AN: Heeey, everybody. This is my first post in, like, OMG, a month! Yeah, that's an extremely long time for me, but I've been really busy, so sorry. Buuuut, great news. Well, at least for me (I dunno if it is you) but I've finished all my essays!!! Yaaaay! Like, seriously, I just finished right now--*happy dance*

So I'm gonna post this and then sleep, cause it's waaaay after midnight, as you can probably tell from the loooong vowels and the italics and underlinings and the *asterisks*. Caffeine rules! Yeah! *giddy smile*

Okay. *ahem* I had this fic already written from before I got so busy, so I thought now would be a great time to post it, while I get some new stuff written, so y'all (Texas-ism!!) won't have to wait so long.

This is my first Wee!Chester fic. Enjoy! Now I'm off to sleep--*thud* *snore* *drool*

Pardon My French


John sighed from his seat on Bobby's tired old couch and put aside his newspaper. Searching for another hunt would have to wait for another time. His inquisitive younger son was demanding his attention and his brother was nowhere in sight. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can I learn French?" the floppy-haired five-year-old asked.

John blinked. French? The hell? "Why do you want to learn French, buddy?" he questioned in astonishment.

Sammy climbed up onto the couch beside John and nestled up close to him. "'Cause Uncle Bobby knows it an' I think Dean does too, but they won't teach me." Sammy pouted. "They only laughed at me when I asked."

John shifted his arm to fit around his son's shoulders and looked into what Dean called 'Sammy's trademark puppy-dog eyes.' "When'd you hear them talkin' in French?"

He just wanted to clarify where all this was coming from. John didn't know whether Bobby really did know French or not—he probably did—but Dean? He doubted his nine-year-old was learning to speak the language behind his back. He'd probably think it was frou-frou or something.

Sammy took a deep breath and started his explanation. "Before lunch in the kitchen, when Uncle Bobby was making san-wiches an' he was cutting veggytubbles. He hurt his finger with the knife an' said somefin'." He made a face. "I don't 'member 'zactly what it was, but after, he said, 'Pardon my French,' an' Dean laughed."

John bit his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud and hurting his younger son's bruised feelings even more. Sammy took no notice of his father's effort to control his mirth. He simply shrugged his little shoulders and continued. "So I guess he knows what Bobby said. I think it was somefin' like how you're not 'posed to touch knives and sharp stuff 'cause they're dange-rus, but I'm not 'zactly sure."

Poor John had to try exceptionally hard to maintain his composure and to think of a good answer for his son. Bobby and Pastor Jim were always telling him to curb his tongue around his young boys, but as it turned out, it was Bobby whose tongue had slipped.

Managing to keep the smile off of his face, but not quite out of his voice, John answered, "Well, Sammy, why don't we keep the French for later when you're older?" And before the boy's face could fall into a pout, he added, "But how about Latin for now? It's better than French and it's real fun to learn." Might as well teach him something useful.

Sammy grinned up at him, back to his usual sunny disposition. "Okay. I can learn Latin. Then I can learn French after." He hopped off of the couch.

John coughed and ran a hand over his face. Oh boy. "Uh, not till you're older, Sammy. At least not until you're older than Dean." There. A fool-proof way to keep Sammy from learning how to swear.

Sammy contemplated that for a moment with his head to one side and his baby-face arranged in a thoughtful pout. "But I'll never be older than Dean. He'll always be four years older than me."

Ooh. Fu—Fudge. "Exactly," John said and reached for his newspaper. "Exactly my point." With that cryptic statement, he disappeared behind the paper and turned his attention back to the hunt.

Sammy stood there for a moment with an adorably puzzled expression before running out of the room. "Deeeaaan!"

An audible sigh of relief was heard from behind the Rapid City News. Problem solved. Dean would take care of it.

AN: Review? *puppy-dog eyes* Come on y'all, I need an energy boost. *whine*