(no subject)
So onelittlesleep was having a "Sam day" yesterday and she wanted people to talk to her about how awesome Sam Winchester is.
And I opened up the comment window just now and this is what came out. Sorry also, poisontaster, because this is both close and far from what you want.
*****
Mary Winchester wasn't prepared when her second son turned out to be a crier, a screamer, a tantrum-thrower.
Dean had always been such a placid baby; all her friends said she'd lucked out. He'd stare up at her all round cheeks and "Boob please, Mommy!" like she was the center of his world. Like she was the answer to everything. It made her feel powerful.
But Sam, he was colicky, and he had all these complicated needs she couldn't begin to figure out--food and belly kisses were never enough. And while John was at work, Mary and Dean would stare into Sam's crib with matching worried expressions. She couldn't believe that so much noise could come out of something so small.
But then, as soon as she'd decided she couldn't take it anymore, Sammy would stop as quickly as he'd started, hiccuping curtly as his little red face unscrunched. The only trace of the mysterious tragedy was the hot, wet stain on his face, soaking into her flannel nightgown as they did a silent slowdance together, Dean's hands fisted into the dusty hem of her nighty asking to cut in.
"Baby, baby, baby," Mary crooned, wishing Sam didn't take after her as much as she knew he did.
*****
I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, YOU GUYS. Suddenly I want to write eight gazillion fanfics about him playing soccer and crying while he's jerking off and stuff. And yes, HOLDING BABIES.
But I have all this HOMEWORK to do. Maybe later. Then maybe I'd stop feeling all tweaked out like I have fic!blue-balls.
And I opened up the comment window just now and this is what came out. Sorry also, poisontaster, because this is both close and far from what you want.
*****
Mary Winchester wasn't prepared when her second son turned out to be a crier, a screamer, a tantrum-thrower.
Dean had always been such a placid baby; all her friends said she'd lucked out. He'd stare up at her all round cheeks and "Boob please, Mommy!" like she was the center of his world. Like she was the answer to everything. It made her feel powerful.
But Sam, he was colicky, and he had all these complicated needs she couldn't begin to figure out--food and belly kisses were never enough. And while John was at work, Mary and Dean would stare into Sam's crib with matching worried expressions. She couldn't believe that so much noise could come out of something so small.
But then, as soon as she'd decided she couldn't take it anymore, Sammy would stop as quickly as he'd started, hiccuping curtly as his little red face unscrunched. The only trace of the mysterious tragedy was the hot, wet stain on his face, soaking into her flannel nightgown as they did a silent slowdance together, Dean's hands fisted into the dusty hem of her nighty asking to cut in.
"Baby, baby, baby," Mary crooned, wishing Sam didn't take after her as much as she knew he did.
*****
I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, YOU GUYS. Suddenly I want to write eight gazillion fanfics about him playing soccer and crying while he's jerking off and stuff. And yes, HOLDING BABIES.
But I have all this HOMEWORK to do. Maybe later. Then maybe I'd stop feeling all tweaked out like I have fic!blue-balls.