Dean's 'unca Bee-bee'

Dr Dean


Bobby & Sam read something in paper about Marcus. Dean's teddy's sick, Dr Dean to the rescue.

It was two days later when Sam opened the paper, and saw the headline. "Oh my god," he whispered in shock, trying to keep it down, since they were still at the table, eating breakfast.

"What is it?" asked Bobby, leaning forward so he could see. He had heard from Dave late the night before to say it was done. Bobby had asked what the guys did, but Dave had laughed and told him to wait and see. This morning he had the answer.

"It's Marcus... He's dead. T-They found him yesterday in an empty wash room tied to a chair. It looks as if he was tortured to death by at least two of the prisoners." Sam paused to look over at Dean, but the little boy wasn't paying attention. "If he was tortured, wouldn't someone hear him scream?" he whispered to himself.

"It says his tongue and fingernails were removed. He was stabbed in the right eye. Oh god." Sam winced as he read the rest. "He was castra... They... they cut his thing off, and stabbed him... seven times. On the wall, in his blood... they wrote 'what you deserve'. Wow. I'm surprised they put this in the paper."

Sam was surprised when he heard Bobby chuckle beside him, and he could have sworn he heard Bobby whisper, "Good one boys."

"Did you have something to do with this?"

"What, me?" asked Bobby, eyebrows raised in innocence. "How could I? I've been here."

"Bobby," said Sam with a serious expression.

"Oh, okay. I asked a couple of friends of mine to help me get revenge. Believe me, if ya knew what he said he was going to do, ya would have done the same."

Sam looked over at Dean again, who was eating his breakfast and feeding Zeppelin. "What do you mean? What did he say?"

"One of the guys was asked by another to get him to talk. He... he said when he broke out, there was this kid. And he was going to find a way to break out again, and... he was going to go after Dean again."

"Oh god. He... oh my god," Sam whispered, covering his mouth.

"Now do ya see why I had to do it? At first I only asked them to make his life a living hell, but when they said he was going to get out again... " Bobby shook his head. "I had to. He was going to hurt our boy."

Sam looked over at his brother, who was innocently sharing his cornflakes with his dog. "You're right, Bobby. I... I would've done the same." He surprised himself by smiling. "I guess he got what he deserved, I would've done anything to keep my brother safe from a sick freak like him. Thanks Bobby."

"Yer welcome."

"Oh no," Dean exclaimed from his seat on the couch a few hours later, staring down at his undertaker teddy with wide eyes.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Undaker sick. He atchoo'd," Dean told his brother, looking up at him with a worried expression.

Sam looked down at the teddy and raised his eyebrows. "He did what?"

"He atchoo'd, Sammy. He go 'ATCHOOOOOOOOOO!'"

Sam's lips twitched as he struggled not to smile. "Did he? That was a long sneeze then, wasn't it?"

Dean nodded, looking back up at Sam with huge eyes. "He sick, Sammy. Me's make better. Me Docor Dean." The little boy laid his teddy on the couch and stood up, before heading to the kitchen. At the door, he turned back to Sam. "You's here, Sammy?"

"Don't worry, kiddo. I'm not going anywhere. What do you want in the kitchen?"

"See," Dean said, before going into the kitchen. He came back a minute later with the first aid kit, and opened it. "Docor Dean to wescoo."

"Dean... What are you doing?" asked a confused Sam, watching his brother.

"Me's say, Sammy," Dean told him, reaching into the kit and brought out a bandage. "Cut."

Sam rolled his eyes. 'Oh what the hell. Let the kid have his fun. I can always buy new bandages.' He took the bandage and the small pair of scissors, and cut a small piece for him. "What do you need a bandage for if he's sick?"

"Fank you." Dean took the bandage from his brother and wrapped the Undertaker's hat and the top of his head. "Dere go. Sammy, dem fingys see'd hot?"

"A thermometer?"

Dean placed his hand on his teddy's face. "Yeah. Gotted one?"

Sam checked through the kit, but couldn't find one. "Sorry, kiddo. It looks like we need a new one."

"Oh no. Dat, Sammy?" asked Dean, pointing at Sam's shirt.

Sam shook his head fondly, taking off his overshirt, leaving him in just a t-shirt.

"Fank you. Dere go," said Dean, covering his 'sick' teddy in his brother's shirt. He turned to Sam, holding the rest of the bandage. "Make better awell, Sammy."

Sam frowned in confusion. "Dean, I'm not sick"

"Come... Pees," said Dean, his eyes going big and round, his bottom lip poking out.

Sam rolled his eyes, and leaned forward. "Okay then, you little freak."

Dean giggled, and climbed up onto the couch to wrap his brothers head and left eye in the bandage. "Dere. You's down wike Undaker."

"You want me to lay down?"

"Yeah. Me's make better."

"Should I be worried?" Sam joked, and did what his brother asked, making sure he didn't kick the sick bear off the other end. He was glad Bobby was in the yard training Zeppelin again, and Metallica was in bed, otherwise his brother would probably treat the house as a hospital ward.

"What do, Sammy?"

"Have you checked temperature yet?"

Dean shook his head, and slapped Sam around the face.

"OW!" Sam exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. "What did you slap me for?"

Dean looked scared, and pointed to the TV behind him. "Docors dere putted hand mister's cheek and... and see'd hot. Sowwy, Sammy."

"Hey, it's okay. I think what you saw was them touching their patients cheek, not slapping them. Like this..." Sam gently touched Dean's left cheek. "Or, they put their hand on their forehead. Go on then, check mine."

Dean smiled, and put his little hand gently on his brother's cheek and left it there for several seconds.

"Am I hot or cold?" asked Sam, smiling at his little brother.

Dean bit his lip in concentration. "Erm... Norman, Sammy."

"I think you mean 'normal'."

Bobby came into the house, carrying a sleeping Zeppelin. He stopped when he saw his family, and raised his eyebrows when he saw Sam. "What the hell have ya come as?"

"Why don't you ask Dr Dean? According to him, me and 'Taker are sick."

"Riiiiiight. That would explain the bandages then," said Bobby, laying the sleeping dog in his chair and sitting in-front of him.

"You's sick awell, Unca Bee-bee?"

"No, little man. I'm fine, just play with Sam," said Bobby, watching the little boy play 'doctor' with his big brother.

"'Kay. Be nurse den?"

Bobby chuckled and shook his head. "I don't have to wear a nurses outfit, do I?"

"No, Unca Bee-bee," said Dean, giggling.

"Oh thank god," Bobby sighed dramatically, putting his hand over his chest.

"Where go?" Dean asked Sam, who was trying to sit up.

"I'm going to go clean up the kitchen."

Dean pushed Sam's shoulders back down. "Nooooo. If move, me's knock you out," he said, lips sticking out in an epic pout.

"You're going to knock me out? That's nice. Do you threaten all of your patients?" asked Sam, laying down again. "Bobby, remind me not to let Dean be a Doctor. He'd probably end up knocking half his patients out if they don't do as they're told."

"Oh no. Undaker cough coughed." Dean ran back to his poor bear and stroked the bandaged head. "You's be 'kay."

Sam smiled at Bobby, who smiled back. "Isn't he sweet?" he whispered to the older man, who nodded.

"Sammy, Messen?" the little boy asked, looking worriedly at Sam.

"There's some in there, but don't open it though."

Dean nodded and got the medicine and little spoon from the kit. "Dere go," he said, 'pouring' the medicine and feeding it to The Undertaker, before turning to Sam with the spoon. "Sammy."

"No. I'm okay, Dean."

"Me's knock you out, Sammy," Dean threatened again, holding up the tiny plastic spoon. He glared at his uncle, who was laughing. "You's awell."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. Only Dean could threaten to knock everyone out with a tiny little spoon.

"Open pees."

"Fine," Sam sighed and opened his mouth so Dean could slip the spoon in.

"Dere go. One... Two... Fee... Five. 'Kay, you's better now," declared Dean, nodding his little head.

"Wow, that was fast. I feel a lot better now," said Sam, sitting up. "Can I get up now?"

"Yeah Sammy, you's 'kay. Undaker?" The tiny Winchester knelt in-front of the couch, and hugged the bear. "He fank me, Sammy." He grinned, and climbed up on the couch next to his brother with the now-recovered Undertaker.

"That's nice of him." Sam wrapped his arm around the little shoulders, and gave a little squeeze. "You're a very good doctor. Thanks for making me better."

"Wecome Sammy," whispered Dean, smiling proudly. "Me's Docor Dean."


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