he needn't to bring a jacket with him. He did a once over of the room, and carefully closed the door, locking it behind him and patting his front jeans pocket that now held the motel key.

He started on his journey to his destination: Roven Park. He looked both ways before he crossed every street, something his older brother had hounded into his brain enough times when he was little that he thought even if he somehow obtained amnesia one day, when crossing a street his mind would still echo "Look both ways! Sheesh, that's common knowledge man!"

Eventually Sam made it to the park, and his eyes scanned all of the banners until he found the one he was looking for: "Harrisburg's Annual Hotdog Eating Contest." In this small little town in the middle of somewhere, Michigan, these people took their eating contests just as serious as every other holiday from what he had gathered during small talk with fellow classmates at school.

He made his way through all of the commotion surrounding the stand, and found his way around so that he was now behind one of the many napkins on the long table that marked a spot where the contestants' places were. The only requirement to participate in the contest was that your age had to be at least double digits, and Sam had that covered for years now. Unlike a roller-coaster that he could never ride because of height issues, this was one thing that his wimpy 5'1" body wouldn't prevent him from doing.

Sam glanced down the table to see what he could make of his competition. Right next to him was a feeble old woman, who was most likely doing this just for her grand-children's amusement. Nothing to worry about there.

Next to her was a woman in her early 20's, whom was currently doing some rather fierce jumping jacks and squats while in all athletic branded clothing, right down to the shoes. She could pose as a threat.

After her was a man whose hair was a mix of salt and pepper colors, looking around as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. He's not enthusiastic, so he shouldn't be much of any trouble.

Moving on, there was a young boy that needed to use a stool to see above the table. What, did this kid just turn 10 yesterday?

And finally, at the very end, was a man probably in his early 30's that had a huge grin plastered to his face for so long, it reminded Sam of clown face paint. Oh God, not clowns.

So in total, the only two people he had to watch out for were the aggressive stretching woman and the mysterious young man that he now tried to avert his eyes from if at all possible since he now reminded him of a clown. His mind was wandering, and he had to focus himself on why exactly he was doing this and how important it was.

The person who gets first place wins some little golden ribbon which he didn't care for at all, $250 in prize money, and a plate full of hotdogs as well as a homemade pie made by the baker, get this, who sells his own pies in his own bakery on Baker Street. Sam didn't know whether to laugh at such a terrible joke that was the reality of this small town, or be slightly disgusted at how that made everyone here look all the more perky and perfect.

Either way, Sam was starting to feel like he couldn't get out of here fast enough and that he actually wanted to return to the bad side of town that wasn't perky or perfect, and maybe the signs didn't always light up the way they should, but at least it was real. And that was looking a lot better than these fake people right now.

A man in a extremely daring outfit that consisted of a top hat, a cane, and a cheap suit that all had the same tacky design of bright red and white vertical stripes which failed to try and draw the attention away from his solid black mustache that curled comically on both ends, came to the front of the table with a megaphone in hand. The first few moments were detrimental to everyone's hearing as the megaphone started making sounds that Sam could only relate to a dying whale, but eventually the sound of the man's voice came out fairly clear. Or whatever clear was when using one of those obnoxious contraptions, Sam couldn't really tell since it all sounded like muffled mumbo jumbo to man went on and on raving about how fantastic this event was for the town; apparently this was a big thing for these people.

You haven't even seen big until you've been face to face with a seriously pissed off werewolf, his mind peeped before he could shove he thought back to the recesses of his mind. Finally the man's rant ended, as if they didn't do this every year and probably even used the same stupid speech each year as well, and he called on the several people now holding plates stacked with hotdogs to deposit the plates in front of each contestant.

Each person had a plate of 25 plain hotdogs, with little cups filled with chili, mustard, and ketchup on the side for one to use, depending on their preference. The rules were simple; the first person to eat all of their hotdogs without throwing them up would be awarded as the winner. Second and third place got little silver and bronze ribbons along with $25 for 3rd place and $50 for 2nd.

The man held a checkered black and white flag up and yelled into the megaphone, "On your marks!" Sam shook his head slightly and looked down at his plate.

"Get set!" The announcer yelled, trying to be as dramatic as possible for the crowd. Sam took his fighting stance that he had been trained to do, let his arms hang somewhat lax but still ready to take action by his sides, wiggling his fingers over the hotdogs that were just a mere 3 inches away from his fingertips, and took a deep breath.

"GO!" The man yelled, and their audience screamed with excitement as all of the contestants began shoving the hotdogs down their throats at their own pace. Sam didn't even waste time dunking his into condiments, he just ate them as they were and had already finished two and was halfway through a third.

"Woah, look at that kid go!" The announcer yelled, pointing his finger at Sam and making the physical notion of turning up the volume to get the crowd going even more. Obviously these people didn't know just how much a Winchester could pack in after starving for days on end.

Starting on his fourth, in his peripherals Sam could see the grandma quaintly dipping her first hotdog into a section of ketchup and peacefully brought it to her mouth to only bite about ¼ off. He rolled his eyes and continued shoving the food down to his gut, his stomach grumbling in appreciation as it gladly welcomed the overflow of substance to fill the once empty organ.

Sam knew he needed to pace himself, because if he didn't he knew things could get really bad in the not-too-distant future. He looked over to see the athletic woman relentlessly pushing herself to eat all of the food in front of her, causing herself to cough for several very precious seconds so that she was no longer in the lead.

Through the megaphone the man said something, but Sam couldn't really hear anything since he had focused everything in him to eating, and the next thing he knew a water bottle pre-opened was being placed just above the spot his plate was occupying. His mouth was a little dry, after pushing so many hotdogs down by now that he had lost count. So with one hand still holding a hotdog he was just beginning on, he grabbed the bottle and took a swift but efficient swig of the liquid that felt like Heaven to him, before putting it back down and continuing to eat.

The salt and pepper man had called it quits and walked away, while the little kid turned from the table to heave up chunks of the now half digested hotdogs, immediately being disqualified. The old woman might as well be out of the competition, she was in no rush without any intentions of winning. That left stretching woman, clown man, and Sam.

By this point, Sam was certain that there were more of the hotdogs in him than there were on his plate, so he figured he was making good time. The woman coughed yet again, having to stop even longer this time and chugged down half of her water in one turn. All of that water followed by her next hotdog was not a good combination, her body instinctively began to show signs of puking from the sounds she was making. She covered her mouth and managed to swallow any of the contents from her stomach that had unwillingly made its way back up, and trudged on much to the crowd displeasure.

Sam felt like his stomach was so heavy he would be pulled to the ground and even through the ground, physics be damned. His stomach let out a cry of not hunger, but of pleas to stop before he lost all control to hold back the now constant feeling of nausea. Sam took a deep breath and took a small sip of his water and continued to bite down on his food, not as enthusiastically as he had starting out.

Only three buns filled with slivers of processed meat were left on Sam's plate, and his brain starting shouting thanks to everything that was good in this world that this was almost over. The woman had noticed how close he was to finishing, and began eating even faster than before with now only two of the hotdogs left for her. Sam took notice as the crowd starting shouting words of encouragement at both of them, but he knew he couldn't just settle for 2nd place.

He needed to win this. Come on, come on, come on, come on! He yelled inside his mind, he knew he could do this. He had to do this.

With the last bit of energy he had left, Sam quickly pushed the remaining food down his throat quicker than his brother could disassemble a sawed-off, which was saying a lot. The crowd cheered wildly and some bell rang off in the distance, signifying that there was a winner. Sam just closed his eyes and placed his hands down on the table to stop himself from swaying, and he tried to collect himself.

The athletic woman finished a few seconds later, glaring at him as if he had just called her the competitive psycho that she really was. Clown man finished about a minute later, all traces of his smile were wiped clean off his face as he was turning to a sickly shade of green. Before Sam could react, he was being pulled to the front of the long table and being handed the cash, pinned the golden ribbon, and handed the bag that contained the promised pie and steaming plate of hotdogs.

He caught a whiff of the plate that lay on top in the bag, and nearly puked right then and there. He would never look at hotdogs the same way again, that much was certain. He tried to fake a small smile at everyone that was now staring at him with big smiles of their own, and with a final slap to his back, it was over.

Sam looked down at his watch and saw that it was now 6:00. Where had the time gone? He made his way through the group of people that kept stopping him and congratulating him, so by the time he had pushed his way through everybody it was now 6:15.

With every step he took, his legs felt more and more like cement and his head began pounding as well. His stomach was doing flips inside of him, and he had to stop to lean against a brick wall and rest before making an attempt to start walking back home again. After crossing many streets, he found himself in the motel parking lot. Staring at the all too familiar classic black car in a parking space, Sam's eyes widened and he roughly jerked his arm up to see that it was now 6:35. What the hell was Dean doing home? He wasn't due back for another 25 minutes.

He slowly crept his way up to their door, and fished in his pocket for the key that he now turned in the lock until he heard in click. Not sure what he would find inside, he dreadfully turned the knob and pushed the door open, turning around the close it back.

"Where the hell have you been, little brother?" Sam turned around to face the voice that had beamed through the room, letting out a nervous laugh as he walked in the rest of the way to set his bag of food down.

"I've been out getting us something to eat. Problem?" He fired back at his much taller brother who was now walking around the small table to stand right in front of him.

"Where did you get that?"

"From some extremely annoying people. But never mind that, all that matters is that it's food, Dean." He got the look that said, you're not getting off the hook that easy, but he let it slide as Dean's face softened once he had pulled out the plate of hotdogs and had opened the Styrofoam box to see a large steaming pie inside.

"You got pie too?" Dean questioned him as he tried to decide whether to stare at the food or at his little brother. Sam nodded and walked around to his bed to take off his shoes as Dean began dishing out himself a rather large piece of pie and a singular hotdog.

When Sam bent over, it had felt like his entire stomach had just squeezed itself into a little ball, and he couldn't hold in the vomit any longer as he ran into the bathroom and slammed the door before he fell to his knees and began heaving into the toilet. "Sam?" He could hear his brother's voice filled with worry and shock as his calls went through the thin door separating him from his very sick brother.

"Sam? Answer me." After a few moments of silence Dean yelled even louder. "Sammy! Talk to me, or I'm breaking the damn door down." Sam knew his brother really would take action if he didn't speak up, so as he laid his head down on his bent arm resting on the rim of the toilet, he said in a shaky voice "I'm fine, Dean."

"Oh yeah, cause that looked like you were totally fine," Dean threw back with sarcasm. Sam inhaled all the air he could, though he wished he hadn't since everything around him held the stench of puke. He coughed and spit out what was left in his mouth, and stood up to flush the toilet. He made his way to the sink and turned on the faucet to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Knowing that he would have to spill everything verbally, since he had just spilled everything physically, he opened the bathroom door to find Dean staring down at him with creases on his forehead. "Start talking. Now."

They sat down at the table, Dean eating his pie while listening, as Sam told him everything starting from the beginning.

How he had heard over the announcements at school about an eating contest this Friday and that you could earn some prize money if you won, how it had all worked out perfectly since Dean decided to skip school that day since he had a test in Biology, how he would make it back in time before Dean got home, and about how he had won all of the food. "Oh, and here's this by the way." He added, as he forked over the $250 folded in half onto the table next to Dean.

Dean's eyebrows shot up as he stared at Sam. "And you got this from…" Dean said, leaving the sentence hanging in the air until Sam grabbed at it to fill in the blanks. "Winning the eating contest. I told you." Dean eyed his brother as he shuffled through the bills of twenties, tens, and fives.

"All of this... from some little town's annual eat fest?" He nodded back, looking at his brother to try and convince him that it was all true.

"My little brother, going out on his own to not only make us some money but also to put food on the table before I could." Dean paused as he looked at the green eyes he had grown up all his life with looking pleadingly back at him. Silence filled the room for so long that Sam thought he really had lost at trying to convince Dean, until his big brother's face lit up like a Christmas tree. A whole-hearted laugh came from Dean, until he settled down to a wide grin taking attention away from every other feature on his face. "That's my boy, Sammy!" Dean reached over and ruffled Sam's floppy brown hair.

Sam let out a breath that he didn't even notice he was holding, and a smile of his own crept onto his face.

"And out of all of that, you managed to even get your big brother some pie." Dean said, his voice filled with pride, as he started laughing all over again. Dean took another bite of pie before setting his plate down and sitting up straight in his chair. Damn, he thought he could've made it out scotch free. "

That's good and all, but you could've told me Sam. Do you know how worried I got when I opened the door to find the room empty? And you left your cell phone here too! I had no way to contact you, and I had no idea where you had gone. At least leave me a note, man."

Shit! He had been in such a hurry to get to the park that he had totally forgotten to bring his phone. "I know, I'm sorry Dean. I thought I would've made it back before you got home though. Hey, how did you get home so early anyhow?"

"Oh, I'd finished tuning up a car early and Al, my boss, said I could take the rest of the day off since business was slow today. But that's beside the point; you should've let me know Sam. Don't just go off by yourself and not tell me. What if something had happened to you?" Dean started talking Sam's ears off, his over-protective big brother senses kicking into overdrive.

"Okay, okay, I get it. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Damn straight it won't. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Pacing in here since 6:15 wondering where the hell you were." He mumbled more to himself than to Sam, and only then did Sam realize just how much worry he had caused Dean. The semi-chick flick moment was over, as Dean went back to eating his pie and kicked his legs up onto the circular table and crossing them over his ankles.

"I'm gonna go lay down, I still don't feel too good." Sam announced, and Dean half nodded as he grabbed the TV remote and began changing channels. He turned the volume down to a considerate level, so Sammy could still take a nap without having voices blaring into his eardrums. Sam plopped down onto his bed and grabbed his pillow, circling his arms around it and closing his eyes.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean said, and Sam raised his head a few inches above his pillow, turned his head to the side, and weakly opened his eyes in response. He looked back to see Dean holding out the plate full of hotdogs and said too innocently "You sure you don't want one?" Dean gave him a lopsided smile that said he knew all too well that Sam wouldn't want to eat anything, let alone hotdogs, but he couldn't resist asking the question.

Sam's eyes turned to slits in an attempt to look annoyed by his brother's remark as he grumbled "I hate you" before plopping his head back onto his pillow and slowly fading into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard was his brother laughing his head off in between bites of pie, and the clatter of the plate as Dean sat the hotdogs back onto the table.

Make sure to favorite, follow, and review this story if you liked it! I love the feedback! :)

Also, I would love it if you would check out my other Supernatural story that goes into detail about Sam's experience in The Cage.

Until Next Time. ;)