SOME MOTEL IN WISCONSIN.
"Alright, Sammy," Dean Winchester, around age ten, said to his brother, tucking the younger in. An array of spikes lazily poked their way from his head, making him look as though he'd already had his share of sleep. "It's time for a bed-time story. Which one do you wanna hear tonight?" Dean casts his eyes toward Sam, who yawns and gives a little shrug.
"One that isn't about dad this time."
An odd request, of course, since all Sam had ever wanted to hear about was dad. But Dean nodded, scrunching up his freckled nose in thought. A story not about dad...
"Okay. Once, there was this amazing lady. She had curly hair like ours, only lighter, and she was very pretty. She used to always hum to herself when she was reading. She was a cool woman, you know, because she lived with one of the fiercest guys out there. And you know what she'd do to him, this guy who sorta acted like a grizzly?" Dean looked to Sam, quirking a brow.
Sam bit. "What'd she do?"
"She'd scold him like a little kid! And he'd just nod and go from a grizzly to a...to a puppy." Dean grinned to himself, ruffling Sam's hair. "She was fierce too, but also nice. Very nice to everyone, but very scary to anyone who put her loved ones in harms way. And when she had her second kid, she was no less fierce, not any less nice too. Only, she had one problem."
Again, Sam took the bait. "What was that?"
Dean full out laughed, sticking his tongue out. "She lived with our dad!"
Little Sammy had to giggle at that, wrinkling his own nose this time. "I wish I coulda met her," He finally said, yawning again and pulling up the motel's comforter a bit more to wrap his arms around it like a makeshift teddy bear. "Tomorrow can you tell me another story about mom?" He offered Dean a sleepy sort-of puppy-dog eyes, smiling drowsily.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, no sweat. Sleep well, li'l bro." And with that, the elder son slid off the bed and onto the chair by the window, getting comfortable and awaiting his father's return.
PRESENT DAY.
"Shoot it, damnit, Sam, shoot the damned thing!" Dean's voice rings through the haze of fog that's annoyingly got both of the brothers covered and rather sticky. Curse this humidity. The werewolf uses the heavy fog to her advantage, trying to escape the hunters and their very very potent gun. She may have been running on instinct, but even wolves knew when they were in danger. A snarl and a rip through the fog and she's visible, clearly running away from Sam. Dean's gun had skidded out of his reach earlier -adding three nice and bloody claw marks to his hand- and he frantically searches for it, swearing worse than a sailor at sea. Sam has a clear shot, but his hands falter, fingers sliding from the gun. Which was, of course, slick with precipitation.
Finally, finally, Sam gets his shot, blasting one, two, three holes through the werewolf and felling her, each bullet silver and staying true despite the damning fog that seems to be thickening around the brothers. Dean finds his gun, finally, and holsters it in the waistband of his jeans. "Took you long enough," Dean mutters quietly, rolling his shoulders and stripping off the jacket he wore, now slightly damp from the moisture in the air and the heat. Humidity and heat were a pair made in hell, Dean muses, catching his own laugh because, well. Considering what he and his brother did, it was pretty funny.
"Sorry hotshot, at least I didn't lose my gun," Comes Sam's quick retort, rolling his eyes.
"It sure seemed like you did, givin' how long it took you to take the shot." Dean makes an attempt to rub his bleeding hand on his younger -but taller- brother's sleeve, who manages to barely move out of the way in disgust. "Here, have this blood. Let's switch places. What're you, scared of a little blood?" Dean practically mocks Sam, snickering and successfully smearing his hand against Sam's cheek.
"Remember the trickster? The alligator thing? Yeah, I'm not afraid of blood. I just don't want however many STDs you have becoming my STDs." Sam laughs and wipes his cheek, nearly tripping over the body of the female he'd shot down not moments before. Dean snickers and cleanly steps over the body, offering her a grim once-over before heading back to the Impala. Sam trails close behind, sharing the same sentiments toward the body.
"I don't have STDs, Sammy. You should know that." Dean snorts. "You ready to hit the road, or do you want one more night here?" Dean asks almost nonchalantly, opening the door -which really needs a nice oil because the creak it gives off makes a grown man want to salt and burn himself while still alive- and climbing in, getting comfortable with his rightful place at the driver's seat.
"There's an option?" Sam responds incredulously, snorting. "I dunno, man. I think we both need a good rest. This week's been kind of hectic, y'know?"
Dean nods, driving them back to the motel they currently holed up in while their hunt had progressed. It's still about as dingy as ever, but Sam finds himself ecstatic to sleep on a bed instead of the car. Something about being able to sprawl out and roll around in his sleep gives Sam a bit of freedom, and he flops down on his previously claimed bed, face buried in the pillow and arms coming around to circle under it.
The elder Winchester snorts again, and he pats Sam's back, smiling a bit. "Aw, is baby too tired to hear a bed-time story tonight?"
"Jerk."
"Bitch." Dean grins. "Sleep well, li'l bro."
First time I've ever written Wincest. Tell me how I'm doing? Or don't, I mean that's okay. So we'll call this a BetaWincest for Farbauti and leave it at that. P.S. I have no idea what I'm doing here, hmhmhm.