Prompts: 1) A curse or object makes Dean think he is Snoopy and Sam the Red Baron; challenges to a Dog Fight a la WWI. Also elements of 5) The FBI can't catch them, the police can't catch them. What happens when the notorious Winchesters are apprehended by a Girl Scout Troop?
Summary: Dean smirks. "Hey, I'll race you to the top of the lighthouse? Bet we can see for miles from up there."
Dean is enjoying himself and Sam has to admit this is the closest he's felt to their old dymanim in a long time. The younger brother in him would actually love to race Dean to the top of the lighthouse, but the ore responsible side of him needs to finish the job first. He compromises. "How about we check out the museum first. From what Loretta told us, that's the most likely place to find whatever is causing the deaths. Then I'll beat you to the top of the lighthouse, old man." He waits for this dig to sink in, It only takes a second.
"Pfft," Dean scoffs. "I'll show you old. Your face is old."
Word Cound: 8,600
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Case!fic
Dean is lying on the bed on his stomach, eyes at half mast. After getting his mostly unconscious brother back to the motel, Sam had given him the strongest pain pills they had in their stash and put two stitches in each of the puncture wounds. Now, Dean is groggy, but stubbornly awake. He reminds Sam of a somnolent house cat, dozing in a patch of sunlight and barely able to keep his eyes open. In typical Dean-fashion, this is the time - when he’s all dopey from blood loss and drugs - that he becomes talkative.
“You’re tryin’a tell me that I thought I was an airplane pilot during WWI?” They’ve already gone over this several times. Dean either doesn’t remember the other times or he just wants to hear Sam recount it all again.
Sam doesn’t mind. He gets a kick out of seeing his brother with some of his normal barriers down. Dean on pain killers can be pretty damn entertaining. “Sort of. You thought you were Snoopy pretending to be a WWI Flying Ace,” he tries to clarify for the third or fourth time; he’s lost track.
“I must’a been one badass Flyin’ Ace, huh Sammy?” Ignoring the part about Snoopy altogether, Dean tries for what he probably means to be a self-satisfied smirk. His fatigue and the way his face is smooshed into the pillow makes the expression look more like that of a sleepy toddler who is happy about being given a coveted toy.
“I hate to break it to you, bro, but you were a little more cartoonish than badass. You were running around in circles with a harem of small girls nipping at your heels.”
“Yeah, girls are always chasing me.” He drawls, waggling his eyebrows.
Sam huffs in amusement. “Dude, they were like seven or eight years old. They thought you were playing some strange game of tag with them.”
Dean scoffs sloppily. A string of drool makes its way from his mouth to the pillow. “Pfft, wasn’t playin’ tag, I was defending the free world.”
“And I repeat, you thought you were a beagle from a comic strip pretending to be a pilot for the allied forces. You thought you were Snoopy, right down to the Sopwith Camel. You had the dialogue down pat and everything.”
That finally seems to penetrate Dean’s loopy daze. He lifts his head from the pillow and studies Sam’s face. “The curse made me think I was Snoopy? Why would it do that?”
Sam shakes his head, “Nah man, the Snoopy part was all you. The way I see it, you were cursed into believing you were a soldier serving during World War I. The spirit I saw when I destroyed the machine gun was dressed like a soldier. I think he got caught up in the curse somehow too. Anyway, it’s unlikely that the curse made you think you were Snoopy, you conjured that part up all on your own. Probably because the Peanuts cartoon was fresh in your mind and you didn’t have any other frame of reference for how a World War I soldier would act.”
Dean’s only response is a soft grunt.
Sam looks over and watches as Dean’s eyes drift shut. He sighs and resigns himself to having this entire conversation again when his brother wakes up and is less out of it.
There is one thing he wants Dean to know, though. One important thing that shouldn’t go unrecognized. Just in case Dean is still listening, Sam says, “You were a hero to those two girls today, Mandy and Renee. Three, if you count Marina. It was her sister you took those bullets for, after all. You saved them all.”
“M’Batman,” Dean murmurs, most likely on the verge of a dream.
“Yeah, ya are.” Sam grabs the blanket from the other bed, drapes it over his brother, and tousles his short hair just because it’s the only chance he’ll have to get away with anything like that. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”