Summary: You always knew life with the Winchesters was crazy. But when Sam brings back home a three-year-old Dean, you begin to question your own sanity…
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester
Word count: 2163
Warnings: Some language. Fluff and crack. Crack and fluff. Mentions of sex because Dean’s a cheeky bastard. That’s all I think.
Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @trexrambling and @wheresthekillswitch “Crack Challenge”. Ladies, thank you so much for letting me participate, this has been one very interesting ride.
Special thank you to my amazing twin @ravengirl94 for coming up with a very important (and hilarious) detail about this. And for putting up with my whiny self. She’s a hero, really.
Now, my prompt for this was “I’ll give you three seconds to stop doing that” and is included in bold in the text below. Honestly, this is my first time doing something like this but I think I like what I’ve got.
Without further ado. Enjoy <3
You hated the silence.
You’ve always hated it, ever since you were a kid, but now, after you’ve spent years of your life filled with noise and cries and laughter, filled with arguments and bickering about whose turn it was to go for a supply run, or short, angry snarls and whispered promises in a dark room when it was just you and Dean, that absence of sound, of speech, made everything worse.
You stared at the clock on the wall and bit on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Something was wrong. You could feel it. You didn’t know how, or why –the details weren’t important anyway. What really mattered was that Dean hadn’t called since that morning and that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach that just wouldn’t go away.
Maybe you should just-
The sound of the bunker’s door being opened then closed interrupted your thoughts and, before you knew it, you were practically running towards the library, eyes wide and senses alert, until your leg gave out and you stumbled into the doorframe, muttering expletives under your breath.
“Hi there, Y/N.” Sam greeted you with an amused smile. “I’m glad you’re so happy to see me.”
“Oh, shut up. I was worried. How did the hunt go? Why didn’t you call? Are you injured? Where is-”
“Hey,” the youngest Winchester chuckled, all delight and waggishness, “one question at a time, champ.”
Rolling your eyes, you raised an eyebrow in suspicion; despite his playfulness and confident swagger, you could see the way his smile seemed a bit too forced and his forehead puckered just a tiny little bit.
“Where is Dean?”
“Um,” he started, rocking back and forth on his heels, “about that.”
“Sam.” you tried again, a bit more forceful. “Where is Dean?”
And then, right before he could actually reply, a little kid with blonde hair and green eyes gripped on Sam’s leg and swam into view, wearing what was supposed to be one of Dean’s shirts and, oh, God, this was not happening.