Mother... er... Brother Goose
This is my first LJ entry - just trying to get the hang of the site!
Summary: Sammy wants a story. Dean obliges... Sam 5, Dean 9.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters aren't mine, I'm not earning any money from this, etc.
Warnings: None, just cuteness!
With the utmost concentration the small boy squeezed the tube and dispensed the thick paste onto his brush. Chubby fingers left their marks in the impressionable plastic. Solemnly and inexpertly he rubbed the bristles over his teeth, covering very little surface area but making a great deal of foam. Then he stood on tiptoe, leant over the chipped basin and spat out the results with enthusiasm.
“Sammy! It’s time for bed!”
“Mmmm... ’kay, Dean!” Twin dimples grooved into the round face. He bared his teeth in the mirror, inspecting his handiwork with satisfaction, before plopping the toothbrush into the stand beside the two that already stood there. Bare feet thudded out of the bathroom and across to the small bedroom where an older, taller boy was waiting.
“Have you done your teeth?”
A wide, gap-toothed grin was the answer.
“Okay, into bed then, Sammy.”
“Dean?” Sam scrambled onto his bed. “Can you read me a story?”
“Uh... it’s kinda late...”
“Please?” Huge blue-green eyes beseeched, irresistible. Dean was lost.
“Well, okay. But only one.”
Sam thrust a hardcover book into Dean’s hands and wriggled across under the covers to make space for his brother.
“This one, I got it from school and my teacher read it to us and I really really like it.”
“The Three Little Pigs?” Dean’s voice was disgusted. “This is a baby book! I don’t wanna -”
“It’s not a baby book. I like it. I wanna hear that story.” Sam’s lower lip jutted, his face beginning to crumple ominously.
Dean recognised the signs.
“Okay, okay. We can read it,” he amended hastily, and relaxed at the reappearance of the dimples. “But I still think it’s a baby book.”
Sam just smiled. He knew he’d won that round. He leant against Dean, watching his brother’s face avidly as the story began.
“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived three little pigs. Their names were Porky, Snorky and ... uh... Dorky.”
“They didn’t have names when my teacher read it.” Sam pulled away, eying him suspiciously.
“Well, she obviously read it wrong then.” Dean’s tone was lofty. “Of course they had names. How else would their dad scold them?”
“But -”
“Look, Sammy, who’s reading this story, me or your teacher? You have to be quiet or I’ll stop.”
Sam was instantly silent.
“Can I get back to the story now?”
Sam nodded, mouth shut tight.
“So. They lived all together in a little house with their... uh... well, with their father but he was very busy and was often away working.”
Sam frowned.
“My teacher said it was their mom -” He closed his mouth with a snap as Dean looked at him warningly.
“Anyway... one day they decided it was time to leave home and live somewhere else. Probably their dad had finished his work in that town and had found some work in another place.”
Sam’s lip was jutting again.
“You’re messing it up, Dean. You’re telling it all wrong.”
“Sammy, I told you -”
“My teacher didn’t tell it anything like that. I want it her way.”
“Okay! Sheesh! Fine. So, the three little pigs decided to leave home, and each build a house of their own. Por... uh... uh... Dorky decided to build a lovely house made all of straw.”
“You mean Porky.”
“No, Dorky.”
“But Porky is the eldest. It was the eldest who built the house of straw.”
“Whatever. There’s no way the eldest would be such a nimrod. It was definitely the youngest. Dorky.”
“Why is the youngest called Dorky? I don’t like that name.”
‘Because the youngest is always the dorky one.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
“Look, you want me to carry on or not?”
Sam nodded, but he looked mutinous.
“OKAY. So Dorky decided to build a lovely house of straw. He put in windows and a door and a fireplace - gosh, a fireplace? Only a dork would put a fireplace in a straw -” He caught sight of his little brother’s face and went on hurriedly. “And a fireplace. The little pig - Dorky - was very happy with his beautiful house.
“The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. Dorky looked out the window, and there, at the door, was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pig! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Not by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’ Dorky shouted back. ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the house down!’ And that big, bad wolf blew and blew and BLEW and he blew the house of straw right down. Dorky just managed to escape without being eaten by the wolf.”
Dean heard Sam’s soft gasp. The younger Winchester’s eyes were glued to his older brother’s face.
“The second little... uh... Snorky... decided to build a lovely house of sticks. He put in windows and a door and a fireplace.” Dean snorted, but refrained from comment. “Snorky was very happy with his beautiful house. The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. It was Dorky. ‘Let me in, let me in! The big, bad wolf is chasing me and he wants to eat me!’ Snorky let him in, and just as they shut the door there came another loud knock on it. It was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pigs! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Not by the hairs on our chinny-chin-chins!’ Snorky and Dorky shouted back. ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the house down!’ And that bad wolf blew and blew and BLEW and he blew the house of sticks right down. Dorky and Snorky just managed to escape without being eaten by the wolf.”
Dean paused, and a stubborn gleam came into his eye.
“So Snorky and Dorky ran and ran and RAN until they got to Porky. Now Porky had decided that it wasn’t worth building a house, because he liked to drive around in his Impala from town to town. So he found a motel with cable TV and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.” Dean felt the stiffening in the small body pressed up against him, but he ignored it.
“The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. It was Snorky and Dorky. ‘Let us in, let us in! The big bad wolf is chasing us and he wants to eat us!’ So Porky let them in. He made sure the salt lines were still okay on the doors and windows. Then he loaded his rifle with silver bullets and filled his bottle with holy water.
“Right then there came another loud knock at the door. It was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pigs! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Sure,” Porky shouted back, and he opened the door. The big bad wolf came running in, and Porky threw the holy water all over him. Then he fired the rifle and got that wolf right in the heart, first shot, with a silver bullet, and totally wasted him. Then Porky, Snorky and Dorky salted and burned that wolf in the motel parking lot.”
There was dead silence as he stopped. Sam was staring at him, eyes wide.
“My teacher... my teacher didn’t tell us that part.”
“No, most people don’t know it.” Dean shook his head gravely.
“Oh.” Sam’s voice was awed. “So Porky killed the big bad wolf?”
“Yeah. Porky’s the eldest. He had to look after his little brothers. That’s always the big brother’s job.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” That made sense. Sam slithered down in the bed, burrowing his head into his pillow as Dean stood up. “Thank you for the story, Dean.”
“Okay. Good night, Sammy.”
“Dean?” Sam’s voice was drowsy.
“Mmmm?”
“Is that the end of the story?”
“Uh... oh, yeah. And they all lived happily ever after....”
Summary: Sammy wants a story. Dean obliges... Sam 5, Dean 9.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters aren't mine, I'm not earning any money from this, etc.
Warnings: None, just cuteness!
With the utmost concentration the small boy squeezed the tube and dispensed the thick paste onto his brush. Chubby fingers left their marks in the impressionable plastic. Solemnly and inexpertly he rubbed the bristles over his teeth, covering very little surface area but making a great deal of foam. Then he stood on tiptoe, leant over the chipped basin and spat out the results with enthusiasm.
“Sammy! It’s time for bed!”
“Mmmm... ’kay, Dean!” Twin dimples grooved into the round face. He bared his teeth in the mirror, inspecting his handiwork with satisfaction, before plopping the toothbrush into the stand beside the two that already stood there. Bare feet thudded out of the bathroom and across to the small bedroom where an older, taller boy was waiting.
“Have you done your teeth?”
A wide, gap-toothed grin was the answer.
“Okay, into bed then, Sammy.”
“Dean?” Sam scrambled onto his bed. “Can you read me a story?”
“Uh... it’s kinda late...”
“Please?” Huge blue-green eyes beseeched, irresistible. Dean was lost.
“Well, okay. But only one.”
Sam thrust a hardcover book into Dean’s hands and wriggled across under the covers to make space for his brother.
“This one, I got it from school and my teacher read it to us and I really really like it.”
“The Three Little Pigs?” Dean’s voice was disgusted. “This is a baby book! I don’t wanna -”
“It’s not a baby book. I like it. I wanna hear that story.” Sam’s lower lip jutted, his face beginning to crumple ominously.
Dean recognised the signs.
“Okay, okay. We can read it,” he amended hastily, and relaxed at the reappearance of the dimples. “But I still think it’s a baby book.”
Sam just smiled. He knew he’d won that round. He leant against Dean, watching his brother’s face avidly as the story began.
“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived three little pigs. Their names were Porky, Snorky and ... uh... Dorky.”
“They didn’t have names when my teacher read it.” Sam pulled away, eying him suspiciously.
“Well, she obviously read it wrong then.” Dean’s tone was lofty. “Of course they had names. How else would their dad scold them?”
“But -”
“Look, Sammy, who’s reading this story, me or your teacher? You have to be quiet or I’ll stop.”
Sam was instantly silent.
“Can I get back to the story now?”
Sam nodded, mouth shut tight.
“So. They lived all together in a little house with their... uh... well, with their father but he was very busy and was often away working.”
Sam frowned.
“My teacher said it was their mom -” He closed his mouth with a snap as Dean looked at him warningly.
“Anyway... one day they decided it was time to leave home and live somewhere else. Probably their dad had finished his work in that town and had found some work in another place.”
Sam’s lip was jutting again.
“You’re messing it up, Dean. You’re telling it all wrong.”
“Sammy, I told you -”
“My teacher didn’t tell it anything like that. I want it her way.”
“Okay! Sheesh! Fine. So, the three little pigs decided to leave home, and each build a house of their own. Por... uh... uh... Dorky decided to build a lovely house made all of straw.”
“You mean Porky.”
“No, Dorky.”
“But Porky is the eldest. It was the eldest who built the house of straw.”
“Whatever. There’s no way the eldest would be such a nimrod. It was definitely the youngest. Dorky.”
“Why is the youngest called Dorky? I don’t like that name.”
‘Because the youngest is always the dorky one.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
“Look, you want me to carry on or not?”
Sam nodded, but he looked mutinous.
“OKAY. So Dorky decided to build a lovely house of straw. He put in windows and a door and a fireplace - gosh, a fireplace? Only a dork would put a fireplace in a straw -” He caught sight of his little brother’s face and went on hurriedly. “And a fireplace. The little pig - Dorky - was very happy with his beautiful house.
“The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. Dorky looked out the window, and there, at the door, was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pig! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Not by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’ Dorky shouted back. ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the house down!’ And that big, bad wolf blew and blew and BLEW and he blew the house of straw right down. Dorky just managed to escape without being eaten by the wolf.”
Dean heard Sam’s soft gasp. The younger Winchester’s eyes were glued to his older brother’s face.
“The second little... uh... Snorky... decided to build a lovely house of sticks. He put in windows and a door and a fireplace.” Dean snorted, but refrained from comment. “Snorky was very happy with his beautiful house. The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. It was Dorky. ‘Let me in, let me in! The big, bad wolf is chasing me and he wants to eat me!’ Snorky let him in, and just as they shut the door there came another loud knock on it. It was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pigs! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Not by the hairs on our chinny-chin-chins!’ Snorky and Dorky shouted back. ‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the house down!’ And that bad wolf blew and blew and BLEW and he blew the house of sticks right down. Dorky and Snorky just managed to escape without being eaten by the wolf.”
Dean paused, and a stubborn gleam came into his eye.
“So Snorky and Dorky ran and ran and RAN until they got to Porky. Now Porky had decided that it wasn’t worth building a house, because he liked to drive around in his Impala from town to town. So he found a motel with cable TV and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.” Dean felt the stiffening in the small body pressed up against him, but he ignored it.
“The very next day, there came a loud knock at the door. It was Snorky and Dorky. ‘Let us in, let us in! The big bad wolf is chasing us and he wants to eat us!’ So Porky let them in. He made sure the salt lines were still okay on the doors and windows. Then he loaded his rifle with silver bullets and filled his bottle with holy water.
“Right then there came another loud knock at the door. It was the big, bad wolf! ‘Open the door, little pigs! Open the door!’ the bad wolf called. ‘Sure,” Porky shouted back, and he opened the door. The big bad wolf came running in, and Porky threw the holy water all over him. Then he fired the rifle and got that wolf right in the heart, first shot, with a silver bullet, and totally wasted him. Then Porky, Snorky and Dorky salted and burned that wolf in the motel parking lot.”
There was dead silence as he stopped. Sam was staring at him, eyes wide.
“My teacher... my teacher didn’t tell us that part.”
“No, most people don’t know it.” Dean shook his head gravely.
“Oh.” Sam’s voice was awed. “So Porky killed the big bad wolf?”
“Yeah. Porky’s the eldest. He had to look after his little brothers. That’s always the big brother’s job.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” That made sense. Sam slithered down in the bed, burrowing his head into his pillow as Dean stood up. “Thank you for the story, Dean.”
“Okay. Good night, Sammy.”
“Dean?” Sam’s voice was drowsy.
“Mmmm?”
“Is that the end of the story?”
“Uh... oh, yeah. And they all lived happily ever after....”