So like, the majority of conversations between monkeycrackmary and I always begin with something like, "You know, I think Dean gives Sam a copy of the Sims for his laptop in order to assuage Sam's longing for a normal life of domesticity." "Yeah, and then Dean sets fire to everyone." (thanks for sparking that one, ces!)

Anyway.

This morning I decided that what would be really awesome would be if the early years of Winchester hunting was stuctured somewhat like one of those crackpot comedies, like Three Men and a Baby, Baby's Day Out, that kind of thing (you see where this is leading).

In other words, essentially the whole premise is one of a painfully inept Dad, with the wiser-than-the-adults Dean picking up the babies in his wake, eyes rolling.

Don't deny it - it would be awesome. John would run out of diapers for Sammy and use biker bandannas or roadmaps or something instead.

In the early days he'd think it were perfectly fine to take the boys on hunts, what could possibly go wrong? He waddles through the woods with a baby sling strapped to his chest.

He loses track of Sammy somewhere mid-hunt (insert shots of a burbling Sammy crawling precarious along cliff-edges and high branches here) and when John tracks him down, he's been adopted into a family of Yetis (and Dean maintains, when Sam starts going through puberty and grow several inches taller (and hairier) than Dean that Dad picked up the wrong baby, back then, and his real brother must have been raised in the wild).

Babies are real good for conning information out of people though. At least once John's dislodged the self-inflicted dreamcatcher from Sammy's left nostril.

John sits Sammy up in the open trunk for safekeeping while he's instigating the emergency evacuation of a poltergeist-infested house this one time, and when he lifts Sammy out again, Sammy's got hold of this voodoo doll John picked up down South this one time. Nothing Dean can do or say will part Sammy from his new dolly, especially when Sammy's sleeping, but John takes up his power of veto after waking in the middle of the night with the sensation of giant gums constricting his chest.


Ah, good times.