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Title: Broken English Chapter 5
Summary: John watches his sons grow up completely consumed by each other, in a world where morality is subjective and words are inconsequential.
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Rating: R overall
Disclaimer: It's all true, and I own everything. Also, unicorns can shoot rainbows out of their asses. *snicker*
Author's Notes: Yeah ok I suck. It's, like, official and all. But I was sick all through Christmas, you guys! And it snowed! This is Vancouver Island-I didn't sign up for that crap! *whining* Ok, I'm done now. Here's some more BE 'verse.
Buffalo Jump, North Dakota, November 1994
When the check-in clerk at the Happy Hunting Grounds Motor Lodge asked John if he wanted a rollaway cot for one of his sons, he accepted, giving the order, "Sammy, you and Dean can sleep seperate tonight," when he got back to the car.
Sam's mouth dropped open and he uttered a wail of protest. "What? Why?!"
John rubbed his hands over his face. The fact that he had to ask was part of the problem. It was normal for an eleven-year-old and a not-quite-sixteen-year old to want their own space. John could remember epic battles with his parents over having to share a room with his younger brother when he was Sammy's age, and yet his own children slept dead in the middle of the bed no matter the size, holding each other so tightly they sometimes had bruises the next day.
"Dean's a teenager now, kiddo. He needs his privacy."
"What?" Dean echoed, just as wide-eyed and bewildered. "No, I don't! I like sleeping with Sammy. That's how I know he's safe."
"He won't be far, Dean, but you're getting older, you're both getting older, and there's...certain things...that growing boys need privacy for," John rambled, mortified.
Dean snickered. "Dad, Sammy's been spankin' the monkey since he was nine. We do that in the shower, not in bed. Gross."
"Oh." John glanced away. "Still-"
"Da-ad! They charge for rollaways and I guarantee Sammy's gonna spend less than two hours tossing and turning on it before he crawls in with me anyway. It's fine. Not like I'd ever bring a girl back to the room or something."
Sammy rolled his eyes. "What girl would go somewhere with you?"
"Dude, shut up!"
His youngest son muttered something that sounded like "Frackles!" and earned him a noogie.
When the clerk called their room to say that the motel's cot was missing a wheel, and did he want her to bring it anyway, John told her not to bother.
