Author's note: This is really short, but a cute piece of dialouge that sparked once I went through my smart alec crackfics. So I turned it into a Weechester scene that has been on my computer for months with no real home. So, I am posting it as a simple little one shot for giggles. I hope you like it.

Man, I'm glad I got this blankie. It's freezing in here." Sam tucked his knees to his chest, pulling the blanket tighter as he balanced a notebook.

"DUDE! Does the blankie have a name?" Dean mocked in baby tones.

"It's COLD DEAN!" Sam muttered, his bangs flopping in his face. Just when he started to put pencil to paper again, he heard the ever-familiar point snapping off.

"Ha ha."

"Do you mind?"

"Not really. Bugging you is a full time position. Pay sucks. What are you doing anyway?"

"Writing a poem!"

"Seriously? "

"Yes, Dean." His voice deadpan as he dug a second pencil from his book bag."

"On purpose?"

"It's for class. Mr. Wrenchler says I have a keen insight and well positioned prose."

"You propositioned ho's?

"Argg… can you just leave me alone? I really have to get this right!"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop. Want me to help?"

"No, I think she's heard all the words that rhyme with bucket and Nantucket. Anyway, this poem is special; we have to make it about opposites… like bitter sweet, sweet sorrow.

"Ah… those Oxy-idoit things!"

"No, moron."

"I AM NOT A MORON." Dean muttered.

"I didn't mean it that way." Sam backpeddled, thinking of the best way to explain.

"Ha ha.. Got ya!"