May Day Melee
Disclaimer: Neither the pagan god nor the Winchesters belong to me. Stupid copyright laws.
Beta'd: By Muffy Morrigan. Thanks for agreeing to beta, because no woman should have to beta her own birthday present no matter how dubious it is. BG
I played after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone!
Dedicated: To Wysawyg, friend and fellow author – whose birthday is today! I could make all kinds of comments, but she'd probably hurt me. Happy Birthday!
Wysawyg's birthday is June 2nd, but she's eight hours ahead of me. I figure, I can post now since it is June 2nd for her and she'll wake up to her birthday present tomorrow.
Time Line: Season One
For once it wasn't a nightmare, or the rich scent of strong motel coffee, nor even sunlight streaming through thin curtains that woke him. It was a light scratching sound at the door that pulled him from the arms of sleep and into the world of wakefulness.
He glanced over to the other bed, but Dean did not appear to have heard anything. His brother's limbs hung off the bed on all sides and he was hopelessly tangled in the blankets. Tired Dean didn't snore, but Concussed Dean snored quietly before turning on his side, the blankets tugged impossibly tighter around him. Sam doubted Dean could extricate himself without falling off the bed.
He pulled his knife out of his duffel bag and padded barefoot to the door. Slowly he eased the door open, weapon at the ready, hoping he was not about to scare some little girl selling cookies or the elderly matron from the motel office. A crisp, predawn spring breeze chilled his toes and fingers as it whipped past him into the room.
Sam would have believed a demon standing at the door, a spirit or even an angry motel customer because he and Dean had staggered back in during the wee hours of the morning making more noise than usual. His stubborn brother had insisted on carrying one of the duffels into the room despite the knock to the head he'd gotten while hunting a pissed off poltergeist with a penchant for throwing voluminous reference tomes.
Dean had tripped on the threshold and fallen. The duffel had hit the far wall with a resounding thud and he'd narrowly avoided following it. A colorful stream of swear words followed as Dean stumbled to bed and promptly fell asleep.
What Sam found on the doorstep, however, was nothing like he expected. A tiny woven basket sat on the ground with spring flowers poking out in all directions: red tulips, purple hyacinth, yellow daffodils, violets, daisies and juniper sprigs. Sam furrowed his brow and edged out the door ignoring the tiny rocks piercing his bare feet. He scanned the walk in both directions. There were baskets at every door. "Huh, that's an odd service for this crappy little motel," Sam said aloud.
He shrugged and picked up the basket. If nothing else, he could use it to tease Dean later. He shut the door with his foot and, still only half awake, walked to the table where he deposited the May Day basket. He stumbled back to bed and collapsed, falling asleep almost as soon as he slipped his knife back under the pillow.
Ceiwyn awoke slowly and sluggishly stirred in her flower hiding place. She fluttered her wings and tried to fly, but the cold that had put her to sleep stalled her flying. Ceiwyn walked to the edge of the blossom, shaking pollen off her feet. She felt tired and decided to eat some of the protein rich yellow pollen. She could take the rest home to feed to the others.
Her wings beat faster as Ceiwyn warmed up and after a few minutes she flew in an erratic pattern towards the sunlight coming from the east. She zigzagged through the air and raced past the two sleeping giants to the light. With a thump she hit an invisible barrier and fell to the ground. Ouch!
She vibrated with anger and began the agonizing journey back up to the light.
Dean opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight streaming in the eastern window. He had vague recollections of Sam waking him several times during the night, but one look at the other bed told him that Sam was no longer in the room.
He stretched carefully and sat on the edge of the bed. He slowly dressed, all the while fighting growing nausea at the spinning room. A loud buzzing filled his ears and Dean waved a hand in the air by his head. The buzzing grew quieter and then returned with a ferocious intensity. He swatted at the air again and twisted on the bed hoping to catch sight of a winged insect. Hearing things was never a good sign.
The largest, angriest bee he had ever seen was beating wildly against the window. He jumped off the bed, his tenuous hold on maintaining his equilibrium broken and fell unceremoniously in a heap on the floor. He cradled his head in his hands and moaned. "Son of a bitch."
Wearily he staggered to his feet and over to the window. He had no idea how the bee had gotten in the room, but it wasn't actually hurting anything. Dean figured he would open the window and let it find its own way out. The bee was huge and he tried to focus his bleary vision as he bent in for a closer look.
The tiny winged insect zipped around his head and hovered between his eyes. Dean squinted and the creature came into focus. A scantily clad woman with wings stared at him. Her tiny hands rested on shapely hips. The short yellow dress perfectly accentuated her figure and her sparkling green eyes shone bright. A smile crossed Dean's face. She was the smallest woman he'd ever seen and she was hot.
"Pixies," he breathed out, wonderment in his voice. Pixies weren't real any more than unicorns or angels. He held out his hand, palm side up and waited. The tiny, winged woman perched on his hand. Her gossamer wings tickled his fingertips. "Why are you here?"
She smiled at him, a beautiful smile full of laughter and sunshine. She crooked a finger at him and he leaned closer. She cupped her hands in front of her chest and blew a cloud of glittering dust into his face. He sneezed twice and the pixie toppled off his hand and onto the bed. She sat with a stunned expression on her face before frowning and standing to rub her backside.
Dean scooped the pixie into one hand and held her up to his face. "Wait until Sam sees you. He's gonna geek out over this for weeks."
From the high pitched squeaking emanating from her tiny ruby lips it was obvious she didn't like that idea at all. The pixie practically vibrated with anger, her brown hair frizzing farther and farther outwards as she worked up a head of steam. Finally, apparently unable to contain her ire any longer, she zipped off Dean's hand and flew towards the window again, smacked heavily into the glass, and fell to the floor between the bed and the wall.
Dean sighed. It appeared little heads came equipped with little brains and this particular pixie had smacked hers against the window one too many times. He pulled the mattress partially off the wooden frame and squeezed his arm into the narrow gap. Dean's fingers brushed the tissue-thin wings of the pixie. Using his index and middle finger, he pinched her wings and pulled her out.
He cradled her gently in one hand and stared at her sleeping form. She really was beautiful. Dean glanced around the room for something to set her in so he could carry her outside when he spotted the basket of flowers on the table. It would be the perfect cover for the slightly larger than wasp-sized pixie in his hand.
Dean was just about to place the spirited pixie into the flower basket when her wings twitched once, twice and then she jolted awake. He pressed his face close to hers when she started speaking again. It sounded like words, but in a language he didn't understand, although the lilt seemed oddly familiar.
Before he could react, the diminutive pixie blew another puff of glittering dust in his face. This time the effect was instantaneous and Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. The world spun crazily on its axis and the colors in the room shot into brilliantly bright and vibrant display. A wide, loopy grin split his face from cheek to cheek. When Ceiwyn spoke to him again, Dean understood. He nodded in agreement, opened the motel room door and stepped out into the bright sunshine.
His feet skipped along the path as he followed Ceiwyn. They sang song after song giving thanks to the sun, the rain and the bounty of nature. The day was warm, the sun shone merrily upon them and he had a melody in his heart. Things didn't get much better except that he seemed to be forgetting something or was it someone? Dean snapped his fingers. Sammy. That was the name he was trying to remember. Tough luck, Sammy, you can find your own hot pixie chick.
As quickly as the thought of his brother entered his mind it left, to be replaced by an overwhelming feeling of happiness and contentment. Several songs later, he turned off the path and waded out into the field of waving green and cheerful flowers.
Ceiwyn sparked to a vivid yellow and flew off ahead of him to flit among the blossoms. Soon the air was replete with pixies of all colors. They danced on the air currents and swooped in and around Dean in dizzying acrobatics. A laugh rumbled deep in his belly and bubbled past his lips.
Dean kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks discarding them as he ran. He spun in a circle his arms out wide, faster and faster until he couldn't stay upright any longer and he crashed to the ground staring up past the greens, yellows and reds to the deep blue of the sky.
He had no way of knowing how long he lay there watching the pixies fly by before a swarm of them gathered overhead. One by one they swooped down at him with increasing speed. Tiny fingers tickled his face, arms and chest. The spaces between his toes were attacked with feathery-light caresses and the sensitive spot on his neck cried out with desperate need for relief from the torture.
It felt as if thousands of tiny hairs assaulted his skin from all directions. It tickled in painful intensity until Dean thought he couldn't bear it any longer. As quickly as it began it stopped and he lay on the ground, panting and trying to catch his breath. Distantly, he felt something placed on his head, but he was too tired to care. A part of him knew he should try to get away, to leave this place, but the larger part of him was unwilling or unable to move and he drifted off to sleep.
Sam was frantic. He'd arrived back at the motel with coffee and pancakes, two of his brother's favorite post-concussion foods, only to find the room empty, the door wide open. A quick search of the room revealed nothing, but it didn't appear as if Dean had been forced to leave. There was no sign of a struggle and Sam couldn't imagine his brother going anywhere against his will without a fight, unless he thought he was protecting his family.
He burst from the room and straight into an extremely short, elderly cleaning woman. He caught her by wrapping an arm around her waist and returned her to an upright position before stumbling through an apology. "I, I'm sorry. I didn't see you."
She glared at him suspiciously, tilting her head way back to look up into downcast eyes. "You're not one of them crazies, are you?" She pointed a shaking, gnarled finger at him and poked him in the navel. "'Cause I've had just about enough of that to last me a lifetime."
"Crazies?" Sam repeated. He silently offered to push her cart to the next room and she accepted with a nod.
"Yep, half the people in this motel were plumb off their rockers this morning." She coughed heartily with the distinctive hacking wheeze of a long-time smoker. Her next words were raspy and nearly breathless. "Ran out of here spouting mumbo jumbo about bees in their rooms from the May baskets."
"The flowers on the doorstep?" Sam asked. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Dean certainly wouldn't have run from a few bees. Running headlong into danger, not out of it, was more his brother's style.
"You sure you're not one of them?" she asked. She tapped him on the elbow. "Because you can high-tail it out of here with that lot if you are. I've got no need of you."
"Ma'am," Sam started.
"Bernice," the blue-haired woman replied. She removed a rag from her cart and swatted Sam on the backside. "Ma'am makes me feel old."
Sam nearly choked on a swallowed snort turning it into a light cough instead. "Bernice," he corrected. "I'm looking for my brother Dean."
"Handsome guy, little shorter than you, built like a rock?" Bernice asked.
Sam's eyebrows climbed into his hairline and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like him."
Bernice whistled through the gap in her missing teeth. "Your parents must be beside themselves with pride having two adorable, strapping young men as sons."
Sam blushed. "Ma'am, Bernice, did you see which way he went?"
"You bet your bippy," Bernice said. She turned and pointed to the right. "He went skipping off in that direction."
"Skipping?" Sam asked, furrowing his brow. "Literally, skipping?"
"Yep," Bernice said, turning back to her cart. "Big, goofy grin on his face to boot. He was one of those crazies, that's for dang sure."
"Thanks," Sam said with a cursory nod in Bernice's direction. He jogged back to the room and snagged the keys to the Impala. As an afterthought, he grabbed the weapons bag and dashed out to the car. He had no idea what was happening, but something had to be affecting his brother. It was the only thing that would explain the skipping.
He tossed the duffel into the back seat and peeled out of the parking lot. The smell of burning rubber had him cringing at Dean's voice in the back of his head. You break my car trying to save my ass and I'm gonna be pissed, Sammy.
"You're more important than the damn car, Dean," Sam muttered. He rolled his eyes, huffed and thumped his hand impatiently on the steering wheel when he found himself stuck behind a slow moving tractor.
Sam ran through the facts as he scanned down the side streets hoping for any sign of Dean. May Day celebrations including ancient Beltane rituals were festivals of luck, purification and merriment, but they were hardly known for inducing mass hysteria.
The town's meager offerings faded to the rearview mirror as the Impala drifted into the country. Sam passed several fields of corn before deciding he had gone too far and that it was time to turn around and head back.
Nothing about this made sense. Dean could not have simply vanished into thin air and why had he left at all? Sam quickly ruled out demon possession or bewitchment. However, the thought that Dean's concussion was more serious than Sam previously realized ate at the pit of his stomach filling his insides with guilt. He never should have left Dean alone in the motel room with a head injury.
Catching sight of a field of flowers out of the corner of his eye, Sam had an epiphany. He slammed on the brakes and pulled the Impala to the side of the road. "It can't be," he whispered to himself. "They aren't real, are they?"
He slipped the keys into his jeans pocket and reached under the seat. He hoped Dean still kept it there. His fingers found the multi-purpose iron rod and he pulled it out triumphantly. If he was right, he'd need the iron to ward them off. He slid out of the car and took off his coat.
Sam turned the sleeves of his jacket inside out and slipped back into it. A reversed coat was supposed to shield a person from being lured away by pixies. Unfortunately, according to popular myth, anyone who deliberately followed a pixie was never seen or heard from again so no one could attest to its validity. Sam huffed and shook his head. It sounded crazier each time he thought about it.
The long inside pocket that typically housed items like the iron rod was now on the outside of his coat so Sam guided the rod into his jacket sleeve. He took a deep breath, praying Dean was okay. In Sam's experience, when people disappeared due to supernatural causes and were never seen again, it only meant one thing.
He felt a little ridiculous wading out into wild flowers and native prairie grass searching for his brother. Under normal circumstances he'd never think to look for Dean here. However, the inexplicable May baskets coupled with the bee chaos and Sam would be remiss not to check. The odds of everyone freaking out for normal reasons seemed too unlikely.
He scanned the area searching for any sign of Dean, but the tall grass and thick showing of wildflowers obscured the landscape and hid objects from view. His feet stumbled over rocks and uneven terrain as he picked his way through the field. A flash of white in the grass, out of place amongst the greens, yellows and reds caught his eye. It looked like one of Dean's socks.
Sam shoved the sock into his jeans pocket and turned his attention back to the ground. The grass was smashed flat in a thin line to his left and Sam followed it, hoping the erratic zigzagging path was Dean's trail. He stopped to pick up another sock and one shoe that was definitely Dean's. "Dean!"
The only response was the rustling of grass and the waving of wildflowers from a gentle spring breeze. "Dean!" Sam called again. He turned slowly in all directions hoping for some sign of his brother. Nothing stirred, not a sound other than a bird call from beyond the barely poking through the soil corn field next door.
Sam walked back to the point he found the first sock and followed the trail forward until it veered sharply to the right. "Dean!" The grass waved in response and Sam swore he heard high-pitched giggling. He quickened his step and continued down the path. "De…!"
Sam fell in a heap on the ground. He twisted onto his side to see what had snagged his toe and spotted his brother. Sam's face morphed from slightly dazed, to relief, to barely contained humor in the fraction of a heartbeat. "Dean!" he shouted, managing to keep the laughter out of his voice. First things first, he needed to be sure Dean was okay.
Sam sat upright and lightly shook Dean's arm. He grimaced at the tacky texture of the wet substance that had been used to paint Dean's chest, arms and face every color of the rainbow. Dean's eyelids flitted open briefly and he moaned.
"Sammy?" he asked with a smile. He motioned for Sam to leave with a hand wave. "Go find your own pixies."
"I think we've both had enough pixies for one day," Sam said. He noticed for the first time the small, fine cuts over Dean's body. "Looks like they play a little rough."
"She likes me." Dean opened his eyes and the smile on his face twinkled in the green depths. "She said she wants me to stay."
"Yeah, well, I want you with me," Sam argued. He placed a hand behind Dean's head and helped him sit up. "And since I've known you longer and you're my big brother, I call dibs."
Dean tilted his head to the side, the flowered crown sliding to the left to perch over one ear. "That seems fair."
Sam sat back on his haunches; an evil thought crawled into his brain and took up residence. With one swift movement he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of Dean and tucked his phone back into his pocket. When a puzzled look caused wrinkles to crease his brother's forehead Sam said, "Hey, you'd do the same thing to me if you had the chance."
The sound that erupted from Dean's lips could only be classified as a giggle. "That's because it would be funny," he whispered conspiratorially.
Sam puffed a small laugh and sported a wide grin of his own. "You remember that, okay?"
Dean nodded vigorously and the flowered crown slipped from atop his head to rest on his nose. He blinked rapidly against the tiny petals in his eyelashes and swatted at the leaves that obscured his vision. Sam removed the crown and tossed it, whirling it like a Frisbee deep into the wildflower patch.
It was a mistake.
Hundreds of flower blossoms sparked to life and the rising pixie cloud swirled in a colorful mass of activity. The swarm engulfed the brothers faster than Sam could track the movement. Hundreds of tiny fingers pulled his hair and tugged on his clothes. Sam drew the iron rod out of his coat sleeve and swung, feeling the solid connection of a hit.
Several pixies arced through the air in a colorful display before falling to the ground and disappearing into the tall grass. Sam scooped Dean up with one strong tug and pulled him in the direction of the car.
The pixies were angry now and they attacked the Winchesters with dedicated fervor. "Ow!" Dean protested as he stumbled behind Sam. "They were nice before. I don't think they like you very much, Sammy."
"Yeah, well, I don't like them very much right now either," Sam shouted over the din. He urged Dean to move faster by tugging insistently on his arm. Sam continued to swing blindly at the pixies as they ran; taking satisfaction every time one or more of them went soaring through the air courtesy of the iron rod.
When they reached the car, Sam propped Dean up against the side while he opened the door. One hasty shove later and Dean was sprawled across the front seat. Sam dashed around the car, pushed Dean up and back over to the passenger side, jumped into the car and slammed the door closed. A hailstorm of pixies bounced off the Impala's roof, hood and windows trying to get inside the car.
Sam tossed the rod into the back seat and started the engine. Amidst spitting gravel and relentless pixie attacks the Impala streaked onto the road and back towards town.
Ceiwyn waited patiently in the collar of the tall one's jacket. She couldn't entrance him into following her with his coat inside out, but he had taken her chosen one and she wanted him back. She crawled out from under the cloth and up into his hair which bore startling resemblance to prairie grass in the winter all brown and shaggy.
All went well until the tall one must have felt her journey to his ear and scratched his head with enough vigor to unsettle her from his wild tresses and send her end over end to her chosen one. She landed hard and felt her ire rise along with the bruise forming on her backside. Enough was enough.
She zipped through the air and dive-bombed the tall one.
Sam swatted at the air, trying to fend off a pixie. One of them had managed to get into the car and now the rod was in the back seat. "Dean, grab the iron rod!" he shouted, taking another swat at the incredibly fast yellow pixie.
Dean turned in his seat and Sam thought Dean was going to snag the iron, but instead he started swatting at the pixie as well. "Ceiwyn, stop!" Dean said.
Sam had barely a moment to register his surprise that Dean knew the pixie by name before a hard slap to his face caused his eyes to water and his nose to burn. "Sorry, Sammy," Dean said with an apologetic shrug. "I missed."
Sam nodded his head and slowed the Impala trying to focus his bleary vision and stop the car. The car bounced and a loud thump reverberated through the floor when Sam hit a large rock on the shoulder as he pulled the car to a stop.
He threw the Impala into Park and twisted in the seat to grab the iron rod. Sam looked at Dean in surprise when Dean grabbed his wrist. "No," Dean said.
"Dean, we have to get her out of the car." Sam noticed Dean's eyes sparked with more awareness than before.
"I know." Dean rolled down the window and nodded. The yellow pixie touched Dean's lips, hovered for a beat and flew out the window.
Sam sighed in relief. He put the car in gear and pulled onto the road. Silence reigned in the Impala until they reached the motel. Sam stopped the car, pocketed the keys and turned to Dean who was glaring at him. "What?"
"Next time you drive my car, try not to smash her from the underside." Green sparks shot from his eyes in Sam's direction.
Sam puffed a small laugh in spite of Dean's tone. "Next time there's a pixie loose in the Impala and I'm driving, I'll try to keep that in mind."
Sam grabbed the duffel from the rear seat and slid out of the car. He kept one eye on Dean while he unlocked the motel door and propped it open with the weapons bag. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to keep him from toppling out of the car when he opened the door. "Easy there, Dean. You've had a busy day."
Dean blinked lazily at Sam and to his credit tried to get his feet under him and help with the walking. It was more of an assisted carry than anything else, but Sam managed to get Dean inside and straight to the bathroom. "Do you think you could sit in the tub while I clean the car?"
That got Dean's attention. "What's wrong with the car?" he asked.
"Just a little of whatever they painted on you got on the seat," Sam said.
Dean examined his arms and chest. He gazed at Sam with a look of confused wonderment. "Hey, they painted me." His lips tightened into a fine line and his eyes narrowed. "It got on the leather?"
Sam's facial muscles jerked with the effort of smothering a grin. "I'll clean it off, but right now you need a bath."
"Shower," Dean corrected without hesitation.
"Do you think you can stand in the shower?" Sam asked, concern evident in his voice. Dean looked ready to topple over.
"I'll manage." Dean offered a crooked smile. His smile turned into a frown when Sam grasped one of his feet and crouched low to examine it. "What're you doing, Sam?"
"You ran barefoot through a field of prairie grass," Sam explained. He poked gently at one of the bleeding cuts. It didn't appear as if any thistles or thorns were in Dean's foot, just scratches.
"Ow," Dean protested, drawing his foot back. "Leave it. I'm fine."
"Just clean them really good while you're in there, okay?" Sam asked, jerking his head back in the direction of the shower.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Stop hovering, Sam, and leave so I can shower."
"Right, I'm going. You hungry?" Sam asked, resting a hand on the sink for balance when he straightened.
Dean's eyes lit up. "Pancakes?"
Sam frowned. There was no way he was leaving Dean alone again while he went on a pancake run. "How about pizza?"
"Sounds good." Dean nodded towards the door. "But I think we'll need more towels."
Sam took his cue and nodded to Dean. He snatched one towel off the rack on his way out the door to clean the Impala. He'd have to stop by the motel office for more towels, but this time he was keeping the motel room in sight at all times.
Dean emerged from the shower and catalogued his injuries. The tiny cuts in his arms and chest had burned in the shower, but otherwise they appeared to be healing already. His feet were a little sore, but nothing he couldn't bear. The knot on the back of his head from the poltergeist the night before seemed to be down a little which was hardly reassuring considering how much his head was spinning.
He dressed in the clean clothes Sam must have left for him at some point. He hadn't heard his brother re-enter the bathroom, but that wasn't surprising. The pounding headache he nursed was painful to the point of distracting. He found it hard to believe that he'd been enticed away by a pixie, but the few memories he had of the day certainly bore evidence to that fact.
Sam looked up from the laptop when Dean exited the bathroom. He could smell the pizza from where he stood in the doorway and his stomach rumbled in response. He flopped into the seat across from Sam and pulled a large slice of pepperoni out of the box, long strands of hot cheese stretching tight before releasing their hold. He took a bite and moaned. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."
"There's water too," Sam said, motioning to the three unopened water bottles on the table. Condensation dripped down the sides of the bottles and speckled the worn wood.
Dean opened a bottle and took a long drink. His parched throat encouraged him to continue drinking until the first bottle was half empty. "What are you doing?" he asked around the next bite.
"Researching any after-effects of pixie dust," Sam dead-panned.
Dean shook his head and said, "You know, I don't really remember very much."
Sam didn't look up, but continued to scan the text on the monitor. "You're just a little bewitched, bothered and bewildered. I'm sure it'll be better tomorrow."
Dean stopped mid-bite and focused a deadly glare at his little brother. "Sam," he warned.
Sam looked up at Dean with amused hazel eyes and a double-dimpled grin. "Not surprising really. I mean, anyone who's fallen under the spell of a pixie is bound to be a little – pixilated."
"Sam." This time the glare was accompanied by a tone that would stop all but the most fool-hardy in their tracks. His little brother continued heedless of the danger.
"Did she introduce you to every wit, half-wit and nitwit in her pixie clan?" Sam asked. Sam's lips twitched in amusement.
"Sam, I swear if you keep it up you're not gonna make it to your next birthday." He remembered the movie too. Pastor Jim had let them stay up one Thanksgiving weekend watching old movies and 'Mr. Deeds Goes to Town' had been one of the minister's favorites.
"My birthday's tomorrow," Sam pressed. "I like my odds."
"Yeah, well, I'm taking back your present," Dean said petulantly. The truth was he was too tired and too achy to hold his own against his sasquatch of a brother right now, not that he'd ever admit that to Sam.
"I already have my present," Sam declared. He held up his phone and waved it in front of Dean. The motion made Dean a little nauseous and he tried to capture Sam's wrist to get a better look, but his brother easily outmaneuvered him.
"I can't see when you're waving it around like an idiot," Dean growled.
Sam held the phone up for Dean again. He leaned forward and focused on the picture on the screen. "Gimme the phone."
"Sam, gimme the damn phone," Dean demanded, holding out his hand.
"No." Sam scooted the chair back and started to stand.
"That's it." Dean jumped from the chair and bolted around the table with strength he wasn't even aware he possessed at that moment. "Now, Sam!"
"No." Sam scrambled away and Dean gave chase.
Two thrashed beds, one broken lamp and a cracked bathroom door later, both brothers lay on the floor panting with exhaustion. Dean punched Sam weakly on the arm. "Give. Me. The. Phone."
"Not gonna happen, Dean," Sam said, moving his arm a fraction to get it out of Dean's reach.
A comfortable silence fell in the room. Dean stared at the brown water stain on the ceiling and gathered his thoughts. He tried to muster the ambition to stand and move to the bed, but it didn't seem to be working. "Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam drawled in a sleepy voice.
"It is a little funny." He turned his head in Sam's direction and didn't miss the half-smirk that appeared.
"Yeah, it is." Sam returned Dean's gaze. "But you're still not getting my phone."
"That's okay, Sammy," Dean conceded. He flipped onto his stomach, curled to his knees and pushed himself to a standing position, slapping Sam on the chest on the way by. "You gotta go to sleep sometime."
The comical expression of part amusement, part fear, on his little brother's face was almost worth the price of the day's events. Almost.
AN: Well, Wysawyg, it wasn't a crack!fic about bees, but they were kind of in there. :D
As you know, I've never tried my hand at humor before, so I hope it turned out the way you would have wanted (had you known I was writing anything!).
I hope you have a wonderful birthday and many more to come!