DISCLAIMER: For the sick pleasure of myself and others. No copyright infringment intended.

Note: The story is from a long out-of-print I Can Read book called Lucille, by Arnold Lobel. I chopped out unnecessary parts.

Happy Hunter
By wave obscura

"Lucille," Sam says, and that's how Dean knows the extra Percocet is doing the trick. "Tell me Lucille."

"Okay, Sammy," he replies, patting his brother on the head. "Whatever you say."

Sam scowls blearily up at him. "Dean. I wanna hear Lucille."

Dean sits at the foot of his brother's bed. "You're not six, bro. You're almost twenty-seven and you're out of it because some bitch shot you in the shoulder last night."

"I fuggin know that," Sam slurs. "Juss tell me the fuggin story."

"Lucille, Sam? Seriously?"

"Surrrisly."

"We lost that book ages ago."

"You mesmorized—memorized it."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Okay. Maybe he did have it memorized. But— "It's a picture book, Sam. What good's a picture book without any pictures?"

Sam lets out a single, explosive "HA!" Then his eyes close and Dean crosses his fingers, willing them to just please stay shut.

But nope. Sam's eyes open again. "You sound like Allisonwonderland. I member tha pick-shurs. Tell me, Dean."

"Christ, Sam," Dean huffs. "Okay. This is Lucille."

"Lucille'sa red horse."

"She sure was, Sam. Now stop interrupting or we're never gonna get through this. Okay. Lucille belongs to a farmer. She pulls the farm's plow and works very hard in the fields."

"Verrr hard," Sam echoes.

"'Sometimes Lucille sees her reflection in a puddle. It makes her sad. 'I am dull and dirty, says Lucille.'"

"'What is wrong with being dirty?' asks the small pig," Sam says with a ridiculous grin. "'I am dirty.'"

"'Pigs are supposed to be dirty,' says Lucille. 'I'm tired of it.'"

"'So terred.'"

"Sam, shut up. Please. Anyway… uh… One day the farmer's wife comes to Lucille. 'Tomorrow we are going shopping in town,' she says. Lucille takes the farmer and his wife to town. She sees a beautiful white dress in the store window. The farmer's wife buys the dress for Lucille. 'Look at Lucille,' says the farmer's wife. 'Isn't she grand?' 'Yes,' says the farmer sadly. 'She is too grand to help me plow my fields.'"

"'The small pig sees Lucille comin' down tha road. 'Wassa all that stuff you has on?'" Sam giggles with pleasure. No really. He giggles. "S'what the dirty pig said, Dean.'"

"Very good Sammy, you're a freakin' genius. Now shut it. Okay, so, the horse says, 'these are my new clothes and now I'm a lady, so get out of my way.' Cause now, you know, she's all uppity with her fancy-ass clothes and thinks she's better than the pig—"

"Don' change thastory, Dean! Juss. Tell it."

Dean wipes his mouth and shakes his head a little. Christ.

"Now Lucille does not work in the fields," he continues, "she sits in the house in her hat, in her shoes, and in her dress. She drinks tea and listens to the radio with the farmer's wife. The pink roses on Lucille's hat tickle her, the shiny shoes hurt her feet, and her beautiful white dress makes her hot. Lucille wishes she were outside working with the farmer."

"Um notta lady!" Sam cries. "Umma horse!"

"Jesus, Sam, why don't you just tell the story to yourself if you know it so well?"

Sam's face falls into an exaggerated frown, and of course Dean feels like the biggest ass in the universe.

"Srry," Sam says, and then squirms a little. "Hurts."

"I know, kid. I'm sorry. You're all maxed out on pain meds, though."

Little brother sure know how to stick it in and break it off. Dean can't stop himself from tousling Sam's hair a little. "Your throat dry? You want some ice chips?"

Sam shakes his head pitifully. "Juss. Finisstha story, kay?"

"Okay," Dean says gently, but inside he thinks for the thousandth time I am so going to kill that bitch next time I see her. "Where was I? Okay… 'I'm not a lady. I'm a horse!' So Lucille runs and runs. She runs into the fields. She kisses the farmer because she is glad to see him again. She kisses the pig because he is dirty."

Sam's eyes begin to droop. Almost, Dean thinks to himself. Almost.

"That night," he continues, "Lucille eats the pink roses and the hat for supper. 'I am so glad to be a plain, happy horse,' she says. And then she goes to sleep."

"I will too," Sam says, jerking out of his almost-sleep. "Someday. Plain, happy horse. Be a plain, happy hunter."

And then his eyes close and he is snoring.

::::

The End.

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