Nothing More To Say by Youthere
All the standard disclaimers apply. This does get kinda violent, and when is the language ever pretty?
Bulletbabe over at Supernaturalville did beta a seventh chapter. Unfortunately, it wasn't this one. I seem to have a horrible habit of rewriting everything just before I post it, so yet again: mea culpa :)
Dean nudged the door of the motel room closed with his elbow, holding a disposable container in each hand. Bobby had gone back to South Dakota earlier in the day and it had fallen to the slightly less battered brother to stagger into the local diner, smile and nod at the counter girl and point to things on the menu.
Of course, since Sam could hardly swallow and Dean couldn't chew, he was mostly pointing to soup. Hearing the sickening slosh of liquid against styrofoam when he picked up his "food", Dean had briefly briefly debated attempting to drown himself in one of the containers. But well, that was just too horrible a way to go.
They'd never made it further towards Bobby's than this tiny, shabby motel just off the interstate.
Dean had managed about an hour's drive, after coming to again in the Impala's front seat, but eventually he'd had to admit that you can only ignore a concussion for so long. When the centerlines are starting to weave around, independent form the rest of the road, you are probably not up for taking care of a little brother with a hole in his neck. So he'd pulled over at the nearest motel and simply texted Bobby their coordinates.
Later, he had to wonder if his friend wasn't a pessimist by nature. Based simply on the text, he had deduced the need for medical aid and called in a favor with an ex army medic he knew in the area. The man had made it there in two hours and Bobby himself had arrived just under a day later.
Of course, by the time he got there, Dean had already been too out of it to realize that the drive should have taken him two days. Apparently Bobby was a pessimist with a Batmobile.
But now it was just the Winchesters again; bruised and battered, mute and quite heavily medicated, but essentially all right.
Dean made his way into the room, a nondescript little box with oatmeal colored walls and a carpet that probably used to be green. He handed a container to his brother, who had been sitting on one of the box beds reading. Then he settled with the other one on his own bed.
Sam opened his container and grimaced as the smell of mushroom soup wafted up from it; it was the only soup he really hated. He glared up at his brother with narrowed eyes.
The older man just shrugged, wearing an expression of helpless innocence. He was mute after all; he could hardly be blamed if sometimes waitresses got things wrong.
Sam continued to stare his big brother down and Dean couldn't help the mischievous grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Seeing it, the younger brother simply sighed and unwrapped his plastic spoon, mouthing something that looked a lot like "JERK". Then he gave his own wicked grin, fished a light pink straw out of a drawer and handed it to his big brother, enthusiastically helpful.
Dean grabbed the straw sullenly and sent his gloating brother the finger.
Then he decided he couldn't be bothered with the stupid soup, anyway, and snatched the remote off his night stand instead. He flipped through the channels one by one, steadily ignoring his Sam, who went back to reading.
Infomercials, soaps and one Dr. Phil episode flitted past, as Dean thumbed the buttons of the remote idly. The T.V. was old and the reception crap, but he'd seen worse. At last his browsing came to a halt on a rerun of Die Hard and he settled back against the headboard to watch, very carefully setting the volume just above comfort level.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam look up with a thunderous expression.
The younger man started making slashing motions at his own neck, frantically signaling for his brother to cut the noise, but Dean ignored him, apparently deeply engrossed in a fight scene.
A moment later a punch on the arm had him looking questioningly up at his little brother, who now stood over him repeating the slashing movement, brows almost touching the tip of his nose in an impressive scowl.
It was pretty clear what was being relayed, but Dean simply shrugged in willful incomprehension.
Sam's glower became a weary eye roll, but his brother was still determined not to have any idea what he was saying.
At last the younger brother sighed and trudged over to his own night stand. There, he went to retrieve that instrument of utter geekishness; an honest -to -god writing slate. Dean raised his eyebrows mockingly and gave Sam a Boy Scout salute. It just figured Sammy would have gotten himself one of those.
Seeing his brother's expression, Sam decided there was an even better use for the board and chucked it at Dean. The older man deflected it easily and retaliated by throwing a pillow at his little brother who, to Dean's great satisfaction, didn't duck in time but caught it squarely in the face.
With narrowed eyes, Sam reached behind himself and retrieved his own pillow and then threw both at his brother, hard.
Dean grinned evilly; the kid was nothing if not predictable. With a victorious air he arranged both pillows against his own headboard and then leaned back comfortably, giving his full attention to the television again. Teach him to throw things at the older and wiser.
He surreptitiously lowered the volume again, but otherwise ignored his seething brother. The channel he'd found was pretty awesome, because when McClane had finished his bad guy pummeling, a familiar tune drifted out into the room. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was on.
Dean chuckled as he remembered a six year old Sammy who had watched that movie without permission.
Well, okay, Dean had let him. How was he supposed to know the kid would take it so seriously? But for a week afterwards Sam had eaten nothing but Fruit Loops, claiming that everything else was "monkey brains".
It hadn't stopped until Dean had informed him that the only thing that was monkey brains were the pink loops. And not only that, but the green loops? Dried monkey snot.
Of course this had led to Sam saying a permanent goodbye to one of his favorite foods, but at least he started eating other stuff again so Dean had to call it a win. And lesson learned: don't let Sammy watch gross stuff.
Dean looked over at his little brother, who sat on his own bed still glaring.
Grinning, he hooked a thumb at Sam and then covered his own eyes. You're not allowed to watch.
Sam gave a reluctant smile, obviously also remembering the monkey brain issue. He got up from his bed and walked over to Dean, who was still hogging both pillows. With a less than gentle shove Sam got his brother to scoot over and settled against the headboard, pulling one of the pillows behind himself. This resulted in an impressive scuffling session but eventually the two brothers settled down to watch the movie.
After a moment, Sam got up and retrieved the rest of his soup from his own night stand. Then he picked up Dean's container, pierced the still sealed lid with the straw and shoved it at his brother with a look that brooked no objections. Dean rolled his eyes but took the offered dinner, both brothers turning their attention back to Indy's exploits.
Granted, watching a guy battle evil cultists for an object of great power isn't as wildly impressive when that's pretty much your day at the office. But they let themselves get carried away with it anyway. They sat there for the rest of the night; the bluish glow from the screen flickering over them in companionable silence, broad shoulders squashed together on the cheap, rickety bed, almost too small to hold two grown men.
Scooting a bit lower on his half of the bed, Dean shot a surreptitious glance at his brother, who sat half asleep against the headboard with the empty container still cradled in his large hands.
He shrugged to himself. Bloody Pollyanna just may have had a point.
AN: Aaaand cut! So that's it for this story...thanks for reading:) I hope everyone enjoyed it. Thanks for leaving your comments and alerting and faving (gosh!), and also if you didn't, I'm glad to know someone took the time to read this thing...
On the matter of self promotion: I'm still posting my story Narrate and I'll be starting up with another one as soon as I get it beta'd. Won't be long.
So, any last thoughts? Comments? Goodbyes? :)