Friday 13th

Summary: Friday 13th is said to bring bad luck. The Winchester brothers wouldn't have any luck without their bad luck so it can't get any worse… right? Set in S1 somewhere.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Humour.

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.


"It's Friday 13th today."

Dean moved his head to look at Sam who was positioned on the other bed, and blinked heavily. He slowly stretched and yawned before responding:


"Bad luck-day."

"Sam, we are the personification of bad luck. We own bad luck. Plus it's just a saying."

"Well, can't be too careful…"

"Nothing's gonna happen," Dean said and sat up. "Unless all the hot water is gone."

"No, I showered and I left plenty," Sam said. "But… can we stay here today?"

"For what? No work, nothing to do in this boring town and I'm itching to get out. Why should we stay?"

"I don't know… I just have a bad feeling."

"Not one of your weird psycho things again, right?"

"Dean! I'm not psychic!"

"Right, right… but this got nothing to do with… your thingy, right?"

"No, it doesn't," Sam said. "Just a bad feeling, probably just paranoia with the day or something. Go shower."

"I'm going, I'm going." Dean got out from bed and nearly crashed into a chair on his way to the bathroom. Barely managing to avoid it he looked at his brother who bit his lip to not start laughing. "Not a word, Sammy. Not a word."

"Not saying anything," Sam choked out. Dean growled; the little bitch was grinning. Turning around, he stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Sam shook his head and roughly towelled his hair before throwing the towel on the bed, grabbing a clean T-shirt and getting it on.

Dean had barely started showering when the water turning freezing cold. Biting back a yelp he moved away from the spray, staring at it. How dare the water turn cold on him?? He felt it and shuddered. Way too cold. Good thing he had not started with the shampoo and stuff. As it was now he just scrubbed away most of the grime of yesterday, then shut the water off.

"Hey, you fucking liar!" he called out.

"What?" Sam's voice sounded confused.

"There is no freaking hot water!" Dean said as he wrapped a towel around himself. He caught himself before he could slip on the floor, grabbing onto the wall. Shrugging the weird feeling off, he heard Sam reply:

"What? I made sure there was some left!"

"Well, nothing's there now I can tell you!" Dean snapped and rubbed his skin dry before yanking his clothes on. To himself he began to mutter, "And I have to shave, dammit, and now I'm cold, fuck I should have just stayed in bed."

He made a quick deal of the shaving, but maybe he was too quick.


Sam heard his brother swear and walked up to the bathroom door. He knocked on it gently and called out, "Hey, you okay?"

"Fuck this shit!"


"I cut myself…"


"When I was shaving, no big deal," Dean said and looked at the cut. "You can barely see it."

"Dean… maybe you're having a bad luck-day."

"Sam, when haven't I had one?"

The younger one stepped away as Dean stepped out, wiping his face off. Sam stepped forward again and had a look at the cut himself to make sure it was alright.

"Sam, get out of my face."

"It's still bleeding."

"It'll stop eventually," Dean said smoothly and walked towards the bed. "Ow, FUCK!"

Sam turned to see Dean sit down on the bed, holding onto his foot.

"You hit… your foot into the chair?" Sam asked, eyes wide. "Dean…"

"No, it's got nothing to do with it being Friday 13th, I'm telling you!"

"Are you really sure about that?"

Dean did not answer, just wriggled his toes to make sure he had not hurt anyone of them. He rose up again and moved to get socks. Sam went towards the door and said:

"Well, I can go and get breakfast."

"What? Can't we go to a restaurant or something?"

"You're not the most popular dude in town, remember?"

"Come on, the ghost was going to kill them!" Dean exclaimed.

"I don't think they'll understand, as it looked like you were trying to shoot them."

Dean mumbled something but sat down on the bed again.

"Usual?" Sam asked.

"You know it."

"Be back soon."

"Not a baby, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever, dude."

Sam watched Dean get the remote control for the TV and then left.


When he arrived back twenty minutes later, Sam was rather surprised at the sight he was met by.

Dean sat on the bed, not moving, pressing an icepack to his eye, legs up tight against his chest and the other arm wrapped around his knees. He looked frozen to the spot, and nervous. Sam blinked in confusion.

"Dean?" Sam asked as he closed the door to their motel room, then putting down the bag with breakfast on his own bed before shrugging off his jacket and gently sitting down on Dean's. He touched one of Dean's knees, rubbing his thumb over the faded jeans. "Dean, you okay?"

"Fucking hell," Dean supplied. "Crap. Stupid. Freaking brilliant." Sam stared at him, Dean turned to him and added, almost as an afterthought, "Fuck."

"I can kinda see that… what happened?"

"Remind me to never get up from bed on a Friday the 13th, okay?"

"You believe in the day all of a sudden?" When no answer came, Sam continued, "Dean? Tell me what happened."

"You had been gone for like a minute… when I wanted something to drink. I knew we had a soda or something in the fridge. So I got up… and fell flat on my face for no reason. When I got up I hit my head on the bed and hurt my finger. And when I finally got to the kitchen I stumbled and hit my head again before stumbling to the side and my eye took a surprise-date with the fridge. Violent and short, I don't think they'll be meeting each other anytime soon."

Sam stared at Dean afterwards and then said slowly:

"Dude… it really is a bad luck-day."

"More like clumsy-like-shit-day," Dean muttered. "So I got back here and haven't moved since."

"Alright, lemme have a look at your eye."

Dean took away the icepack and Sam winced as he saw the swelling. He poked and prodded a bit before saying:

"Should be a few days before the swelling's down. You said something about your finger?" Dean showed his hand reluctantly to his little brother and Sam winced. "Bro, I think it's broken."

"I wasn't gonna pull it back," Dean said. He looked a bit sick to his stomach.

"Dean, you can handle gunshot wounds, cracked ribs, bruising all over your body, cuts, a car crash now and then but not pulling your finger back to place?"

"I hate the sound of bone cracking, okay?! Just… pull it back yourself!" Dean turned his head away. Sam swallowed, knew he had hit a nerve and placed his hand back on the knee again, moving closer until he was sitting next to Dean. Dean really did hate it, ever since he was younger and fallen during a hunt, breaking his arm so hard the sharp end of the bone had drove straight out his skin. Sam and John had been a bit away but Sam doubted they would forget the scream Dean let out ever. He focused onto the present, saw Dean was shaking a bit. Broken finger can't be too nice to deal with. If it was broken. You never knew. For Dean's sake, Sam hoped it was just a bit twisted.

"We can start with stretched out your legs, you'll be cramping otherwise," he said softly, firmly guiding Dean to uncurl. Dean looked at him, not the finger and said:

"I'm not moving from the bed."

"Don't worry, dude," Sam replied. "I won't let you either. Okay, you ready?" He took a hold of the finger and Dean's hand.

"Not really."

Sam yanked it right and Dean bit back a startled yet pained yelp. Sam checked it gently, relieved to find it had not really broken but no doubt it would be sore for a bit. "I'm gonna get the first aid-kit, stay put."

The man could not help but watch Dean for a bit, who now looked every bit like a scared eight-year old, and he had to stifle a smile. Who knew a saying could come true? Well, it should not be that strange considering who they were. The Winchester brothers had seen a lot, and this was just another kind of bad luck.

After a few minutes of work Sam had splinted the finger and said:

"Alright, all done. Want some food?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "What time is it?"


"God, can't this day be over already?"

"Apparently not."

"Sam… shut up."

"Never. Food." Sam shoved a sandwich at him and got up the soda. "Can't you at least one time try a sandwich with salad or perhaps juice?"

"No way," Dean said. "I like this."

"You're weird."

"At least I'm not eating hamburgers to breakfast."

"Thank god for small favours."

After Dean had managed to get the sandwich down he lay down and said:

"Wake me when the day's over."

"You're gonna sleep all day?"


"What about some TV?"



"It's static…"

"Dean---no wait, don't tell me you got zapped by the TV?"

Dean peaked up at him from underneath the covers and Sam could not help the smile. Dean huffed, dove back under and said:

"That's it, just laugh at my misery! Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam said, still smiling. He put the garbage down on the floor and scooted up until he was sitting next to Dean. "How about I'll handle the TV? It's not going to hurt you if you just watch."

"… You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

Dean finally moved up from the mountains of blankets and the younger one had to laugh a bit at his brother's tousled hair, sticking up in all directions.

"Hey, bitch, stop laughing."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek in order to stop but could not help running a hand through Dean's hair, the man swapping at him a moment later.

"Dude, don't touch the hair!"

On the inside, Sam was laughing his head off. This was going to be a fun Friday.


Just something I started on this morning, inspired for some reason by the weather. Stranger things have happened.

Hope you enjoyed.

Until another time,