(no subject)
Title: Bedtime Stories
Characters: Dean (12), Sam (8)
Rating: G
Notes: 213 words of Weechesters.
"So that's when I hacked their heads off." he says. "And that was that." Dean nods and smiles, looks over his shoulder at Sam and winks. He checks the lock at the window twice before he tucks the blanket over Sam's chest.
"You're a liar." Sam says, forehead creasing beneath the pieces of hair in his eyes. Dean walks over to his bedside. He lifts the corner of the pillow briefly, slight stream of lamplight falling over the warm metal of the blade; Dean nods to himself.
"Am not." Dean assures him as he pulls his shirt over his head and falls back against his own mattress. "That's what happened. You can ask Dad." He toes off his boots, bits of half-dried mud crumbling on the floor by the gun oil and crayons.
"Da-" Sam begins to call out, but Dean interrupts.
"Don't bother Dad." he says, crossing his thin arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Sam blows the hair out his eyes and folds his arms behind his own head, long fingers tangling in his hair.
"Then what happened?" he asks after a while. Dean doesn't open his eyes, but he smiles.
"That's when the door burst open. Must have been two dozen of 'em, Sammy."
Sam listens.
Characters: Dean (12), Sam (8)
Rating: G
Notes: 213 words of Weechesters.
"So that's when I hacked their heads off." he says. "And that was that." Dean nods and smiles, looks over his shoulder at Sam and winks. He checks the lock at the window twice before he tucks the blanket over Sam's chest.
"You're a liar." Sam says, forehead creasing beneath the pieces of hair in his eyes. Dean walks over to his bedside. He lifts the corner of the pillow briefly, slight stream of lamplight falling over the warm metal of the blade; Dean nods to himself.
"Am not." Dean assures him as he pulls his shirt over his head and falls back against his own mattress. "That's what happened. You can ask Dad." He toes off his boots, bits of half-dried mud crumbling on the floor by the gun oil and crayons.
"Da-" Sam begins to call out, but Dean interrupts.
"Don't bother Dad." he says, crossing his thin arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Sam blows the hair out his eyes and folds his arms behind his own head, long fingers tangling in his hair.
"Then what happened?" he asks after a while. Dean doesn't open his eyes, but he smiles.
"That's when the door burst open. Must have been two dozen of 'em, Sammy."
Sam listens.