Fabian (yes, that's his name) the plot bunny hopped out of a tub of concrete for just long enough to thank you for your lovely carrot-flavoured reviews, and dictate the next chapter...

Chapter Two

A number of hours (and two more packets of Peeps) later, the Impala rumbled back into the salvage yard. Dean shepherded his baby brother carefully out of shotgun, keeping up a litany of hectoring and scolding that Bobby suspected hadn't actually paused since they'd left. Sam paused by the car, a lost expression on his face, until Dean took hold of his hand to lead him back to the house.

"So, how is the patient?" Bobby enquired, as RJ gurgled a greeting to his father and his uncle.

"Plastered, in more ways that one," humphed Dean. "They gave him something so they could poke and prod at his arm and check the bone alignment."

"Hi, Bobby!" chirped Sam. "Dean brought me home!"

"Yeah, I can see that," chuckled Bobby. "You can let go of his hand now."

"He's my big brother," Sam announced proudly, hugging Dean with his uninjured arm. "He looks after me."

"He sure does," Bobby nodded, "Now, why don't you go sit down for a spell?"

Sam shot a worried, if slightly cross-eyed, look at Dean, who sighed, and pushed his baby brother down onto a kitchen chair. "You can just sit here, bro," he said. Sam's sunny smile reappeared. "God, I hate hospitals," he muttered, "They smell funny, and they're full of sick people…"

"You liked the nurse, though," Sam interrupted slyly, "You said she was hot. He kept looking at her boobies!" he told Bobby.

"That doesn't surprise me," Bobby snorted.

"He wanted to bonk her," Sam giggled.

"Neither does that," added Bobby.

"Dean wants to bonk her, Dean wants to bonk her," sang Sam cheerfully.

"Yeah, well, since I'm gonna be looking after your loopy Sasquatch ass tonight, that is sadly not on the agenda," Dean announced glumly.

"Why don't you take the two kids," Bobby handed RJ to his father, "And keep 'em occupied while I finish pulling dinner together?"

"Do we have to look at boobies?" asked Sam plaintively. "Dean looks at boobies on the computer," he told Bobby resentfully.

"No, Sam," Dean replied with an eye roll that was almost audible, "No boobies, I promise. We can find some honey badgers."

"Yaaaaay!" cheered RJ and Sam together.

Dean headed for the living room. A few seconds later, he returned, took hold of Sam's good hand, and led him there too.

Dinner was pasta and sauce a la Singer, something that all the Winchesters enjoyed. RJ had recently been allowed to try feeding himself with a spoon at mealtimes. It quickly became apparent that in his medicated state, Sam was going to end up wearing just as much as his nephew if left to his own devices.

"I really thought I was past this stage with you," Dean huffed as he improvised a Sam-sized bib from a dish cloth. Sam gazed up at him trustingly. "You wanna feed one, Bobby?"

"I'll take the cute one," Bobby said immediately, picking up RJ's spoon and scooping up some pasta for him.

"Great," Dean sighed. "Okay, Sammy, open up, here comes the choo-choo…"

Sam scowled, and clamped his mouth shut.

"What's wrong with the choo-choo?" Dean asked in a put-upon tone. "You always liked the choo-choo."

Sam shook his head. "Airplane," he specified.

"Oh, God," Dean rolled his eyes, "Can't we just eat dinner?"

"Airplane," Sam insisted, adding a pout for good measure.

"Okay, then," Dean nodded, swooping the spoon, "Okay, here comes the airplane, open up the hangar."

"Can't hear it," Sam sniffed.

"Right, right," Dean conceded, "Plane makes a noise. Okay. Here comes the airplane," he added some propeller noises. "Open up the hangar…"

"Nuh-uh," Sam shook his head, "Jet."

Dean pulled a face that came very close to being a Sam Winchester Trademarked Bitchface™, and changed to jet noises. "Flight 666 on Dinner Airlines coming in to land," he announced, "Please make sure your mouth is in the open position."

RJ and Sam were eventually fed, after which Bobby offered to give RJ his bath and put him to bed so Dean could wrangle Sam.

"I don't wanna baaaaaaath," whined Sam when the b-word was mentioned, his face creasing as if he was about to burst into tears.

"That's okay, bro," Dean concurred, wiping sauce off Sam's anguished face with the dishcloth bib, "I don't want to give you one, so we'll just leave the whole washing thing until you can do it yourself tomorrow."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam smiled sunnily at his big brother. "You're the best big brother ever."

"True, I am awesome," Dean agreed. "And that's the one sensible thing I'm gonna get out of you for now, isn't it? I'm guessing I aint gonna get any sense out of you tonight about those murders, am I?"

Sam gave him a long look. "You just wanna know about the sex conventions," he intoned knowingly.

"Sex conventions?" echoed Dean.

"Yeah, you know," Sam went on cheerfully. "Sex conventions! Sexy sexy sex conventions! Where people get together and talk about sex!" Doing an unco-ordinated little dance in his chair, he broke into song. "Let's talk about sex, babeee, let's talk about you and meeee, let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may beee, let's talk about sex…"

"You found a job at a sex convention?" asked Dean incredulously.

"Let's talk abooo-ut sex," Sam was still singing.

"Hey, Sam, Sammy," Dean slapped his brother's face gently, "This is important, dude, come on focus here. What's the deal with the sex conventions? Is this a job for us?"

Sam looked disappointed. "Don't you wanna talk about sex?" he asked plaintively. "You always wanna talk about sex!" He broke into his jiggling dance again, and picked up the song once more. "Let's talk about sex…"

"Sam, concentrate," Dean grabbed his brother's chin, and held his slightly cross-eyed gaze. "Just tell me about the sex conventions, and then you can talk about sex all you like," Dean assured him, "Now, think hard, Sam," he watched his little brother's face become a picture of serious concentration, "You were checking out some murders you thought might be connected. Is there a connection through these sex conventions, and is it a job for us?"

Sam scrunched his nose up in effort, as a couple of neurons waded through the pharmaceuticals in his system. "It was people who'd been to the conventions," he said, "Happy couples, and suddenly one murdered the other, or they both killed each other. And there's probably demons involved. Black eyes." He flapped his hands on the side of his face for emphasis. "People saw them staring at each other with black eyes. Black, black eyes. Nasty, scary black eyes. Ooooooo-OOOOOOO-ooooooo," he warbled, "Scary demony black eyes…"

"Dean's face broke into a huge grin. "So, you've found us a job, where we have to go to a sex convention to gank some demons?" He clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Awesome! Little brother, I love your work."

"You wanna talk about sex now?" Sam asked brightly.

Dean sighed, and chortled. "As much as I would like to, I don't think you're really in a fit state to get any benefit from it," he replied, "Because the last time your six-year-old brain asked me where babies came from, you didn't believe me."

"The man puts his penis in the lady's vagina," pronounced Sam authoritatively, eyes still slightly crossed. "It sounds gross," he added in a mutter.

"That's right," Dean nodded, trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

"How do you get it in there?" Sam demanded.

Dean suppressed a squeak of hilarity. "It's… complicated," he said finally, "It'll make more sense when you're older. Come on," he took hold of Sam's elbow and guided his little brother wobblingly upright, "Why don't we just get you up to bed now?"

"I'm not tired," Sam protested with a yawn.

"Maybe you aint, but I am," Dean chuckled, "Come on, Dr Ruth, bed time."

"Dad knows you do it," Sam said slyly as Dean steered him up the stairs.

"Does he?" commented Dean.

"Uh-huh," Sam nodded solemnly. "You did it in the car. I heard you." He looked confused.

"Well, stick your head under the pillow next time," Dean suggested, carefully manoeuvering him into the room they shared.

Sam looked confused as Dean pushed him down to sit his bed. "You sounded like you were in pain," he added. "And so did she."

"When you're older, I'll explain about squealers and screamers," Dean assured him as he pulled Sam's boots and overshirt off.

"Will you read me a story?" Sam pleaded. "Pleeeeeease?"

"Sure, squirt," Dean told him – frankly, he'd have agreed to put a bucket on his head and juggle skunks if it would help his ginormous and stoned baby bro to sleep it off.

"Will you do the voices?" pressed Sam.

"Sure thing, buddy," Dean promised.

Sam beamed hugely, and put his good arm around his brother. "I love you, Dean," he crooned.

"That's great, Sam," Dean offered him an amused smile as he pushed gently until Sam toppled over into his bed, "But just so you know, if you want to be kissed goodnight, I'm calling in the dogs."

Help encourage little Fabian! Reviews are the Delicious Pasta At The Dinner Table Of Life!

What?

Oh, all right, for the Denizens who insist upon That Sort Of Thing, Reviews are the Winchester Of Your Choice Joining You For Delicious Pasta At The Dinner Table Of Life.*

*If you must talk about sex, wait until everybody else has finished eating.