Title: "I'm Batman!"

Genre: Supernatural

Authors name: Deathtonormalcy/AwesomeRewind

Rating: PG-13

Era: Set in 1992, so Sam's 9 and Dean's 13.

Authors note: This is the first "real" fic I've written in years, and english isn't my first language, so um... Be kind? Also, I don't know when they usually show cartoons and stuff like that over in the US, so I just go by the tv-schedule I grew up with.

Word count: ...It's short at least.

Warnings: Uh, none.

Inspired by this post on Tumblr.

Summary: Dean has ALWAYS wanted to do that!

Being grounded really sucked. Especially now. Come on, a twisted ankle wasn't that bad! It would even be a problem on the stakeout that he wasn't allowed to go on.

Damn ghost chasing him, making him run full out in a forest full of roots and holes.

But his fathers conditions had been clear.

"You either jog a lap around the parkinglot of the motel, or you sit this one out."

Damn his traitorous ankle for giving out halfway through.

So now he was on Sammy-duty.

He didn't mind spending time with his brother, not really. But he'd only just started being allowed to go with John when he went on easier salt-and-burns or stakeouts and the like, and he didn't want to go back to spending nights in front of the TV or with his head in books at least ten times his age, waiting for his dad to come home.

He gave a deep sigh and slumped even more on the rickety chair he occupied at the table in what passed for the "kitchen" in the motelroom they were currently occupying.

"What is it, Dean?" came his brothers voice from the floor in front of the TV-set. They'd only been home from school for two hours, but John had already left them for the stakeout and Sam was already finished with whatever homework he'd brought with him from school. Dean hadn't even bothered with his.

"Come on, Sam, do you even have to ask?"

He looked over at his brother, and was met by that kicked-puppy-look that Sam had perfected at the tender age of 2.

"You... You could always come and watch TV with me," Sam stated in a sad tone of voice.

Dean gave another sigh, and limped his way to the ratty couch that Sam was sitting in front of, and slumped down on the slightly lumpy cushions instead of the hard chair. He took in the cartoon that was on right then, some chick screaming and running through an alley, getting chased by some thugs. It was obvious that some kind of superhero was supposed to come and save the day at any moment now.

"What're we watching anyway?"

"It's Batman!" Sam exclaimed, a bit of enthusiasm creeping back into his voice.

Figuring it couldn't be that bad, Dean settled into the couch to see what it was that had gotten his brother so excited. After a few minutes of watching, he had to admit that it was kind of cool.

Then came a moment he'd remember his whole life. Batman was facing down a dude with a gun, and instead of just killing the guy, he threw one of his curved throwing knifes into the muzzle of the gun, disabling the gun.

He wanted to try that right now.

"Hey, Sammy, do you think you'd really be able to do something like that? I mean, plugging a gun like that?" he asked, trying to sound bored and not-really-interested-at-all.

"Well... if you had something that would fit and if you threw it with enough precision and speed it might work. You'd need a ton of luck for it to ever happen though, I mean if you count all the other factors, wind, the hand holding the gun jerking just a bit when the person holding it reacts to something being thrown and a whole lot of other stuff as well," Sam mused. "But it could work, theoretically."

"Huh."

Slowly, Dean started making a plan. He'd try to build some kind of rig to hold a gun next time they settled into a new town for a longer hunt, and get some sort of thin knife or something that he could throw that could fit into the muzzle of a gun. He really wanted to try that for himself.

Two weeks later he found a set of perfect, thin bo shuriken, when he went with his father on a weapons-run. They were small enough to fit the muzzle of one of his guns, and John had been on his case to better his aim when he threw knifes, so he had the perfect excuse. This would be awesome.

Except it wasn't. He just fucking couldn't get it to work. The rig he'd built for the gun was great, and he his aim was good, since he hit the gun on nine out of ten tries, but he just fucking couldn't get it to stick. He'd been at it for months now, but he never got closer than hitting the gun. Even the sometimes extreme single-mindedness of Dean Winchester couldn't take it anymore, and he put the project on ice. It was just a cartoon after all, it probably couldn't be done in real life after all.

Until that day. He just threw that pen, and as it flew through the air, Sam's wording echoed inside is head.

"You'd need a ton of luck for it to ever happen."

If it was ever going to happen, it had to be now.

And it did.

Finally.

And Dean couldn't help himself.

"I'm Batman!"