Tell me, what makes you so special.

[Set in openpagesfor_me. huntersdaughter is used without permission but lots of love, and Lucas is an NPC. Set about three years from where they are now.]

It became obvious that Dean was just as much a vidiot as his son when Jo caught him on the couch watching Dora the Explorer.

Dean hadn’t intended on getting sucked in. Lucas was approaching bed time with no sign of slowing down, and the only way to get him to sit still for more than five minutes was to turn on the idiot box. Then it was like he was put into some kind of trance, and the only sign of life would be a bit of laughter at whatever happened to be going on on-screen. Lucas was two and Dean was exhausted after doing a week’s worth of work in a day, but Jo had to work and someone needed to watch the midget, then get him to crash out for the night. It wasn’t even a matter of sugar, really. The kid just had way too much energy.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Luke?”

“Can I watch Wonder Pets?”

“Will it put you to sleep?”

“Daaaaaaaad—”

“Alright, alright, fine. Wonder Pets are go.”

“That’s not how it goes.”

“I think that’s how it goes,” he replied, before hauling Lucas up onto his shoulder. His son giggled over his shoulder until Dean plopped him down on the couch.

“That’s not how it goes,” he repeated.

( *** )

597 words

[Set in the Detective AU. Sam is likely_evil and used with permission from his mun who made a request for Dean and Sam future!fic with the prompt “quarters.” Jo is ironknifehunter and her I don’t have permission for, but I steal with love. ♥ ]

The insomnia started in prison. Long nights with a bunkmate who liked to beat the shit out of him followed by long nights all by himself in solitary just him staring at the walls and trying not to lose his mind. It was only four years, but those four years were enough to screw with his sleep process just enough. It was one of the main reasons why he drank—at least, one of the ones that he’d admit to—and added in his own mix of sleeping aids on top of it. Looking back on it now, he was lucky he didn’t kill himself with that stuff, but that was a whole other story.

Him getting sober wasn’t the problem. In fact, him getting sober was probably the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he was sticking with it. The problem with him being sober was that he hadn’t slept in three days and he was starting to doubt he ever would. It was two-thirty in the morning, there was nothing on TV, and he still wasn’t any closer to sleeping than he already was. He needed to do something. He just didn’t know what it was.

He switched off the TV for a moment, sitting in the silence of his apartment until he felt fingers itching for the cool feel of a glass under his palm and he reached for his phone instead. He knew that no one but his sorry ass was gonna be up at this time of night, but he was going to bother them anyway. Better than hating himself later for going out and finding a bottle of Jack to down. It wasn’t long before he stumbled across his brother’s number and was placing the phone to his ear. It rang three times before his brother’s sleep-heavy voice on the other end of the line.

( *** )

1165 words