A/N: Weechesters! *melts* I lovelovelove weechesters. They are the epitome of cuteness. Which is why I won't bore you here cuz what are you doing? There's weechesters to be read!

Disclaimer: *refuses to let go* Neverr! Mine! Look at them! Look! They enjoy my hugs! I swear!

...But I don't own "When You Were Young" by The Killers.

Sleepless In Weechester Land

"Daddyy..."

John looked up from the ancient library book (that he'd borrowed a few states over), having to blink a little as his eyes stung from staring at the pages for too long. He had to divert his gaze downwards, looking into brown eyes under a wild tuft of the same colored hair, distinctly belonging to his youngest son.

In the saddest, most vying for sympathy voice the three-year-old could muster, he stated, "I has the snuffles."

It was terribly cute.

John sighed. He didn't really have the time for cute. Nearly three years of hunting and he still knew he had a lot to learn. There was so many other creatures out there besides what had killed his wife, the man had no idea where to start.

All the same, he didn't want his kids to be getting sick. He gestured for Sammy to lean forward, and the kid shuffled forward. John placed a calloused hand on the child's forehead, relieved when he felt almost no extra heat.

"You're fine, Sammy, just need some rest."

The toddler's eyes widened. "No, 's kay, Daddy, I fine!" he insisted, surprising his father by the sudden change of mind.

John glanced at the clock and his eyes widened. Looking back at Sammy, he realized what the kid was trying to do.

"Sammy," John scolded half-heartedly, "it's late, why aren't you in bed?"

Innocent brown eyes stared up at him with that look that made the seasoned hunter wish a little shamefully that he could avoid his youngest's gaze whenever he had to refuse or order the kid something. Those things were crazy effective.

"I wan' -"

But before the child could state what it was he wanted – and no doubt have his father wrapped around his finger enough to get it – the elder child of John stumbled out of the bathroom in a loosely wrapped tie and massive suit jacket over his sleep clothes.

John's first instinct was to have his temper flare and demand why Dean was messing with his father's stuff, but the wide and proud grin on his eldest face brought him short quite fast.

"Check it out, Dad!" Dean called happily. "Guess what I am?"

John leaned back, as though contemplating an answer. "I dunno, kiddo," he said. "You a spy?"

Dean crossed his arms, sleeves hanging loosely from his much too long coat. "No, Dad, I'm an agent!"

He didn't say it out loud, but John wondered if his son was trying to look like his father did when he played the role of a bogus FBI agent.

John decided to humor him. "What's the difference?"

"Spies h've hats!" Sammy cried, slapping a hand to his mouth as he giggled at his made-up deduction.

"Really?" John answered, seemingly intrigued. "So I'd definitely rather be a spy."

Dean scowled in what he surely thought was an indignant way. "Nuh-uh, Dad!"

Sam copied his brother and tried to scowl, failing miserably but getting his point across with the echoed, "Yeah, Daddy, nuh-uh!"

"Dad, girls like agents way more than they like spies," Dean said seriously. John was a little worried about those words coming from an eight-year-old's mouth.

"Seasoned professional charmer, are you?" John commented dryly. "And I beg to differ, son."

Dean shook his head in the way that suggested there was no hope for his father in the world of girls. Chuckling softly, John instead turned back to his youngest to resume their bedtime argument, but clever Sammy had a new tactic.

"Daddyy," he said earnestly, "baf'oom."

John shook his head, but decided the kid might very well have to go, and peeing the bed was not a charge included in the motel fee.

"Deano, take him, please?" John requested, already searching for his page in his book again before his son could answer.

"Kay," Dean responded, but shucked the jacket and tie first and folded them up onto a chair.

John felt a surge of pride in his eldest's understanding and control, especially as he happily took his little brother's hand and led the toddler to the bathroom without complaint.

John looked up again as they came out, hardening himself against attack of the puppy-dog eyes.

"Alright, Sammy, I mean it now," John ordered. "Bed."

Sam, now a little desperate, blurted out, "I hafta pee 'gain!"

John stared at him. "You just went, Sam!"

"I has a 'tractive bladder!" Sam whined, stomping his foot. Dean burst out laughing, and even John raised his eyebrows to his hairline in stifled amusement.

"You mean active, Sammy?" John asked, trying hard not to grin at the petulant look on the kid's face at being laughed at.

"That too," the youngest said, crossing his arms over the shirt of his brother's that he was wearing.

John shook his head in slight exasperation. "It's okay, Sammy, you're good," John said, and it wasn't really a debate. "Go to bed."

The baby of the family tried a different tactic. "But I'll be all 'lone," Sammy whined pitifully.

John was having none of it. "Dean, go to bed with your brother."

The eight-year-old looked he was about to protest – he wanted to see if he could help his father with work after Sammy's inquisitive self went to sleep – but a pointed look from his father shut him up. He sighed, then took this brother's hand again and led him to the motel room's bed farthest from the door.

They stayed settled for about two minutes before John caught their whispered argument from the covers.

"Shut up, Sam!"

"No, you, shu' up, Deanie!"

John knew he should intervene now, not to mention make it clear to both of his sons that such language was not appropriate. Sighing, he called, "Boys."

Dean shot up from the bed - and Sammy's head peeked out from the covers as well - looking at his father uncertainly, not liking the impatient tone of his voice. All the same he explained, "Dad, Sammy doesn't want to sleep here."

John pinned his youngest with a stare that would make even monsters have second thoughts, but Sammy was already prepared with his wide brown eyes filling with tears and a tiny lower lip protruding.

John struggled to stay stern. "Sammy, go to sleep with your brother."

The kid decided to cross his arms at that request.

"Sam," John said warningly, but he was tired and preoccupied and not in the mood for forcing his youngest to bed any further.

"He wants to sleep with you, Dad," Dean quickly interjected, shrugging in an unknowing way when his father switched his glance to him.

The eldest Winchester hesitated. Sammy was making his position quite clear with those eyes, and even Dean looked like he didn't really see anything against it. Which was strange, considering his eldest loved to look out for Sammy as though Dean was his father. A thought that never failed to send a pang through John's heart.

He probably shouldn't have been thinking that, since now he could feel himself wavering. But it would only take a couple minutes, right? He didn't know; he hadn't put Sammy to bed since Dean was old enough to handle it.

The father stood up and stretched, wearing a comfortable flannel shirt and jeans but not dressed in pj's like his two sons. Didn't really matter though; the two in question were already scrambling out of bed – Sammy once again tripping over his too-big nightshirt, a sight that John struggled not to let soften his heart further.

John tried to not squirm as his youngest son was in his effort to get comfortable on the side of him. The kid may have been small, but the motel bed was not made for two people of any size. Not to mention Dean had perched on the edge of the bed as well, watching his father and brother with a hesitant look on his face.

Finally, Sammy huffed and latched onto his father's arm. He straightened it out horizontally on the left of John, then lay his head down on top of it and snuggled into his daddy's side, much to man's surprise, and slight amusement. The three-year-old reached behind him and bent John's arm at the elbow, wrapping the forearm as a cocoon around himself.

"You comfy, there, Sammy?" John asked seriously, silently laughing at his son's antics. Lord, why had he ever stopped being a part of bedtime?

The littlest Winchester nodded contently again his father's chest, small body sure to be climbing all the way on top of the elder man some time in the night. His breathing was already evening out, much to John's relief.

One son set, John turned his head a little to view Dean. The kid had stopped trying to find a position, and was instead sitting there awkwardly, unsure if his dad would mind the two of them sleeping with him. It wasn't every day John Winchester let his sons, well, cuddle with him. Sammy may not have a problem – he was a baby – but Dean wasn't too positive about it.

John smiled a little, as though reading his son's uncertainties. "C'mere, Ace," he offered, holding out his free right arm.

Dean's face lit up tentatively, and he happily complied, but not before turning off the lamp on the stand next to them. The room in now darkness – as though it would somehow make his actions seem less childish to his eight-year-old mind – Dean copied Sammy's previous movements. Though perhaps with a little less snuggling.

Lying in the darkness, the steady rise and fall of his sons' chests brought a smile to the tired hunter's face. There was research waiting for him on the table, and he was no doubt using up time, but his current actions were as precious as any of the seconds spent honing his hunting skills.

If he was going to protect his children, the least he could do was enjoy the benefits of having both of his sons by his side.

John had told himself he would get up after both of his babies were asleep, but he didn't have the heart to shift them from their comfy position. With his last sigh of the day, he shut his eyes, Mary's confident words – from what seemed like forever ago – to her three favorite men floating in the air.

Angels are watching over you, baby...I promise.

We're burning down the highway skyline
On the back of a hurricane
That started turning
When you were young
When you were young

And sometimes you close your eyes
And see the place where you used to live
When you were young

A/N: …

:3 Oh, Johnny. You nice ol' daddy, you.

Deano, ninja spies are way cooler than FBI agents *scoff* He's a little delusional, but hey, he had to get his woman-charming skills from somewhere ;)

Credit for this idea goes...well, see, agent iz hyper currently has what has got to be the most adorable profile picture on fb in the world of puppy Sammy and Deanie *dies briefly*, from one of the many geniuses on deviantArt. I refused to release my hug, thus risking waking up a sleeping, cute, fluffy, everything-Dean-badass-Winchester-would-not-want-to-be puppy. Sleepless wee!chesters, I give you.

iz - dude, I am so catching up :P

Reviews are like the literal puppy-dog look from wittle Sammy while Deanie hangs in the background with that meltingly protective glare that says "Hurt my brother, I hurt you." *tries to hug again*

I is a ninja spy ~
Dodo