Disclaimer: Kripke owns all these characters, no matter what age they are. I bow to his genius.
Author's Notes: Shinaria did some amazing artwork and asked for a drabble in return. This is obviously not a drabble, but I hope you still like it, girl. You're artwork is utterly amazing. The words she gave me were "mischievous" and "sacrifice".
A Wee!Chester fic. Dean is nine years old, Sam is five.
John's eyes lit up as he found the passage. This was the text that would be sure to send that ghost packing. He picked up his journal to write down the information when a tiny hand touched his leg.
"What's up, Sammy?" He picked up his son, gently settling the youngster on his lap.
"What does mithchevious mean?"
"Mith- oh, 'mischevious'", John replied. "It means… someone that's silly. Very silly." He titled Sam's head up so he could look down into those wide, innocent hazel eyes. "Why do you want to know, Tiger?"
"'Cause De said that if you looked up that word in the dictionary, you'd see my picture."
"Oh, he did, huh?" As hard as he tried to keep his tone firm, John couldn't help but grin. "This is what your brother's doing when he should be doing his English homework?"
Sam nodded. "Am I mit-um-mischievous, Daddy?"
"Well, there's nothing wrong with being mischievous once in a while. In fact –"John whispered in Sam's ear "why don't we go break out some mischief on your big brother right now?"
Sam giggled (Daddy's whiskers were so tickly), and nodded, a bright smile lighting up his sweet little face. "Okay. I'll go first, Daddy, watch me!" With that, Sam scrambled down from his father's lap, and crept back into the living room. Dean was stretched out on the floor, homework long forgotten, his nose buried in a comic book.
John walked over and leaned up against the wall, grinning at the scene playing out before him.
Sam moved closer and in one swift move, leapt forward and jumped on Dean's back, his tiny hands clapped over his brother's eyes. "Guess who?" he chirped.
"Um, Han Solo?" Dean replied.
"No, guess again!" Sam's soft brown hair whipped back and forth as he shook his head, even though Dean couldn't see him. Sam turned his head slightly to look back at John, who gave him a thumbs up and a big smile.
Dean pretended to think really hard. "Um, Cindy Faber? He said, knowing full well what Sam's reaction would be.
Sam scrunched his little face in disgust. "Ewwwww, no! Cindy's a girl! Do I sound like a girl?! You get one more guess, you big silly!"
"Okay, okay… wow, this is tough. You couldn't be my pain in the neck little brother Sammy, could you?" Dean reached up and behind, and poked Sam in the side. Sam yelped and giggled and wriggled away, his hands coming off his brother deep green eyes. He sat on the floor next to Dean and whispered in his ear. "Know what?"
"Sammy brought reinforcements." Dean started at the voice. He turned over and stared up at his dad, who was looking down at his two boys with a grin. "And I think it's been far too quiet around here…" John dropped to his knees and reached out to grab his two precious sons. Both boys started to whoop and laugh as they leapt on their father and the three of them wrestled like puppies.
For once the night was not about pain, not about sacrifice, not about loss and grief.
For this night, it was about guessing games and laughter. It was about being playful and mischievous and a father hugging his boys close and his sons knowing their dad loved them.
And watching over all of it Mary Winchester smiled.
There was still something left of the man she'd married. Beneath the soldier, the warrior, there was still a Daddy who loved their children.