AN: Plotless one shot solely to indulge in a little bit of out-of-their-minds Winchesters.

Preseries - boys are 14 and 18.

A belated birthday gift for the amazing Lena (Wildfire's Flame).

"What the hell happened?" Dean complained. At least, he tried to. Instead, what came out was more like wahaned. For him to feel this fuzzy and out of it, something must've hit him pretty damn hard, but he couldn't remember what. Werewolf? Poltergeist? Freaking rhinoceros?

There was a sound to his right that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Like his little brother giggling, specifically. In a way he hadn't giggled in half a dozen years. "Face loo's f'nny," slurred Sam.

Sounded like whatever had hit Dean had taken a whack at Sam too. "Yoo hurt?" asked Dean with too many vowels and not enough consonants.

"Ooooh, yeah. All shwollen," said Sam, way too happily. "Dad shays we c'n have pain medi-med- shtuff when th' clock shays 'sokay."

At least, that was what Dean thought he'd said. How could Sammy be hurt and he couldn't remember? What were they fighting, anyway? Obviously, they'd gotten it, if Dad was doling out pain meds. And Dean was pretty sure he was on something soft, like a bed, which was a good sign. But...zombie? Ghoul? Mac truck? He couldn't come up with anything.

What Dean needed to do was check on his obviously concussed brother. Forcing his eyelids up was much harder than it should have been, and even then his left eye was completely his own swollen cheek, if Dean was correct. His right eye was pretty fuzzy too. But there was Sam. He was pretty sure.

Dean blinked hard. Sam didn't get any less lumpy. His face was as swollen and purple as Dean's felt.

Dean frowned. It hurt. And he could smell blood. He had to remember what happened or he'd never figure out how badly Sam was hurt. He remembered a pretty lady. He smiled at her, and she...stabbed him?

Did they take on a shapeshifter?

"You are purple," snickered Sam. "Right there." He tried to touch Dean's face and missed. "You're a purple people eater!" He dissolved into giggles interspersed with ows.

Well, that was just mean. Dean decided his brother was going to be fine. "Well you're th' el'phant man."

Sam looked stunned by the revelation. "I am?" he asked in wonder.

"Yup." Dean tried to pop the p but just ended up flapping his lips.

Sam laughed so hard he almost fell off the...couch they were apparently on. It seemed familiar, but Dean was distracted by making sure Sam didn't face plant. Stoned, concussed, or whatever he was, it wouldn't feel good if he landed on his already bruised face.

In the midst of all the laughing, Dean managed to make out the words, "Mr. Ed."

Three beats later, Dean understood. "It's cuz, cuz I made the flappy a horse!" That was suddenly hysterical. Dean put his head between his fists, which were still holding something, and laughed until he was coughing. Then, wouldn't you know it - the thing he was holding put an arm around him and patted his back.

"S'mmy?" he asked when he could talk again. He was quite certain now that's what (who) he was holding onto.

"Uh-huh. Mr. Ed."

That was funnier than it should have been. And more important than detangling himself from Sam's surprisingly long arms. Or sitting up.

In fact, Dean just stayed face planted against Sam's chest and neighed a few times.

Sam laughed, and snorted, and that made them laugh harder. "Piggy, Sammy!"

Dean was pretty sure nothing had ever been so funny before.

In the doorway to the kitchen, Bobby and John watched impassively as the two teens made horse and pig noises and laughed hysterically. More than once, they'd nearly fallen off the couch, and had ended up basically in each other's arms.

"Winchester? What on God's green Earth made you decide they should get their wisdom teeth out at the same time?"

John looked like he was reconsidering all of his life choices. He sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."