It's Deano the insane Winchester

Chapter 2


This was supposed to be a two-shot, but since I keep adding to it, this is now a lot longer than it originally was, so I decided to split the 2nd part up, and put this up a week before Christmas, and part 3 up on Christmas day.

More crazy/hurt!Dean.

A few hours later, Bobby had gone out to get the pie he had promised Dean, so Sam was left to look after his mad brother.

Dean was resting on the couch, with his feet laid on Sam's lap. "Do you think Jessica Rabbit is hot?" he asked suddenly, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes.

Sam frowned, and turned to stare at his brother. "What?"

"Jessica Rabbit. She's gotta be the hottest cartoon. She's... wow."

Sam looked over at the TV, and back at Dean, wondering what the Simpsons had to do with Jessica Rabbit. "What are you going on about?"

"I was thinking about hot cartoon chicks and I think she's the hottest one."

"Okay. That's... weird."

Dean lowered his head, and grinned at Sam. "Thanks."

Sam laughed, and turned back to the screen where Sideshow Bob was once again trying to kill Bart.

"Do bananas really wear pajamas?" was the next random question.

"That's a cartoon, Dean."

"Oh. When is Santa coming back?"

"He'll be back soon."

"I miss him," he said, big round eyes watering.

"I know, but... er... He's gone out to get you some pie, remember?"

A wide grin crossed Dean's bruised face. "I like pie. I need a wee-wee," he announced, sitting up very slowly. He raised his hand to take the covers off, and his face lit up when he wiggled his fingers. "Oooooh."

Sam's eyebrows shot up as he watched Dean stare at his hand in fascination.

"Five fingers," he told Sam with a delighted grin. "Can you take a picture now, Mr Elf?"

Sam reached over for his phone and took a picture of his hand, before gently lowering Dean's legs, and helping him sit up. "Come on."

Dean started trying to bat Sam's hands away, a pout forming on his lips. "I can do it," he said, standing up shakily.

"Are you gonna be alright? Or do you want me to go with you?" asked Sam, biting his lip nervously. "I'll come with you."

Before Dean had a chance to say anything, Sam wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and started leading him towards the stairs.

Dean wrapped his good arm protectively around his broken ribs, and took the first step up. Each step sent a shooting pain through his broken body, making him cry out, and Sam wince at his brother's pain.

"Are you okay? Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"No," Dean whispered, groaning in pain when he bumped against the wall. The pain in his body felt as if his ribs had broken apart, and the sharp edges were stabbing him on the inside. He was in a lot of pain before, but it was even worse since the tree decided to attack him.

When they finally got to the top of the stairs, sweat was pouring down Dean's face, and he was as white as a sheet. He started taking deep breaths, trying to control the pain, but every exhale sent more pain shooting through his body.

"We'll rest here for a minute," said Sam quietly, worrying that Dean was going to pass out on him.

When Dean was ready, they slowly made it to the bathroom door. Sam looked over at his brother, unsure of what to do. "Er... I'll be downstairs. Shout me when you're done. Be careful," he said, turning to go back downstairs. He waited until Dean shuffled into the bathroom, before going down.

A couple of minutes later, Dean opened the bathroom door, and headed for the bedroom instead of shouting his brother. He needed to get something; he had a job to do.

Sam was washing the dishes in the kitchen, so he didn't notice Dean slowly making his way downstairs, carrying his gun in his good hand.


"What the-" Sam dropped the plate on the floor, and span around at hearing the gunshots. Running to the door, he saw his brother swaying in-front of the Christmas tree, which was on the floor in a mess of broken branches, shredded tinsel and smashed baubles.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" asked Sam, rushing forward to take the gun out of Dean's hand, before he did any more damage. "Have you lost your mind?"

Dean blinked up at his brother. "I killed him."

"I can see that, you lunatic," he said, hiding the gun so Dean didn't decide to kill anything else. He was glad he had unplugged the lights earlier, otherwise the house would have probably gone up in flames.

"Come on." Sam gently took Dean's arm to lead him back to the couch. "Right, you're grounded. You're staying there until I say it's time for bed."

Dean scowled grumpily, but laid down against the pillows. "He attacked me first."

"Of course it did," said Sam, covering him up with the blankets. He looked back at the tree, and shook his head. It looked like he had to go shopping yet again tomorrow.

Sam sat down, and picked up the remote to change the channel. He stopped on a western for Dean when Bobby came back in, carrying two bags.

The older man froze when he saw the fallen tree. "What the holy hell happened?"

"Dean lost his marbles," Sam told him.

"I know that... What happened?"

"Dean declared war, and killed the tree."

Bobby shook his head. "He's completely lost it this time... First he buries the turkey, and thinks I'm frigging Santa... now he's shooting Christmas trees," he muttered, going into the kitchen to get the dustpan and brush to clean up.

As Bobby cleaned the remains of the tree, Sam went to make some coffee, so none of them were watching Dean as he grabbed a pen and a shiny glass bauble that had rolled over to the couch when he destroyed the tree.

When Sam came in to check on his brother, it was to see him drawing on his face, using the bauble as a mirror. "Dean, what are you doing now?" he asked, taking the bauble and pen off him. "You're not three years old anymore."

"They're talking to me again," Dean told him, pointing at his face. "What does it say?"

Sam looked at the lines, and saw it spelled a backwards 'N' and 'I', but he wasn't going to tell him that, otherwise he would probably try and finish the word off. "It says 'Dean is a moron, and completely out of his mind'."

Dean frowned in confusion, and tried to grab the bauble again. "It does?"

"Enough of playing join the dots. They're just freckles," said Sam, holding them out of his reach. He turned to Bobby, who was taking the wrecked tree outside. "Make sure he doesn't try and draw on himself again. I don't want him poking himself in the eye with the pen and blinding himself."

Bobby nodded, and handed Sam one of the bags. "The loony's pie. Go put it on a plate for him."

"Okay." Sam took the bag, and turned back to Dean, who was watching the movie on TV. "Are you gonna be good?"

"John Wayne's a cowboy," was the random response.

"Er... Great," said a confused Sam, going into the kitchen.

Bobby knelt in-front of the couch, and took his handkerchief from his pocket, and dipped it in the glass of water on the table. "Stay there," he said, wiping the wet cloth over Dean's nose.

"What are you doing?" Dean mumbled, trying to get away.

"I'm cleaning yer face, idjit," he told him, rubbing the pen from the freckled cheek.

"Told you they talk to me."

"Of course they do."

Dean blinked up at the older man, and a happy smile crossed his face. "Hiya Santa."

Bobby sighed, and ran the cloth over Dean's nose. "Hey kid."

"There's an angel on the table... It's being rude," Dean whispered, grabbing Bobby's wrist.

"Sure," said Bobby, turning to the table, to see the angel that used to sit at the top of the tree. He shook his head, and continued getting rid of the two letters.

I and N. One word came to mind- Insane.

Ten minutes later, Dean was once again sitting on Bobby's knee, slowly eating the small piece of pie with the fork held in his left hand.

Bobby was watching, trying not to laugh when Dean kept missing his mouth, and getting pie in his eye or on his nose. "Want some help?"

"Nooooo. I can do it," Dean told him, jabbing himself in the chin. He finally managed to get it in his mouth, and turned to Bobby with a triumphant grin. "See?"

Bobby chuckled, and shook his head fondly. He silently watched Dean eat the rest of his pie, then drop the fork on the plate.

Dean smiled shyly as he laid his head on Bobby's shoulder, swinging his legs in a childlike way. "Santa?"


"Do your Reindeers fly up to heaven?"

"Er... Why?"

"Mommy lives up there," he whispered, looking up at the ceiling. His big eyes watered slightly, and his bottom lip started trembling.

Bobby swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and tightened his hold slightly. "Ya better not start crying on me, ya big girl," he teased.

Dean turned to Bobby, and the smile returned. "I'm brave. I killed a Christmas tree." There was a thump outside when a clump of snow fell from the roof and hit the window ledge, making Dean almost jump out of his skin, and cling to Bobby. He turned to the window, and said, "There's a dancing penguin outside."

Sam cleared his throat, and stood up from the couch. "I'm gonna go finish making the coffee," he said, struggling not to laugh.

"Can I have coffee?"

"There's no way in hell I'm giving you caffeine. You're mad enough as it is."

Dean scowled, and looked back at Bobby. "Your Elf should be called Mr Jingles... he has bells on his shoes."

Bobby nodded, pretending he agreed with everything Dean was saying.

"I saw a squirrel yesterday," Dean told Bobby, his nose scrunching up adorably. "Sammy wouldn't let me blow its brains out."

"Why would ya wanna kill a squirrel?" asked an amused Bobby.

"They're evil... They're rats with fluffy smushy doodly things."

"I think ya mean their tails."

"Yeah. They dress up in disguise and spy on me." Dean grabbed Bobby's shirt to whisper in his ear, "They try to eat my nuts."

Bobby bit his lip to stop the laughter that threatened to erupt. "Do they?"

"Can you bring me a Tiger, Santa? A right big massive one? It could eat them for me. And a Giraffe."

"A Tiger and a giraffe?"

"Yeah... and a Clown. I want a balloon... They... they all float," he quoted.

"Okay. So ya want a rocket launcher, tiger, giraffe and a clown for Christmas?"

"YEAH! I can make Sammy do what I want. He's scared." His eyelids started fluttering, and he rubbed his eyes sleepily, before muttering, "And get Sammy some band-aids for his face... and a hairbrush."

Bobby chuckled, and looked down at Dean again, to see that his eyelids were drooping. He adjusted his hold on Dean, who snuggled close against him.

"I don't like cabbage," he mumbled, body going limp in Bobby's arms.

Bobby's whole expression softened when he saw Dean was fast asleep with his head resting against his shoulder, and his mouth open so he was drooling on his neck. "Aw." He wrapped his arms tighter around Dean, before lowering his head slightly to watch him sleep. He hadn't held Dean like this since he was a little kid, and if anybody said anything about it, then Bobby would be getting the shotgun out.

Sam came back into the room, and smiled when he saw his big brother had fallen asleep in Bobby's arms. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah. Get the blanket, he's cold," Bobby told him, not looking away from Dean's pale freckled face.

Sam placed the cups on the table, and grabbed the blankets to cover Dean's shivering form up. "Do you want me to lay him on the couch?"

"No, I've got him," he answered, ruffling Dean's soft hair.


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