Title: What Happened Next
Disclaimer: I don't own Sam or Dean – rub THAT in a little more, why don't you… *goes off to mope about it*
Language Warning: A few strong words. Hey, they're big boys… big strong strapping handsome... um, what was I saying? Oh, yeah - there's bad words. Deal.
Author's Notes: This ficlet (which includes the E/O Challenge word "ankle"- try and find it, all you smarties…) was the product of a couple of e-mails sent between me and my good buddy sidjack. She pretty much challenged me, so it's her fault. *grins* Just kidding, girl, you know rock my socks.
Spoilers: Takes place the same night as "Dean & Sam, Sittin' In A Tree", and there's also a reference to another fic of mine called "First Aid, Big Brother Style". Because I have no shame AT ALL and I will pimp out my fics at every given opportunity.
The journey back to the Impala was quiet, the stillness broken only by painful grunts and glares. The ride back to their motel was totally silent. When Dean opened the door, Sam brushed right past him without saying a word, limped into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.
Dean sighed, shrugged out of his jacket. No doubt about it; Sam was in Full Sulk mode with a side order of Pout. He walked over to bathroom, leaned against the door.
"You can't stay in there all night, dude. You're gonna need some ice for that ankle…"
The door was ripped open with so much force Dean almost had a face-to-tile meeting with the bathroom floor. Any smart-ass remark he'd been about to make died on his lips as he bore the full brunt of Sam's Hazel Laser Eyes Of Doom, which were set to "Don't Fuck With Me".
"And why would I need ice, huh, Dean?" Sam's voice was full of so much venom that for a second Dean was worried the anti-possession tattoo on his little brother had rubbed off.
"Um…" was Dean's reply. So much for the usual Winchester gift of wit.
"I might need ice for my sprained ankle, because unlike ME, who climbed down from that tree like a NORMAL person once that bear had moved on…" Sam leaned forward and poked Dean in the chest, each poke being followed by a one-word sentence, his voice rising with every word.
"You. Fell. Right. The. Fuck. On. Top. Of. Me!"
"Oh, like I intended to-" Dean didn't get the chance to finish his sentence as the door was banged shut in his face. "C'mon, Sam… it was an accident! Seriously, I thought I was closer to the ground and that you were outta the way!"
The only sound in the bathroom was the running water in the sink.
"I'll go see if I can get some ice," Dean murmured, turning to leave. His unspoken words stayed in the air, left hanging due to sheer male ego and stubborn Winchester pride
"I'm so sorry, Sammy. You know I'd never really hurt you..."
He was almost out the door when the bathroom door opened slowly, and Sam walked out in his sweatpants and T-shirt. Walked, not limped; the small towel he'd soaked in water and tied around his injured right ankle seemed to help a lot. Also gone was the fire from his eyes, the anger replaced by good-natured exasperation.
"Um, I think this is helping. I don't really need any ice," he said.
"You sure?" Dean didn't turn around.
Dean expelled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and turned around. "Okay, then. Just park it over on your bed, Gigantor."
Sam walked over and stretched out on his bed, sighing in relief as he sunk into the mattress. Two aspirin were placed in his right hand, and as he sat up and popped them into his mouth he accepted the cup of water Dean was holding out with a smile.
He swallowed pills and liquid in one gulp. "Thanks, Dean."
"Yeah, whatever. Next time, you just watch where I'm going."
"Bitch. Now let me see that ankle."
"Um, no that's okay."
"What's wrong now?"
"It's not that I don't trust you or anything, but I remember what happened last time you offered to 'help' me when I fell into that pile of thorns –"
"This time Sam – no tickling."
"Dude, are you five? I mean- oh, for cryin' out loud, Sam, not the Puppy Eyes! It's too damn late for the Puppy Eyes!" Dean threw up his hands in vexation, but Sam could see the humor in his brother's green eyes. "Not my fault you're that freaking ticklish… alright, FINE, I promise."
"Okay then. Just wanted to hear you say it." Sam wriggled over so that Dean could sit at the foot of his bed. Dean gently unwrapped the towel, gently rubbed Sam's sore ankle. Sam let out with one small gasp of pain that soon faded as he relaxed under his brother's care.
Now the motel room was just as silent as the Impala had bee, but the air didn't crackle with tension.
There was just no need to say anything. Their actions – older brother tending to his injured younger sibling – said it all.