TITLE: Hero's

AUTHOR: MonikaLou.

AUTHORS NOTES: Okay. Second chapter, here it is. I hope that people will read and review again… Don't worry, not demanding you to. Just politely requesting you to. (I wont tell you that if you don't review I'll kill one of the characters off and then you'll be sorry…) Just joking, although, that's not a bad idea… :D

CHAPTER 2: GOING TO BED

Dean opened the bedroom door. His arm was freshly bandaged from the nasty cut he had received from the werewolf, but other than that, he was in high spirits. He and his father had banished another scum-sucking dog to the world of hell. Good riddance.

Pulling his head back into reality, he stopped in the doorway. Sam was sitting at the desk crammed into the tiny room, the scanty light illuminating his work.
Walking inside quietly, Dean plonked himself on the bed closest to the door, the bed that he had claimed as his.

For a full minute, Dean didn't say anything. A world record.

Bored, he started tapping his boot with a finger. Sam blinked, but did not move his eyes from the paper. He was staring at it like he was forcing it to hit him with inspiration, but that didn't seem t be working.
Grinning, Dean started to click his tongue in rhythm with his tapping.

"Stop it." Sam said, flicking him a look. Behind that look, Sam had tried to put all his frustration and anger, but all that showed up to Dean was his amusement.

"Whatcha doin?" Dean asked, pulling a muesli bar from his pocket and tearing into it.

Sam returned his attention to his paper, pen ready to write in his hand.

"Homework." Came the simple answer.

Dean swallowed an exceptionally large mouthful and grimaced as it tried to make its way down his esophagus. When he managed to swallow it all, he stared at the bar that was unwrapped in his hands.

"Frickin' hell, Sammy! Your in grade 6! You shouldn't have to be doing homework!"

Sam shrugged. Putting down his pen, he looked up at Dean. His soft brown eyes locked with Dean's and he cocked his head, adding to his puppy-dog look."What you doing here?"

Dean shrugged, grinning. "I was gonna ask you to slow dance with me and dad, but if your doing homework…"

Sam laughed and picked at his fingernails. "You haven't got any ideas for me, do you?"
Dean swallowed the muesli bar again and coughed half of it back up. "Gosh, eating these things is like eating a brick!"
To illustrate his point, he smashed the remaining muesli bar on the corner of the desk. As it collided, it shattered to a million pieces.

Dean stood. "What do you have to write about?"

Sam grinned. "Hero's. Why they change the world, what they do to help…"

Dean shook his head. Haven't got a clue, Sammy. But come out into the kitchen with me and dad. Maybe you will get some ideas there."

Sam sighed and gathered his things, following Dean out into the kitchen.

John Winchester was sitting at the table, grinding one of the silver hunting knives against the whetstone. He looked up as Dean came back, Sam trialing behind him.

"How's the homework, kiddo?" He asked, in a tone that was polite but not requesting an answer.

Sam replied anyway. "Not to good."

John nodded and Dean sat down next to his father, the chair creaking under his weight.

Dean threw a filthy look at his chair, as if daring it to collapse, which it dutifully did.

Sam roared with laughter as John nicked his finger with the knife, startled by the sudden loud noise. Blood started pooling around John's finger and he stared down at Dean with annoyance written on his face.

Dean stood and glared at the chair that had been supporting him, and then turned his attention to Sam, who was wiping tears from his face.

The look that Dean gave Sam was all the more funnier and caused Sam to laugh even harder, until he was holding his ribs in laughter. John was also chuckling, but when he realised that his blood was slowly dripping onto his diary, he stopped.
Dean pointed a finger at Sam and said, deadly serious, "Right. That was not funny. You shouldn't be laughing."

Sam shrugged and sat down at the table, but his chuckling wouldn't subside. After Dean had finally snapped at him and told him where to shove his homework, Sam sighed and retreated once more to the bedroom.

Sitting down gently on the seat, which groaned under his weight, Sam flicked on the desk lamp. The measely light that illuminated his sheet only drove Sam t realise that his bedtime curfew was looming closer and closer and that he still hadn't written anything.

As he stared once more at his sheet of paper, he listen half-heartedly to the bickering going on outside the room.
Dean was a chronic complainer. Always had been, always would be. He complained about everything. Flashbacks from hunts erupted in Sam's mind. Dean sitting on the Impala, leaning against a tree, all matched with complaints;

"Oh, this tree is so damn ugly."

"Man, I'm bored out of my brains."

"Sam, you're looking exceptionally ugly today."

"It's freezing out here, I'm starving and you whining to me, Sammy, isn't making things any easier for me."

"Sam, please, just shut up for one minute, alright?"

"Dude, your breath stinks."

Sam grinned. Then he had the urge to open the door to look at his brother.

Which he did.

Dean was sitting at the table, feet propped up on the wooden bench, oiling the Shawn up shotgun with his methodical way. His face was calm, eyes twinkling as he cracked a joke, which John gave a small smile at, and his fingers worked the gun over in a graceful way. They glided over the shotgun that Dean could load and shoot in the dark, knowing every lever, every tiny scratch on the gun like the back of his hand.

And as Sam watched his brother, Dean looked over at the bedroom door. Seeing Sam there, he poked out a tongue, and Sam took it as his warning to get to bed.