Disclaimer: The characters from Supernatural do not belong to me. Eric Kripke and the CW are the lucky ones to have that pleasure. I'm just having a little fun with them, and promise to put them back unharmed. :-)

This is just a random piece of wackiness that I hope everyone enjoys. Happy reading!


By: Vanessa Sgroi

Sam Winchester had just settled down, with a fair amount of moaning, groaning, and even a hiss or two, in the chair at the small table in their room at the Sunset Pines Motel when his older brother, Dean, came storming from the bathroom, a scratchy white towel slung low across his hips his only covering. Sam's brow crinkled at his brother's still filthy state.

"I thought you were gonna get cleaned up."

"Can't. Shower's broke," Dean growled. He was covered in dirt, grime, and sweat from head to toe, tired to the point of exhaustion, had passed hungry hours ago, and was in pain from numerous bumps, bruises, and cuts. Drying blood from said cuts and scratches added itchy to the miserable mix. Not having a working shower just dumped an extra dose of sour into his mood. "You gotta go get us another room, man."

Sam, who was in an equal, if not worse, state of dishevelment and misery, reluctantly shook his head. "Not gonna happen. This was the last one they had for the night, Dean."

Dean's face fell is dismay. He stalked over to his duffel and started to pull out some clothes. Clean or dirty, it didn't matter—anything was better than the pile he'd left on the tiled floor of the bathroom. "Then let's go find another motel. I wanna take a shower, dammit." His tone was dangerously close to a whine, and he bit his bottom lip.

The younger hunter slumped tiredly in his chair. "You think I don't?" He was interrupted by a loud rumble echoing from his belly. "So when you say the shower's not working, you mean there's no water at all in the bathroom?"

The older man paused, a finger hooked around the waistband of a pair of black boxer briefs. "No, there's water. It just doesn't wanna come out of the wall thingy." Dean made a vague gesture with his hand.

"The showerhead?"

"Yeah. The water comes on, but when you pull the lever it won't come out of the showerhead."

"Maybe we can fix it."

Dean threw a scowl over his shoulder. "You think I didn't try? I practically tore the thing off the wall trying. It ain't workin' period."

Sam sighed and was about to offer to go look at it anyway when a light bulb flickered on. "Hey. Why don't you just take a bath?"

Dean's head whipped around so fast Sam was surprised he didn't suffer whiplash, a horrified expression gracing his face.

"A bath? No! No way. I want a shower. S-H-O-W-E-R."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with a bath, Dean. It still involves soap and—you know—getting c-l-e-a-n."

"I don't do baths, Sammy. Haven't since I was like seven and you could start taking baths by yourself." He suddenly cocked an eyebrow. "You don't still take baths, do you?"

Sam was surprised to feel a smidgen of heat suffuse his face. "I don't. I mean, I used to … with Jess and we …"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean threw up a hand. "TMI, lover boy. Definitely TMI."

It was Sam's turn to scowl. "They can be really relaxing. Think of it as a hot tub without all the churning water and bubbles."

The older Winchester brother rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that'll work."

Sam folded his arms across his chest. "Look, we're both beat all to hell—with bruises on top of bruises and highlighted by more bruises—we're also tired and starving. I'm NOT going anywhere. We were lucky to find this place."

Dean valiantly tried to stare Sam down. He really did. But being clad only in a cheap white towel whose edges didn't quite meet was seriously affecting his intimidation factor. He took a step back when his freakishly tall little brother suddenly popped up out of his chair.

"Where're you goin'?" he asked when Sam started across the room.

"I'm going to fill the tub with water."

"But I don't…I'm not gonna…"

"Then I AM going to take a bath. You can sit out here and be all miserable and stinky for the rest of the night."

Dean fell into step behind Sam. "Well, now wait a minute. I called first shower, and I'm already undressed so…"

Sam bit back a smile. Gotta love reverse psychology. He put the stopper in the tub drain and turned the faucets on high, adjusting the temperature so the water was hot without being scalding. Purposely ignoring Dean's comment for the moment, Sam said, "You know, this is how people got clean before there were showers. In fact, in the mid-15th century, they only bathed once—sometimes twice—a year. They'd fill a tub—only one tub—with water and everyone in the family would use it. The father or man of the house would go first. Then all of the sons or whatever in the household. Then the women and girls. Last would be the babies. By the time they got to the babies, the water would be black. That's where the idiom 'don't throw the baby out with the bath water' comes from."

Dean gawked at his brother, his eyes wide. "Okay, first of all—that's just—disgusting. And, second, how the hell do you know all that kind of crap anyway? Geez, if you're brain gets any bigger, it might just pop and ooze out of your nose and ears." He ruefully shook his head. "Now as I was saying, I called first shower so…"

Sam turned to face his brother, putting just the right amount of disgruntlement in his expression. "Fine. You can still have the bathroom first then. Let's just get this over with." He turned to head out the door, hesitating before stepping over the threshold. Sam looked over his shoulder. "Heyyyy, would it help if I went out and bought you some Mr. Bubble? Or maybe a rubber ducky?"

A growl and a bunched up towel to the face—THE very towel wrapped around Dean's hips a second earlier—were his answer. Sam laughed and slammed the bathroom door shut, leaving Dean to his bath.

With a gusty, disgruntled sigh, Dean sank down into the hot water, barely there wisps of steam rising and twisting into the air. The sigh quickly turned into a pleased moan. The bathtub wasn't overly large, forcing him to sit with his knees bent. His giant of a brother was going to have an interesting time fitting when it was his turn. Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes, admitting only to himself that the hot water felt good—easing the pain of bruising, the throb of sore muscles, and the burn of cuts and scrapes. After fifteen minutes or so of lounging, he opened his eyes and reached for the soap. The slippery green bar flew from the tips of his fingers, landing with a plop in the water where it first sank then floated to the top, bobbing near his right knee.

Mommy! Look at my boats! They're all floating in the bubbles an-an-and I can make 'em go fast! Watch! This one's a sub…subma…something. It's not supposta float but it does.

His own four-year-old voice echoed through his brain as the memory slammed through him.

Yes, I see, sweetie. Now how about we get you all soaped up and clean, okay?

Okay. Hey, Mommy?

Yes, Dean?

Look what else floats!

Oh, Dean, honey—I see…but let's not poke at it with your fingers.

The tow-headed little boy's giggles filled the bathroom with sunshine. A few seconds later, his mother's joined in.

Dean chuckled outright as the long forgotten memory resurfaced, and he glanced down at himself. There was a heck of a lot more of him to float now. He resisted, barely, the urge to give it a little poke like the four-year-old he'd once been had done. Instead he reached for the soap.

The soap felt so good cleaning away the dirt and grime that Dean didn't even mind its oddly pungent herby/flowery scent. After lathering up his skin and hair, Dean ducked below the surface of the water and rinsed. A growl from his stomach spurred him to hurry so he stood, water cascading down his entire length and splashing back into the water around his calves. Dean stepped from the tub, quickly toweling dry before slipping into the clean clothes that were waiting on the closed toilet lid.

Clean, warm, dry, and dressed except for socks and shoes, Dean pulled open the bathroom door and padded barefoot into the main room. Spying his brother hunched over his laptop, he announced, "It's all yours, Sammy."

Sam shot him a stink eye. " 'bout time. What the hell were you doing in there?" The tall hunter grabbed his clothes and groused under his breath the entire way across the room. He disappeared into the bathroom and shoved the door closed. A few seconds later came a muffled, "DEAN!"

Dean grinned. "What?"

"You left your freakin' water in the tub!"

The older man's grin widened. "Ahh, sorry, Sammy. I thought you wanted to do your 15th century thing!"

"Yeah, well, you suck!"

Snorting in amusement, Dean picked up his boots—grimacing at their messy condition—and settled onto his bed next to his duffel bag. He yanked on a pair of white crew socks before stuffing his feet into the footwear. Dean stood, sliding his arms into a long-sleeved shirt and grabbed his wallet and keys off the nightstand. Food was fast becoming an irresistible temptation.

He paused right outside the bathroom door. Before he could say anything a long, drawn out groan sounded from inside. He knocked a fist to the door once. "You better not be doing anything nasty in there, Sammy boy!" He could practically hear his little brother blushing and laughed.

"I-I-I'm—" Sam, knees nearly to his chest to accommodate his extra large frame in an average-sized tub, sputtered despite being used to Dean's everlasting teasing. "Jerk!"

"There's a pizza place down the street; I'm gonna go get us a loaded pie and some beer. You want anything?"

"Get me a couple of sodas for later."

"That it?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Forty minutes later, Dean returned to their room with a piping hot jumbo pizza in one hand, a six pack of beer in the other, and two sodas tucked under his arm. A small plastic bag dangled from the pinky of the hand holding the pizza box. It had taken some creative maneuvering, but he managed to get into the room and kick the door shut with his foot.

Finding the room empty, he frowned and dumped everything on the small table holding the laptop. Glancing worriedly at the still-closed bathroom door, he yelled, "Sam?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

Relief coursed through Dean's veins at the sound of his brother's voice. Snatching up the white plastic bag he'd carried into the room, he removed the small item inside—a present for Sammy—and placed it on his brother's pillow. That done, Dean dropped into a chair at the table. Opening the pizza box, he grabbed a large triangle from the gooey, cheese-covered circle and delightedly bit into it. Dean's was three quarters of the way through his first piece when the bathroom door opened and Sam shuffled his way into the room, dressed in blue boxers and a white t-shirt.

"What the hell, dude? You were in there almost an hour! What're you trying to do, a prune imitation or something?"

Sam rubbed his fingertips over his eyes. "Haha. You're a laugh riot. I fell asleep."

"Oh. Well, at least you weren't in danger of drowning. You probably barely fit in that tub." Dean pushed the pizza box toward his little brother.

"Yeah, you don't even wanna know how I had to go about rinsing my hair." Needing no further encouragement to eat, Sam helped himself to a piece. "This's good," he mumbled around a mouthful.

Polishing off the remains of his first piece, Dean opened two beers, sitting one down in front of Sam and taking a large draught of the other. Letting out a hearty burp, the elder Winchester picked up another piece.

The rest of their meal passed in silence, both brothers too hungry to worry about indulging in small talk. The pizza disappeared with surprising speed. When it was gone, Dean stomped the box flat and shoved it into the garbage can. After opening another beer, he toed off his boots, grabbed the remote, and stretched out on his bed, his back resting against the headboard. He saw Sam get up from the table carrying the computer and move toward his own bed. Dean bit his lip, waiting for Sam to discover the little present he'd left on his pillow. Nonchalantly lifting the beer bottle to his lips, Dean took a large sip of the cold brew.

The yellow rubber ducky hit him square in the forehead before he even had a chance to swallow.