alternatively to be coined as, 'the year that dean realized murder is not always a sin'
Note:I have to credit Ieresial for giving me the skinned knees idea. My mind went to a much dirtier place for 'rough.' As per usual, I own nothing…not even some free time.
Sammy sobbed, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "Dean, that hurts."
"Sorry, Sammy." Dean was apologetic, uncapping the antiseptic. "How'd it happen?"
"David Allen pushed me…and said I should eat dirt." Sammy's bottom lip quivered.
Well, that was settled then. Davy Allen was dead. Dean didn't care if Davy was six, he'd beat the hell out of him.
"He won't do it again." Dean promised. "Now, count to three."
When Sam got to two he spilt the antiseptic on his knee.
Sam cried, and Dean apologized again.
"Sorry. And don't worry about him; he's not going to bother you anymore."