This one has Wee!chesters. Sam is twelve. Dean is sixteen.

Disturbance

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The fist banging at the door was loud and insistent. Dean stirred and glared blearily at the clock. 2 am. He frowned at the empty bed next to him. Sam wasn't here. The kid had gone off to a party. A pool party and sleepover at the local hotel. The nice hotel on the other side of town, the one with free breakfast and clean rooms.

All of the kids in Sam's class were excited about spending the night at a hotel. As if that was a treat. Sam had been excited about the pool, and with as hot as this September had been, Dean couldn't blame him. He'd thought about offering to chaperone so he could take a dunk himself, but the glare in Sam's eyes had made that suggestion die on his lips. Sam was reaching the age where 'big brother' was no longer 'cool.' The kid wanted to do things on his own.

So Dean had bought a pair of swim trunks for the kid and waved his brother off around 6 last night.

The party wasn't over until 10 am.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

A flash of red and blue light filtered through the curtain. Dean squinted in the darkness. Cops? Dean was pretty sure he hadn't done anything illegal lately. They had paid for this room in cash, so there was not credit card for the police to get angry about.

Could this have something to do with the party?

No way. What could a gang of twelve-year-olds get up to that would draw the cops?

Plenty. Dean knew from experience. But Sammy wasn't that kind of kid.

Or so Dean had thought.

He pulled the door open to see a man in blue uniform, big and beefy and nearly as tall as Dad with a stern look on his face. The cop had a hand on Sam's shoulder, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes as he stared at his toes.

Oh, Sammy, what did you do?

"Does this belong to you?" the cop asked. No interrogation about where Dad was, no stern discussion about what Sam had done. "Party got shut down."

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulder and pulled him to his side. "Yep. The kid belongs here. What did a bunch of twelve-year-olds get up to that got a party shut down?"

Most twelve -year-olds couldn't get their hands on the kinds of things that got the cops involved.

Sam shot the cop a warning look. The cop's stern demeanor cracked into a hint of a grin for half a second before slamming back into place. "Apparently, the chaperone decided to leave early. We can't have a bunch of minors unaccompanied at a hotel."

"Right." But what on earth had the minors done to get noticed in the first place? Cops didn't get called just because there were kids around.

The cop had better things to do. He gave Sam a small wave and turned to leave. "Keep yourself out of trouble, Winchester."

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded.

After the door was closed Dean spun his brother around to face him. "What happened at that party, Sammy? Booze? Weed? I mean, things have to get serious before the cops come."

Sam rolled his eyes again. "Nothin'."

Dean frowned, his gaze homing on on a red, puffy spot on Sam's cheek. That was going to turn into a serious bruise tomorrow. "A fight?" Dean scanned his brother up and down and noted that the edge of his shirt was torn and there were scratch marks up his arm. "Sammy, what happened?"

Sam shrugged away from Dean's grasp and shook his head. "I'm fine, Dean! Nothin' bad happened. Somebody thought we were making too much noise, that's all."

That was not the voice of a kid who was scared or hurt. That was the voice of a kid who didn't want his big brother to find out something potentially embarrassing.

"Uh-huh." Dean went to the fridge and fetched and ice pack, which he placed over Sam's cheek. "Who beat you up?"

Sam's scowl turned indignant. "He didn't beat me!"

Dean smirked. "Good."

Dean opened his mouth to as more questions, but Sam looked up at Dean with those wide puppy-eyes that mean he was about to ask for something. Dean felt his heart wobble, as it did every time Sam used that expression.

"Can we just go to bed? I'm tired."

Dean couldn't argue with that, so he made Sam finish out ten more minutes with the ice pack and then flicked off the light. Dean burrowed back into his bed, but from the sound of it Sam just flopped himself fully-clothed on top of the covers. His eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling.

Like he was waiting for something.

After twenty minutes, something arrived. A face appeared in the window of their motel room, hovering near the bottom where the glass was open to let a cool breeze through the screen.

"Let's finish this, Winchester!" The challenge came out in a hushed whisper.

Sam needed no more prompting. He slid off the bed silently, then glanced at Dean, who closed his eyes and lay very, very still. Sam went to the kitchen to grab something out of the drawer, then slipped the chain off the door and went outside to meet his foe.

Sammy, you've got a knife better than anything in that kitchen! What was the kid up to?

Voices drifted through the window.

"We gotta be quiet this time. We don't want the cops again."

"The cops only came because of that stupid lady and her stupid yappy dog! No one here is gonna care!"

"They might! Besides, you'll wake my brother."

Dean snorted. Too late for that. He slipped his gun out from under his pillow and went to the kitchen to see what was missing from the silverware drawer.

Spoons. Every single spoon was gone.

What?

A soft slapping sound came through the window. Dean knew that sound from the poker table. Cards were being shuffled and dealt.

Had Sammy been caught gambling? Had he gotten on the wrong side of a bad bet?

Uh-oh.

"You're S-P. You've got S-P-O-O."

"Nu-uh! That one didn't count! I only let go because the cops were there!"

"He's right about that."

There were more than boys out there, all talking in hushed voices.

"Ok, you'v got one O. You're on N! And I'm still on S." That was Sam, sounding very, very proud of his 'S'. Whatever that meant.

Dean went to the door and paused with his palm on the handle, still listening carefully to the sounds through the window. The steady, rhythmic slap of cards grew faster and faster. That didn't sound like poker. There was no call for new cards, no discussion of bets.

Dean was about ready to go crane his head out the window when action exploded outside. It was muffled, the boys doing their best to keep quiet, and if Dean wasn't a hunter he likely wouldn't have noticed the scuff of a shoes against the asphalt or the grunt as someone had the wind knocked out of them.

Time to find out what was happening. Sam didn't need another black eye tonight. Dean swung the door open, and stared. Two boys wrestled across the parking lot, each clutching the same shiny silver spoon. It glinted in the streetlight. On the sidewalk, Sam and another boy stood by, each holding their own spoon and a handfull of cards.

"Keep it quiet!" Sam hissed at his friend, oblivious to the fact Dean was standing in the doorway behind him.

The boys rolled across an oil spill, not seeming to care that they were now covered in grime, each determined to keep his grip on the prized spoon. Then they backed into a car, a newer model, the type equipped with an alarm.

The horn blared across the parking lot, beeping over and over again as the headlights flashed. The boys froze. Then someone yelled.

"Run!"

Both boys let got of the spoon and hurtled for the motel room. Sam and his friend on the sidelines ducked for cover, too. They crowded past Dean without a second glance and all fell into a huddle under the window, panting.

"That's S for you, Tyler! You're out!" One of the boys chimed, pointing at the kid who had dropped the spoon first.

"We let go at the same time!"

"Yeah, so you both lose! Right Winchester?"

"Uh-yeah." Sam wasn't listening. He was staring up at Dean with worried eyes. Eyes that said Please! Please don't laugh.

"Let me get this straight." Dean pointed at finger at the boys. "You made so much noise at the hotel playing a card game that the cops had to come and break it up? Because you were wrestling over a spoon?"

All four boys nodded.

Dean threw back his head and laughed. "What kind of card game uses a spoon?"

"The best game ever!" Sam's friend declared vehemently. "You've never heard of Spoons?"

Dean shook his head, and was met with looks of pity from three boys.

"Then you gotta play!"

"He can't play, he's too big!"

The boys considered Dean for a moment. "He can play one-handed."

"You can't play one-handed!"

"He could have a five-second delay."

"We could tie his shoelaces together!"

Clearly, this game was happening, and it was happening tonight.

"I'll do one-handed," Dean said.

Sam stared at his brother. "You're gonna play Spoons? But you said the only real card game is poker."

"Yeah. Well, a card game that involves a wrestling match is a card game I gotta try."

Outside, someone had managed to turn the car alarm off, and was now griping about 'young hooligans'.

One of the boys scowled. "We gotta keep it down. My mom's gonna be real mad if the cops bring me home twice in one night."

"Ok. New rule. He who makes noise gets a letter," Dean said.

The rules were agreed upon and someone fetched the cards from outside. Sam pulled a spare spoon from his pocket and Dean was introduced to the game that had rocked the foundations of the local middle school. Four cards. One less spoons than there were players. Four of a kind and you can grab a spoon. Once the first spoon is taken, anyone can snatch one. Last player without a spoon gets a letter. Spell SPOONS you loose.

Within ten minutes Dean had earned an elbow to the ribs, had his shirt ripped in two places, and had earned himself an S.

Sam was good at this. He was like a fish wriggling in your hand until suddenly the spoon was gone and you didn't quite know how.

Dean glared at his brother, who was holding onto the winning spoon, while the boys around him cackled with glee. Sam's laugh died in his throat. He could see the look in his brother's eye. It had just been a fun game until now.

Now it was war.

Knock! Knock! A firm fist thumped at the door again.

"We didn't make a sound!" One of the kids hissed.

Dean went to stare out the peephole. The same cop who had dropped Sam off was back, and behind him stood the gentleman who owned the fancy car with the fancy alarm.

Ooops. Dean opened the door with his best 'no problems here sir!' grin. "Can I help you, officer?"

The cop held up a dirty spoon, the one that had been dropped in the run from the screaming car.

"Gee, thanks! You guys are awesome! I didn't even know we had lost that yet." Dean took the spoon back with a smile. "Great work, officer!"

The officer looked over Dean's shoulder at the explosion of cards that littered the motel room floor, and four sets of hopeful eyes that stared back at him.

"We didn't make a sound!"

One kid pointed to the duct tape that had been placed over his mouth after he'd earned a letter for making noise.

The officer looked like he was choking on a laugh for a moment, but his face remained stern and impassive. He waggled the dirty spoon at them. "Just-keep it down this time."