This was originally supposed to be an answer to a drabble challenge. But I couldn't bring myself to limit this plot bunny to 100 words. I tried for a Double Drabble (200 words) and that didn't work either. SOOOO, I decided just to leave it as an unrelated, stand-alone snippet. And I did something else for the drabble challenge. hehe
I hope everyone enjoys it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. Kripke & Co. have that insane pleasure.
Sammy's Keeping Secrets?
By: Vanessa Sgroi
Hearing the key in the lock of the motel room door, Sam Winchester's eyes flew open. He bolted upright and practically erupted off the bed. He was almost lightheaded from his abrupt and astronomically fast ascendancy to full height. Facing the opening door, he shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as his older brother, Dean, crossed the threshold. The tantalizing odor of tomato sauce, garlic, and spices permeated the room with his entrance.
"Hey, Sam, guess what! They gave us free cheesy garlic breadsticks and dipping sauce with our pizza!" Dean grinned, triumphantly holding up the treasure trove of food he carried. "Brought a six pack of the beer you like too—you know—that new one with the lime. Girly beer if you ask me, but whatever."
Sam looked at the floor, longish swirls of chestnut-colored hair falling forward, and shuffled nervously from foot to foot. He pulled his hands from his pockets, shrugged, and shoved them back in again.
Noticing Sam's fidgeting, Dean felt a frisson of alarm spiral its way up his spine and muttered, "What's wrong?"
Dean's gaze took in the pink flush riding high along Sam's cheekbones and raised an eyebrow. "Just what've you been up to, little brother?"
Sam cleared his throat. "Nothing. I haven't been … I mean … nuthin'."
Insistent hungry purrs from his empty stomach urged him forward. Still curious over his brother's odd behavior, Dean kept an eye on him and moved further into the room to deposit the food on the table. It was then that he heard the familiar continuous buzzing over the cacophony coming from the television. Dean spun to face Sam. "You were using the Magic Fingers, weren't you?!"
"I TOLD they were great, didn't I? And YOU wouldn't listen to me. In fact, I do believe you were mean to me. Something like 'Dude, I'm not gonna feed your sick habit!'" Dean mimicked Sam's previous outrage, continuing his tirade as he sat down and dug into his food.
The vibrating bed clicked off a couple of seconds later.
"What?" the older man groused around a mouthful of incredibly good pizza.
"Umm, well, when—that is—" Sam rubbed the back of his head, peeking at Dean through his bangs.
Dean made a hurry-up motion with his hand. "Well what? Spit it out."
"When can we get some more quarters?"