It's Okay, Dad
~RemyMcKwakker

"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a little boy called Bitch."

"Dean!"

"All right, all right ... how about Assface?"

"No!"

"Mr. McSmartass?"

"No!"

"Mr. McFartpants?"

"No! Come on, Dean!"

Dean sighed in an exaggerated manner. "Fine. Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a little boy called Sammy."

Sam smiled a wide satisfied smile, and wrapped the covers tighter around himself. Dean continued, "He had a big brother named Dean, who was so awesome, it hurt to look at him. Their dad was this totally awesome guy who slayed dragons for a living."

"When's Daddy gonna be home?" interrupted Sam.

"Soon. So one day, they go to this - uh -"

"Strip club," suggested Sam innocently, and Dean nearly fell off Sam' bed.

"Dude, you're eight! No! And where'd you hear that anyway?"

Sam shrugged. "That movie I watched with you. You said it was okay for me to watch."

"Well, I was wrong, okay?" Dean said forcefully. Admitting it seemed to be painful for him. "And don't ever say that again, you hear me?"

Sam nodded, clearly unconcerned. Then he said, "Dean, what's a strip club?"

"Why don't we just continue with the story?" suggested Dean pointedly.

"Okay."

"Damn, I forgot where I was."

"You swear a lot."

"Yeah. So?"

"Daddy said you shouldn't."

"Yeah well, he didn't say I can't. He only said I shouldn't. So he can't stop me."

"Can I swear too, then?" asked Sam eagerly.

"No," said Dean firmly. "God, Sammy, why can't you be like a normal eight-year-old kid?"

"Because I'm a retard," Sam told his brother matter-of-factly.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who told you that?"

"Jan McNamara."

"Who's that?"

"This really mean bitch in my class."

"Didn't I just tell you that you can't swear?"

"Sorry," said Sam, not looking sorry at all.

"Why'd she call you a retard?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. Tell her to be ready tomorrow in recess." Dean looked determined.

"Why?" asked Sam, scrunching up his nose adorably.

"She has an appointment with my fists," Dean informed Sam.

Sam's eyes widened. "Dean, you can't hit a girl!"

"Sure I can," said Dean. "It's easy. They don't even hit back."

"Jan does."

"Too bad for her." Dean's tone was final, and from it Sam deduced that Jan McNamara was going to be in a lot of trouble in the near future.

"Anyway, one day Sammy and his brother Dean go to a - uh, a party. Or something. And there they meet a monster."

Sam's expression would not have been out of place on the face of a nuclear scientist developing a bomb. "What sort of monster, Dean?"

"I'm getting to that. It had really long fangs, and red eyes and green skin, and superpowers too. It could eat twelve giant pizzas in one go, its mouth was that big."

Sam unconsciously shifted closer to his brother. Dean went on, "So the little boy, Mr. McFartpants -" Sam hit him, "sorry, Sammy, well, he says to the monster, 'I don't like you,' and the monster says, 'Right back at ya, squirt' and Sammy doesn't like that. So he pulls out a toothpick and stabs the monster."

"Does it die?" asked Sam in wonder.

"Nah, but it's mortally wounded. But it's still got a minute left, so it decides to eat Sammy."

Sam gasped, and Dean chuckled. "Don't worry. Sammy's awesome big brother has his back. You know what he does?"

"No," said Sam, completely absorbed.

"He grabs this mean bitch called Jan McNamara, and swings her over his head -" Sam started laughing as Dean demonstrated, "- and then he throws her at the monster."

"What happens next?" Sam was holding on to every word.

"The monster's squished," replied Dean. "Flatter than a pancake."

"I like pancakes," Sam announced rather randomly.

"I'll make you some for breakfast tomorrow," promised Dean.

Just then they heard the door open and John call out, "Boys? I'm home."

Before Dean could stop him Sam had scrambled off his bed and shot off, happily yelling, "Daddy!"

John then had the wind knocked out of him as Sam came running at him seemingly out of nowhere. With a smile he picked his son up and hugged him, asking, "You been a good boy?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yeah! I did everything Dean told me to!"

John settled Sam on his hip, disregarding the fact that at eight he was a bit too old for this, and bestowed a one-armed hug upon Dean, who wasn't quite as hyper but smiling widely all the same. "How are you, Dad?" he asked, reaching out for Sam who squirmed away.

"Tired," answered John. He sat down on the couch and settled Sam in his lap before kicking his shoes off. "It was a long hunt."

Sam, who'd only just found out what his dad really did, asked, "Did you kill the monster?"

"Yeah," answered John, leaning back against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

"With a toothpick?" Sam asked.

John opened his eyes and looked down at the small bundle of cuteness in his lap. "What?"

"Dean said monsters die when you stab them with a toothpick," explained Sam.

Dean, who was making coffee in the kitchen, called out, "I did not!"

"But it was in the story," Sam called back.

"Stories aren't always real," John told Sam, wondering what sort of tales Dean told Sam.

"So you didn't really kill a dragon?" Sam looked disappointed.

"Dragons aren't real either," John said.

"What about unicorns?" wondered Sam, fascinated by his dad.

John shrugged.

"And Santa?"

"Santa's real," called out Dean before John could speak. "And you're not getting anything this year."

Sam looked more surprised than sad. "Why not?"

"Because you ate your awesome big brother's candy, that's why."

Sam's bottom lip trembled. "But you said I could! Deeaaan!" His eyes were filling up.

John put his arms around Sam loosely. "I'll hunt down Santa if he doesn't give you anything," he promised.

Sam now looked shocked. "You can't do that! There'd be no more presents!"

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted John. "Guess Santa owes you his life, then."

Sam's look of happiness was marred by a yawn, and within seconds he'd fallen asleep, using John's shoulder as a pillow. John smiled at him for a second before resting his head against Sam's and staring at the opposite wall.

This had been one of his most difficult hunts. A little boy, not much older than Sam, had been possessed by a demon. The demon had managed to inflict a lot of bodily damage before John could get it in a Devil's Trap and exorcise it. The job was made harder by the boy's screams.

The boy didn't survive.

And now John was being haunted by the what-ifs. What if he'd gotten there sooner? What if it had been Sam or Dean, and not some stranger's child?

John sighed. It still stung. Another innocent person dead tonight. A child.

Another job that was not much better than a failure.

His reverie was interrupted by Dean, who'd sat down next to him. The boy was pretty perceptive for a kid of twelve. A lot more mature too, when it counted.

Right now he looked as if he knew exactly what was going through his father's mind. He may not know the exact details of the hunt, but he sure knew that haunted look in his father's eyes.

He laid his hand on his father's shoulder. "It's okay, Dad," he said softly.

John looked at him and nodded, holding Sam just a little tighter. Nothing was okay, he knew, but he could always pretend.

So how was it? Any thoughts, opinions? Press the Review button and let me know :)

-Peace