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It's Deano the insane Winchester

By 6Darkest6Angel6

Other / Humor

Chapter 1

IT'S DEANO THE INSANE WINCHESTER.

Written for a prompt the Winter/Holiday themed Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme.PROMPT-Dean's badly injured from their previous hunt, and on pain medication. They're at Bobby's to celebrate Christmas. Dean's weird on meds, and for some bizarre reason thinks Bobby is Santa (because of hat and beard) and Sam's a big elf.

CHAPTER ONE

It was two days before Christmas, and the brothers were at Bobby's to celebrate, and to let Dean rest from the injuries he had gotten on their last hunt the day before.

The older sibling had nearly been beat to death by two demons, and ended up with one black eye, and badly bruised torso, three broken ribs, broken wrist, and dislocated shoulder. He had been discharged, and brought back to Bobby's just a couple of hours ago, and was still high on the painkillers, and driving Sam and Bobby mad.

Sam looked over at Dean, who was laid on the couch beside him, and waving his hand in-front of his face with an amazed expression. He looked over at Bobby who was in his chair, and saw the older man looking at Dean fondly.

The older and younger men smiled at each other, before turning to their papers.

"WOW!" Dean suddenly yelled, scaring Bobby and Sam half to death.

"What?"

"Look look look," he said, holding his left hand up, staring at it with an awed expression.

"What?" Sam repeated, not understanding what Dean was talking about.

"Look, my hand has five fingers."

Sam slowly turned his head to look at Bobby, who was staring at him with a similar look.

"Er... That's really fascinating, Dean," said Bobby, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah. Good for you."

Dean blinked and looked confused for a few seconds, before he gave them a goofy, stoned-out-of-his-mind smile. "Look. Isn't it cool? Take a picture, take a picture," he said, shaking Sam's arm frantically.

"What of?"

"My hand."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, and he lifted his hand to cover the smile that was trying to form.

"Why the hell would we take a picture of yer hand?" Bobby asked him.

"B-Because... because it's got five fingers on it... Five," he told them with huge glazed eyes.

"Congratulations. We've all got five fingers."

Dean's bottom lip poked out, and his eyebrows drew together, making him look like a confused toddler. The confused expression cleared after a minute, and his hand fell back onto his knee, before he leaned a little closer to Sam. "I don't like sprouts," he whispered as if it was a secret.

"Did I just black out for a minute or something?" asked a lost Sam.

"I don't think so," Bobby told him, looking just as confused.

"Okay... Good."

Awhile later, Sam came in from the kitchen, frowning. "Bobby, have you moved the turkey?"

"No. Why?"

"I can't find it. It's not where I left it," said Sam, before kneeling in-front of the couch, so he was face to face with his brother. "Dean, where's the turkey?"

"W-What turkey?"

"The turkey we're having for Christmas dinner."

"Oh." Dean looked confused for a minute, before his face lit up, and he started clapping happily. "Ooooh. I buried it."

Sam blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"What the hell did ya bury the frigging turkey for, ya idjit?"

"Actually, a better question is how he buried it since he's got broken bones and he's crazy. Dean, why did you bury the turkey?"

Dean waved them closer as if to tell them a secret. When the two leaned forward, he whispered, "He was dead."

"Ugh... I guess I'll have to go shopping," said Sam, slapping his hand over his face.

"Can I come?" asked Dean, bouncing on the couch like a child.

"No. You're injured... and insane. You're staying here with Bobby."

"Why do I have to look after him?"

"Well, do you want him loose on the public?"

"Are ya kidding? He'll end up terrorizing the neighbourhood."

"Exactly," said Sam, standing up to check if he had his wallet and the car keys. "Good luck. Don't let him burn the house down or bury anything else."

"If he starts acting up again, I'll be burying him," said Bobby, nodding over at Dean, who was staring up at the light bulb.

Sam sighed, and looked over at Dean. "Hey deranged Dean, do you want anything from the store?"

"I love my car," Dean whispered, wide eyes still staring at the ceiling.

"Er... She loves you too Dean," Sam told his brother, patting his shoulder very gently. "Do you need anything from the store?"

"My car is black, and shiny... like a light bulb."

"Okay... I think I'm gonna stop talking, and go to the store," Sam told Bobby, grabbing his jacket. "Call me if he gets any weirder or if he needs anything."

"Sam, if I had to call ya every time he was weird, we'd never be off the phone."

Sam laughed, and headed to the front door. "I'll be back soon."

When Sam left them alone, Dean looked away from whatever was so fascinating, and looked over at Bobby.

"What?" asked Bobby with a shrug.

Instead of saying anything, Dean grinned dopily and waved.

A tiny smile curled up the corners of Bobby's mouth and he waved back, hoping Sam hurried up because Dean was freaking him out.

Ten minutes was spent in silence as Bobby read the newspaper. He jerked in surprise when the paper was ripped out of his hand, and a 160 pound man suddenly dropped onto his knee.

"SANTA!" Dean yelled excitedly, throwing his arms around a bewildered Bobby.

"What the hell?" he said, carefully wrapping his arms around the injured hunter, wondering what the hell just happened.

Dean grinned, and snuggled against Bobby's chest. "I've been a good boy."

"Have ya? Er... I bet yer gonna get loads of presents," said Bobby, humouring him as he rubbed soothing circles on Dean's back.

Dean looked up at Bobby with a sad expression. "Some nasty big meanies made me hurt. I got boo-boos. Look," he said, holding up his arm, so Bobby could see the cast on his wrist, nearly whacking him in the nose.

Bobby gently grabbed the injured hand, and held it in his free hand to save himself from a broken nose. "They're naughty, aren't they?"

"I save people... and my cars pretty." Dean frowned in confusion, and leaned closer to whisper, "I think I'm Batman. Sssssshhhh."

Bobby cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. "Don't worry. Yer secret is safe with me."

Dean grinned happily, and laid his head on Bobby's shoulder. "It's snowing outside."

"Is it? Wow."

"Yeah. I saw loads of evil snowmen... they made me better," Dean whispered to him, nodding with his huge eyes. "T-They had stabby thingys that made me feel weird... I don't like flying."

Bobby shook his head in amusement, knowing the 'snowmen' were actually the doctors wearing white coats. He looked at his watch, wondering how much longer Sam was going to be.

"I want a rocket launcher," Dean suddenly announced.

"Why?"

"To shoot things. You shoot them... and they go boom," Dean told him, clapping his hands together, making a shooting pain travel up his arm. "Ow."

"I'll try and get ya one, okay?"

"Kay. Can you get pie too? Sammy always forgets pie," Dean whispered, his bottom lip poking out again, chin quivering and tears glistening in his eyes.

"What's wrong? Are ya alright?" asked a worried Bobby.

"I want some pie," he cried, his eyes going round and sad, making him look so cute and innocent, like a four year old.

Bobby's heart melted at the look. "I'll buy ya a piece later, okay?"

"Thank you Santa. Sammy's my brother."

"Is he?" asked Bobby, checking his watch again, trying to ignore the fact that he was holding Dean on his knee like he was a child.

"Yeah. He's this big," Dean told Bobby, holding his hand up high. "He's got holes in his face... You should bring him some band-aids for them."

"They're called dimples, not holes."

Dean blinked up at Bobby slowly, not understanding what he was talking about. "I've got dots... I think they talk to me."

"Yer freckles talk to ya?"

"Yeah, those. If I join them with pen... They spell things."

"Riiiiight," said Bobby with a nod, pretending he believed every word.

"I've got two dads, you know. It's this many," he said, holding up four fingers. "B-But uncle Bobby's not my dad... but he is my dad."

A soft smile crossed Bobby's face, as he stroked his fingers through Dean's un-gelled hair. "I bet he loves ya too."

"He's got a beard," he whispered in Bobby's ear, making him laugh.

Dean laughed happily. "I made Santa laugh," he said, snuggling against Bobby again.

When Sam finally came back, it was to see his brother sitting on Bobby's knee, grinning like a manic clown, hugging the older man tightly. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"I have no idea. He just started acting like a complete moron."

"Ooooh." Dean's head shot up, and he looked up at Sam. "Is that your Elf?" he asked, pointing at Sam, his mouth open in awe.

"Er..." He looked over at Bobby, who nodded minutely. "Yeah. I'm an Elf."

"You're a big Elf... What's your name?"

"Sam," he told him, lips twitching as he tried his best not to smile.

"My brother's called Sam." He waved him closer. "I'll tell you a secret... but you can't tell Sammy."

Sam knelt in-front of Bobby's chair. "Okay... I won't tell him."

Dean nodded, and leaned over as far as his injured body would allow, to whisper, "Santa's gonna get me some pie... and a biiiiiiig rocket launcher."

"Is he? Oh wow," said Sam, raising his eyebrows at Bobby.

The dopey grin returned, and Dean laid his head back on Bobby's shoulder, and started singing 'jingle bells.'

Later, Sam walked into the room with some water to see Dean standing in-front of the Christmas tree with a fascinated expression. "Dean, I've brought you the painkillers the doctor gave you."

Dean didn't answer, he just continued staring at the tree.

"Dean?" Sam placed the pills and water on the table, and walked over to put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Are you alright?" He stood there for several minutes, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence, but clearly, Dean was too interested in the flashing lights. "Dean?"

"Look. Pretty," whispered Dean, pointing at the tree with the hand not cradling his injured ribs. He finally turned to Sam and gave him a happy grin.

"Yeah. They're great Dean. Come and sit down, you need to get some rest."

"I'm counting the stars. There's hundreds and millions of them," he told him, before turning back to the tree.

Sam sighed and shook his head. "Dean, that's a Christmas tree. Come on, lay back down" he said, before turning away to the couch to arrange the blankets, so he didn't see Dean reach up to touch the angel, or the tree start to wobble.

THUD! "OW!"

Sam span around to see Dean on the floor with the tree on top of him. "DEAN!" he yelled, kneeling beside his brother, and shoving the tree to the side. "Oh my god. Are you okay?"

Dean grimaced in agony, rubbing his bandaged ribs with the hand not encased in plaster. "Owwwwww. I've just been attacked by a Christmas tree," he whined, eyes scrunching closed.

"Stay still for a minute okay?" asked Sam, fingers running through Dean's soft hair. He turned to the kitchen and yelled, "BOBBY!"

Several seconds later, Bobby came to stand at the door with a tea towel in his hand. "Wh..." He blinked in surprise when he saw Dean on the floor, moaning in pain. "Is he alright? What happened?" he asked, rushing over to kneel beside Sam.

"The tree fell on him. I need your help to get him to the couch, I don't want to hurt him."

Bobby nodded, and stood the tree back up, before taking hold of Dean's legs. "Ready?"

Sam gently placed his hands under Dean's arms and nodded. "After three. One, two, three. Now," he said, standing up.

"OW! SONOFA-" cried Dean, head falling back against Sam's chest.

"Sorry Sorry Sorry," said Sam, before they gently laid Dean on the couch. He reached over for the pills and water, then placed his hand under Dean's head and lifted slightly, to help him take them.

After swallowing the pills with a sip of water, Dean looked over at Bobby, and his face lit up with joy. "Santa's back."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Hey son."

"The tree is a stupid big meanie," he whispered sadly, laying his hand against his bad ribs. "It tried to kill me."

"It's okay," soothed Sam, stroking Dean's arm. "You'll be better soon."

"How soon? Five minutes?"

"Er... A bit longer than that."

"Ten minutes?" asked Dean, his eyes going round and sad.

"N-" Sam broke off when tears welled up in Dean's green eyes, and his bottom lip poked out. "Sure. In ten minutes, your broken bones will heal and get better. Get some sleep, I bet you'll feel a bit better when you wake up."

Instead of sleeping, Dean held his injured hand up. "Look what I've found."

Sam stared at the hand, then looked back at Dean with raised eyebrows. "It's your hand."

"Yeah. It's got five fingers on it too." He held up his other hand and wiggled his fingers. "T-That means I've got ten."

"Wow. Ten fingers? That's... amazing."

Dean grinned, and turned to Bobby, holding his hands up. "S-Santa... Santa, look."

"Well done," said Bobby with a soft smile, acting like having ten fingers was a big accomplishment.

Dean laughed in delight, and tried to point at his nose. "R-Rudolph has a red nose," he said, accidentally poking himself in the eye. "Ouch."

Sam grabbed the hand, and held it in his own. "We don't want to add blindness to your list of injuries," he said, stroking the back of Dean's hand.

"I'm..." Dean trailed off as a big yawn interrupted him. "I'm sleepy."

"Get some sleep then, stubborn ass."

"Santa's not supposed to swear," said Dean, rubbing his eyes. "Are you going flying?"

"Not right now, no."

"But it's Christmas."

"Not for another two days... I'm going flying tomorrow night."

Dean waved him closer. "I don't like flying," he whispered confidentially.

"I know. Ya told me that earlier. Get some sleep, or I won't bring ya any pie or the rocket launcher."

"Kay." Dean shifted slightly, and closed his eyes.

"Sleep tight, big brother."

TBC

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