WELCOME TO MY GARDEN
Note: This was so kooky, but fun to try. Thank you for sticking with. You guys are so great! Sincerely - thank you.
"Ahhh." Sam twitched, his face alarmingly white.
"Hey. Sam. Sam." I cupped the back of his head, careful of the new bump he'd just acquired. "Sam." I gave a little jiggle, and he moaned, eyes fluttering lazily. "Hell of a time to pass out, princess." I patted his cheek.
"The bee!" Sam jerked awake, wildly twisting to look around .
"Whoa, hey-there, ho-there." I knotted my fingers into Sam's jacket, trying to hold him still. "Gone south. It's okay. We made it into Bobby's kitchen, comatose boy."
"I passed out?" Sam's brow knitted. "Unconscious?" He slanted sideways.
"You're a natural." I scooted around behind him for support.
"Low blood sugar," Sam muttered under his breath, slumping against me.
"High alcohol content, " I amended.
"What's the plan now?" Sam asked.
"We find Bobby, get his attention. If he can grow cauliflower, broccoli, and Mary-Jane, he can grow the Winchester brothers back to life-size… before something else tries to chomp our asses off."
"Mary-Jane?" Sam cocked his head to one side, looking confused.
"You know, Sam, funny stuff, Ju-Ju, Doobie." Sam still looked confused. "What a geek." I rolled my eyes.
"Whatever," Sam mumbled. "So, how are we going to get Bobby's attention when we're half the size of his thumb?"
"We'll just do it." I slung Sam's undamaged arm over my shoulder and brought him to his feet. "You know this isn't some ramped up Walt Disney flick, Thumbelina," I stated in irritation.
"You mean Hans Christian Anderson."
"Like I said before…geek." I let go of Sam as he seemed to find his balance. "Come on." We walked carefully along. "This is all that ugly, blue bitches fault," I roared as my stomach began its hungry protesting again.
"Wait. Blue?" Sam stopped and turned to me, mouth gapping. "I thought you told Bobby she was green."
"Blue, green, blue-green, teal…what's it matter Rembrandt?"
"Dean, I have a feeling it mattered." Sam looked me up and down. "A lot."
"Oh, no, Sam, this is so not my fault. You are not pinning this on me. The bitch was fast, you and your low blood sugar were sprawled out on the floor. I didn't have time to think let alone take the bitch out and make mental note of the exact shade her skin was."
"I could kill you," Sam said grumpily, picking at the gum in his hair. "Bobby is defiantly going to kill you."
I shivered, taking a faltering step back, the image of that 'damned' spoon popping into my head.
There came a rumbling-rattle, and a series of loud booms that nearly jerked us off our feet. "Huh?" I grumbled. "What now? Earth Quake, Avalanche, moon-sized hailstorm?" The ground shook and shook some more, followed by a huge mushroom cloud of swirling dust kicking up around Sam and I.
"Holy crap." I shielded my eyes, peering up through the dust storm. "Son of a bitch, Sam." From my David-sized prospective, Bobby was bigger than Goliath. "Bobby. Bobby," I yelled, jumping and waving my arms, like a moron as a dark, black shadow loomed over us. "Oh, my, God." I froze in horror, realizing we were about to be pinned to the bottom of Bobby's boot.
"Dean, watch out." Sam shoulder-crashed into me, knocking us both to safety just in time.
Another boot came toward us and we scurried like field mice, just barely escaping.
We both stood panting, watching Goliath-sized Bobby as he obliviously sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a book.
"He can't hear us," Sam blew out a breath, grimacing.
"You figure that all out by yourself?" I huffed, noticing the awkward way Sam was holding his injured shoulder. "Stupid bitch, you dislocated it again, didn't you? I used my best 'stern dad' gaze.
"You could smile when you call me that, I did save our lives," Sam pointed out.
I flashed Sam a cocky, fake smile. Kid was slowly crumbling, barely able to stay on top of the pain. I wished I had our first aid kit; least I could do was shove a couple painkillers into him, before popping his shoulder back in place - for the third time in a row.
I held up three fingers and waved them in Sam's face. "That's three times in one day, a record even for you." I stepped forward intending to take hold of his arm and do what I had to do - fast.
"No," Sam snarled, taking a step backward. "Dean, don't touch it." Sam's eyes did a creepy little roll showing their whites, quickly rolling back to hazel. "P-please," he begged, his face seeming to turn every color of the rainbow as he wobbled off-kilter. "It's not that bad."
"Uh-huh." I cringed knowing better. "Now or later, Sam, later will be worse, you know the rules."
"Later. Need to get Bobby's attention, shoulder can wait."
I thought for a moment, and then nodded my agreement. Sam was barely holding it together; I didn't need him passed out on the floor right now, one hundred percent certain manipulating his shoulder, again, would do just that.
"So how we going to get Big, bad Bobby's attention?" I glanced around.
"There." Sam tipped his chin.
My gaze roamed over to a heavy, red tarp bellowing in the breeze coming from an open window. Mountaineering the kitchen tablecloth would be a small job compared to the porch steps. I turned to Sam, his face looked even whiter than before.
"Dean, I…" Sam's jaw flexed as he peered past me, real panic written all over his face. "I don't think… I can't make it."
I knew that. Here's what I didn't know…how many maggots, ants, or hermaphrodites were lurking around in the filthy dust, waiting for big brother to leave little brother unprotected, so they could swarm in and easily bite off Sam's head.
I tried to make myself taller, standing up on the tips of my boots and hunting with my eyes for any hidden dangers.
"Dean, I'll be okay, just go before Bobby heads upstairs, 'cause neither one of us is going to make that climb."
Ignoring Sam, I continued my assessment. We were surrounded by large, fuzzy critters. They were everywhere - totally creeping me out. I stared long and hard at the different sizes and shapes of dirt, dust, beard hair and sloughed-off 'Bobby' skin - all clinging together in colossal-sized balls.
"Would you look at that. Gross," I whispered. Bobby was a great hunter, but he sure sucked when it came to sweeping.
"Dean, come on, man, just get going. This isn't enemy territory; we're in Bobby's kitchen."
"Shh." I drew out my knife swearing one of the dust bunnies had moved. Dangerous, sneaky bastards they were, and we were defiantly outnumbered. Several minutes ticked by. Satisfied none of the furry parasites was of any danger, I blew out a breath. "Bobby's kitchen, Bobby's bathroom, Bobby's unmatched sock drawer, Sam, right now, I wouldn't put it past your shadow to try and make a move on us," I sighed. "Look." I pressed my knife into Sam's right hand.
"I have a knife, Dean," Sam stated, pushing my knife back at me.
"Mine's bigger, dude," I said, with all the sexual innuendo I could muster, forcing Sam to take my Bowie. "Look," I said seriously. "One of those dust bunnies so much as twitches its creepy, fluffy tail…kill the evil bitch."
Sam muttered something smart-assed under his breath that I didn't quit catch. "Here." He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me his Coke can.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I stared at the warm, red, can.
"I don't know, bro, just take it."
I shoved the can into a pocket and turned to climb the tablecloth. "Friggin' witch," I panted, reaching one hand over the other and pulling myself upward.
This was all her fault. Well, okay, mostly her fault. So I got her skin color wrong. Half-way up, I paused a moment, wiping the sweat from my forehead. This was a rough climb. Strong winds from the open window threatened to pull me down. Taking a few breaths, I started to climb again, my thoughts going back to the witch. So, she wasn't green, her tongue was. Man she was ugly. Big bushy eyebrows, crooked nose, missing her two top teeth.
"Of course in the interest of being objective, she did have some major, erratically looking cleavage going on." I shook my head. "Ewwwe…nasty. Did I just think that out loud?" I almost threw up in my mouth. "Least all this shrinking crap hasn't…" I reached the top of the table and gripped a handful of cloth. "Hasn't affected my testosterone levels," I grunted, using hands and feet, scrabbling the rest of the way up. "Gawd," I bent at the waist, trying to catch my breath.
Hearing a familiar grumble, I peered up getting an eagle-eye view of just how crammed full of nose hairs Bobby's nostrils were. He was chugging down coffee and reading…"Huh." I ducked my head to get a better look at the title. "Romantic English Gardens." I grimaced. "What the holy hell?" Bobby tiptoeing through the tulips just wasn't registering. I never pictured the man other than the tough, macho, 'don't sas me, boy', hunter that he always was. Shaking the funky image from my head, I got back on mission and eagerly set off across the tablecloth as fast as my legs could go. I dodged a few Eiffel Tower-sized toast crumbs as I ran. "Bobby! Bobby." I waved my hands in the air. "Here. Down here!"
When I arrived beside Bobby's coffee cup, I jumped even higher still waving my hands in a useless, crazy dance trying to get him to look down at me.
Bobby just kept his nose buried in his Romantic Garden book. How the hell was I going to…"Son of a bitch." I dodged left out of the way of the gay garden book Bobby had just decided to close and slam down onto the table. "Damn it, Bobby."
Bobby sat back in his chair, staring blankly ahead. I paced back and forth along the binding of the book. I had no real weapons; the cell obviously wasn't going to work, no bullhorn, no magnifying glass, and no idea of any sort on how to get Goliath Bobby's attention. All I had was a Bowie knife; which Sam now possessed. If I was an Indian I could send up smoke signals. "Hey." I patted down my jacket - no matches. If I was a Marine, like dad, I could scale Bobby's shirt and pluck the nose hairs from his nostrils, that'd get his friggin' attention fast. I tapped the side of my head. Think. Think, Dean. Like Dad, like Dad, what would Dad do?
I leaned against the warm coffee cup, thirsty as hell. Whiskey flask in one pocket, Sam's Coke can in the other, I opted for the Coke - needing to keep my head clear.
"Wait a minute." I pulled the can from my pocket and gave it a good shake.
My legendary, clever, fearless self had a plan. Dodging a puddle of coffee, I ran toward Bobby and scaled his shirt. Getting as close as I could to his nose hairs, I clung to him with one hand and shook the Coke can harder. Cracking the tab, I let the spray shoot out right straight up into Bobby's nose.
Bobby immediately started snorting and snuffling on pop fizz.
"Aw, geez, this is going to hurt." Tossing the can, I gripped Bobby's shirt with both hands, preparing for the inevitable.
"Heh, heh, heh- chew." Bobby's whole body shook as he sneezed.
Unable to hold on, I tumbled head-over-heels back down to the table, just barely missing the half empty coffee cup I was certain I'd drown in. Luckily, I landed on a crinkle in the tablecloth, breaking my fall just enough to keep me conscious.
I stood up, only slightly stunned and yelled, "Come on, man, can you see me now?" I did more crazy arm waving than I had trying to swat at the blimp bee.
Bobby drew back, rubbing his nose. "Dean." His eyes went wide and a deep line formed between his eyebrows. "I must have drank more coffee 'en I thought." He shook his head slightly.
"This is no caffeine induced hallucination, Bobby."
Bobby crinkled his nose. "This can't be right." He looked around, then back down at me.
Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shouted up at him. "Dude! You shrunk the Winchesters."
Bobby pinched himself on the arm, leaning forward, his big, brown eyes inspecting my tiny self.
"What in the name of all that's holy?" Bobby didn't look happy.
"Bobby, it's me. We didn't bail, this is no prank, man, we shrunk."
"Well… I'll be a pig in a pig sty covered in the mud!" He gasped.
I shuddered against the breeze of Bobby's Maxwell House flavored breath, but didn't make a move. Bobby shot out of the chair and ran to the kitchen counter. A second later he was back.
"Boy," he rumbled, now peering at me through, of all things, a magnifying glass. "Dang if that ain't…" Bobby paused, completely freaking out. "What? No. It isn't. Dean?"
"Yeah, it's me." I made sure to mouth the words clearly, hoping if he couldn't hear, he could at the least read my lips. "Your unhexing potion…it shrunk us." I gestured with thumb and forefinger indicating how small we were, purposely leaving out the part about the old croon being the wrong color - for now.
Bobby gave a stern look, then swung the magnifying glass to the left, to the right, then back onto me. "Where's your idgit brother?"
I pointed down toward the floor, cringing when Bobby moved to go look. "Bobby, wait, no." I rushed after him across the table, dropping to hands and knees and peering over the edge. I was scared to death Bobby would step on Sam before he ever saw him.
I anxiously searched the spot I knew I'd left Sam - he wasn't there. "Of course he isn't," I mumbled around the dryness that suddenly appeared in my throat. Damn baby brother never could stay put. Even after that time I'd wrapped him in tinfoil and duct tapped him to a chair he'd managed to escape. Houdini had nothing on Sam. I let out a hysterical little laugh, sucking in a breath and holding it in as I watched Bobby carefully stepping around the table. "Just take it easy, Dean, stay calm," I said, trying to talk myself down from my fear. "He's fine. Stupid kid probably stumbled onto an injured dust mite and was trying to make a pet out of …Shit! Sam!" I spied my brother in the clutches of one of the creepy dust bunnies. But instead of fighting the evil dirt naber, he was pressed further against the fluff ball trying to get away from - "Holy mother of all aliens."
The light green creature towering before Sam was unbelievably long, with leathery wings folded down at its sides, huge bulging eyes, and two long antennas sticking up out of its triangular shaped head. It walked on four legs, but what really blew my mind was the two additional pincer-like claws snapping out and trying to turn my baby brother into gravy or something.
There was nothing I could do from this high up. Only watch Alien vs. Sam and pray the fugly bitch didn't abduct, swallow, or impregnate Sammy with one of its own damn kind. Sam leapt away from the protection of the dust bunny, lunging with my knife at the alien creature's belly - and missing.
"Goddamnit, Sam. I told you to stay put, stay out of trouble."
Sam was a solider, trained to fight. He was good, the kid had clanking balls of steel, but even from up here I could tell the alien was cunning, and had my sasquatch of a brother beat by five - maybe six feet. The close range combat continued. Sam lunged forward again, only to be knocked flat to his back by a large pincer.
The second set of pincers followed suite, about to snip off a sizeable portion of Sam's face.
"Noooooo! I roared, at the same time Bobby stepped in. His large hands dwarfed the creature as he cupped the green Martian and flung E.T. out the window. I fell backward onto my ass, shaking hard, a cold sweat dripping down from my armpits. "Crap-fuck-son-of-a-bitch," I swore, gulping and totally sick to my stomach envisioning a bloody, torn apart brother, and/or little alien Sam's running all over the place with bug-eyes and antennas.
Ten seconds later, Sam slid off Bobby's hand onto the tabletop, panting and sweaty he slumped down.
"Ughhh," He groaned.
"What the hell was that?" I turned to Sam catching a handful of his jacket, and easing him down to sit.
"A Tenodera aridifolia sinensis," Sam panted.
"A-a what?" I held tighter to Sam's jacket, and yanked him close, eye-to-eye.
"Praying Mantis. Their ambush hunters, didn't see her 'till…too late."
"Damn you, Sam." I let loose my hold, shaking hands falling to my side. "I should deck you one for scaring the bajeebee's out of me."
"You wish you could take me," Sam challenged.
"I'll take you, dude, from here to there, and back again," I barked.
"Oh, yeah," Sam barked back.
"Double yeah," Sam snipped.
"I'll see your double yeah and raise you…"
"Shut up!" King Kong Bobby bellowed above us. " All that arguing is about as useful as a trap door on a row boat."
"Huh? He heard us," Sam and I said at the same exact time - man, I hate when we do that.
"Selective hearing," I deduced.
"By the authority vested in me by this here spoon…" Bobby nabbed the spoon off the kitchen counter. " I'll knock the both of ya in the head, and win this butt kickin' contest. Now shut your suck-holes and let me think this 'Honey I Shrunk the Winchesters' crap out." Bobby stared at us long and hard, looking like a big, burly bear that was undressing us with its eyes. I squirmed uncomfortably. "Now, I know I mixed that brew up proper."
He set the spoon down in exchange for his big bug magnifier. Thing gave a great close up view - both ways.
"Gahhh," Sam cringed, ducking and leaning against me.
"Dude, just relax." I peered up Bobby's nose. "What are you thinking?" I asked, noting his nose hairs were turning gray.
"Thinking I ought to sell you two to a flea circus. This is ass backwards," Bobby grumbled. "Sam, is that gum in your hair?"
"Only way to get that out is to shave it out," Bobby mumbled more to himself than to us.
"No, no, no, no." Sam tensed.
"Not like your arm's getting cut off boy. What?" Bobby directed at me. "He entering some sort of beauty pageant?"
"Guess, so," I smirked.
"Oh, God," Sam groaned, his face twisted in agony.
"Get over it, Kansas," I gave a half-hearted chuckle, not sure if Sam's agony was over the fact his hair was toast or his shoulder.
Bobby glanced back at Sam. "You dislocated your shoulder, didn't you?" Bobby shook his head, looking guilty. "Boys, I'm so sorry, I must have miss measured." Bobby scratched at his beard. "But for the life of me I can't imagine what ingredient. I was so careful. Green, she was green. What could have gone wrong."
"About that." I gripped the back of my neck, rubbing, a nervous tic I had from a kid. "I, uh, eh, uh…"
"Bobby, she was blue not green," Sam blurted.
"Blue-green," I protested.
"What!" Bobby reared up. "Dean, you told me she was green. Damn it, Dean, that's like saying the corn is off-the-cob, when the corn is really on-the-cob. Idgit!" This isn't a simple case of you say potatoe, I say potato. Stupid boy, that's like my dog pissing on my leg and me saying it's only rain. No wonder you shrunk to the size of a rat's dick. When it comes to witches, kid, color matters."
"Tattletale," I snarled at Sam resisting the elbow I wanted to jab into his ribs. "Thanks for selling me out, bro."
"He had to know, Dean, if he is going to grow us back to normal size."
"Stupid." I glared up at Bobby through the damn bug magnifier. "So, can you? Blow us back up to life-size?" I bit out, sick of being so small and helpless.
Bobby glowered. "Ask me nice, boy."
"Pretty please, can you grow us back?" I grit out clenched teeth.
Bobby dropped the bug magnifier to the table and grabbed the wooden spoon. "Oughta knock you in the head with this," he ranted, turning to a kitchen drawer and pulling out a leather pouch. "Here, all this time, I thought you two scoundrels bailed on me. If brains were apples, yours would be sauce," Bobby gripped, snatching a pot from the dish rack and setting it on the stove. "Just sit tight, while I brew the potion up proper." Bobby glanced back over at us. "And see about fixing your brother's shoulder. Kid even hiccups, his arm's going to blow right off."
While Bobby cussed and fussed over the potion that would hopefully return our junk to normal, I turned my attention to Sam.
"Dean, no." Sam begged.
"We gotta do this," I said, watching Sam's face turn even whiter. "You going to be a wimp, Sam?" I reached down and gently took his hand. "Can you wiggle your fingers?"
Sam made the attempt. "Barely."
I stared at Sam's twitching fingers, debating if I should do this a third time now, or wait until Bobby had us all grownup and take Sam to the ER. "Your shoulder should pop back in easier the third time." I smiled, Sam gave me the finger - with his good hand.
I took Sam firm by the arm. We looked at each other. I wasn't so sure I could do this again. Cause Sam more knee-dropping pain.
"Give me a second to breathe," Sam inhaled and exhaled rapidly.
"You sure you can handle it again, grandma?"
"Baby wanna cry?" I laughed, but my stomach was doing flips just thinking about the pain Sam would be in.
"Not funny." Sam winced. "My shoulder's on fire, Dean," he said, sweating pretty badly, and trembling all over as he fought the pain.
"Want a bullet to bite? Blindfold? Shot of Tequila. Maybe you'd rather just do this the cowboy way. Or I could have Bobby knock you in the head with the wooden spoon."
Sam's eyes darted worriedly over at Bobby, who was still fussing and cussing over the stove. "No, Dean, just…"
I yanked Sam' arm fast and hard.
Sam turned back to me, eyes blown impossibly wide, mouth gaping in silent shock.
"Sam? You okay?"
It took a second for the pathway of pain to reach his brain. "F-f-f-f-f-f…" Sam drew in a quick breath, blowing it back out just as fast. "Fuckin' A…aaaaaaahhh." His eyes rolled and he went limp.
Totally expecting the collapse, I caught the back of Sam's neck as he fell forward, lowering his head to my shoulder.
"Good work, cowboy," I choked out, giving his back a pat.
Twenty minutes later, Bobby set a teeny-weeny thimble of the newly revised potion down next to me.
"He okay?" Bobby asked.
"No." I shook my head tightening my grip on Sam. "That was shoulder fix number three since all this 'shrunken Winchester' thing got started."
"Aw…damn," Bobby cringed, waving a hand toward the potion. "Smells and probably tastes like your backside," he said, and I wondered why he cared this time. Guess Bobby figured we'd been through enough. "Drink fast. Only need a few drops. And thank the Gods you shrunk before you could drink that whole brew from earlier, or you would have shrunk into microscopic pinheads." Bobby shivered.
"Super terrific." I reached over and scooped a handful of potion out, managing to dribble the watery liquid into Sam's mouth and holding his nose, forcing him to swallow involuntary.
Quickly, I dipped my hand in , cupping the potion to my lips and swallowing fast. Tasted even worse the second go round, and I nearly gagged the my 'backside' up.
The potion hadn't even hit my stomach when a strange feeling swept through my head making me dizzy. I must have told that to Bobby, because I heard him say that was normal for me, and to hold on to my britches and to my brother.
I pulled Sam close as a rapidly changing turbulence sent me crashing down hard, then floating into a narcotized limbo of sweet unconsciousness.
I'd been conscious now for three hours, but Sam was still clocked-out, lying limp and heavy on Bobby's ratty, old couch.
"He still out?" Bobby asked, from his chair behind his desk.
"Cold," I muttered, leaning back over Sam, picking more gum from his hair.
"How's the gum removal going?"
"Slow and Sticky, but it's working." I tugged at a strand of hair with a wet paper towel.
"Yeah, well, you better finish that before Samson there wakes up. How's your cheek by the way. Mail lady cracked you a good when you laid one on her, earlier."
"Not discussing that," I mumbled, ignoring the sting, happy not to be a toad.
"Think the kid gets all his powers from his hair?" Bobby changed the subject.
"Nah, he ever puppy-dogged you?" I glanced over at Bobby, his face hiding behind a large, leather bond book. Bobby grumbled to himself raising the book higher, but not before I caught the blush on his cheeks. "Don't feel bad, Bobby. A blind man couldn't resist Sam's mushy look," I chuckled going back to my gum removal. "This stuff works great," I said slathering another glob in Sam's hair.
Using a wet paper towel I tugged more gum out. I must have tugged a little too hard, because the skin between Sam's brow wrinkled and he moaned. Shoulder pain or hair pain - I wasn't sure which.
"Our beauty queen finally comin' around?" Bobby asked.
"Dude?" I stopped picking at gum and rested a hand on Sam's chest in hopes of subduing any sudden movements. Didn't need little brother knee-jerking awake and knocking that shoulder out again. Sam's eyes slowly opened, his head turning side to side, gaze darting around the room as if he didn't recognize his surroundings. "Sammy?" Sam's lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. Good thing I read lips. "I'm right here, Sam." I grabbed his jaw turning his head toward me. Sam stared blankly, sucking his lower lip inward. "You remember what happen, Tiny Tim?" I coaxed, waiting for Sam to follow the bouncing ball.
"Bobby got me with the wooden spoon." I could tell baby brother was disoriented. "Twice."
"Nah," I snickered. "Bobby's an old softy."
I figured any guy who tosses a man-eating Praying Mantis out the window rather than kill the friggin' thing, sure as hell wasn't going to tan our hides with a spoon.
"I've a mind to do just that, Samuel Frances Winchester." Bobby walked over, and gave me the evil eye.
"What?" I bit my lower lip.
"Don't what me, Dean Eugene. If it wasn't for you thinking you was washin' instead of hangin'… your brother wouldn't be lyin' there dumb as a rock, with a bum shoulder and I'd have fifty-two less gray hairs in my nose." Bobby stormed off.
"Where…where you going?" I clenched my teeth, nervously watching Bobby disappear into the kitchen. "Crap." I was wrong about the whole damned wooden spoon thing?
"Be in the garden." I heard the refrigerator open and close then the kitchen door slammed shut.
Sam sighed in relief at the same time I did. "So, what else do you remember?" I questioned Sam, still staring after Bobby, making sure he really was gone.
"I remember…ow, ow, ow."
"Hey," I scolded, turning back to Sam. "I told you not to move."
"Didn't. Just breathing, man."
"Yeah, well don't." Sam shot me a crazy look. "Just take it slow," I amended, going back to plucking at the kid's hair.
"So, we're big again?"
"Stupid question." I ducked my head, hoping Sam wouldn't notice the bruise forming on my cheek.
"I see the curse is broken." Sam gave me a sly smile.
I didn't justify the smart ass with an answer, just kept working on his hair.
"Bobby's really pissed." That wasn't a question.
"How'd you guess?" I drawled sarcastically.
"He used my middle name," Sam shifted on the couch ever so slowly. "Damn," he groaned.
"What is it? Need more pain meds?"
"No, hate my middle name," Sam moaned, settling deeper into the old cushions.
"Know the feeling." I nodded. "And?" I asked, needing to make sure his computer-like brain was running at full speed.
"And…" he took a breath. "…My shoulder's really screwed up. Hair, too." Sam wiggled a little more, obviously trying to get comfortable. "Gah," he gasped.
"Hey, Sam, just take it easy." I pressed harder against his chest stopping him. "You'll pull that glass shoulder of yours out again. Just lie still, okay?"
"Okay." Sam gave a small nod and closed his eyes. He lay quiet while I continued to tug and tease the gum from his hair.
"I smell peanut butter," Sam licked his lips.
"Found a recipe for gum removal. Peanut butter," I informed.
"You're picking the gum out of my hair?" he asked lazily.
"Uh-huh," I gave a light laugh. "Sort of."
Sam accepted that, not seeming to have the energy to care at the moment.
"You look pretty enough, Miss Kansas," I said quietly, finally getting the last of the glop out.
Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open. "Oh. My. God. What did you do? Am I…did you…how much did you have to cut out? Am I bald?"
"Easy for you to say, you don't have gum in your hair. You're not bald as an eagle."
"True." I flashed a cheap smile. "But even if I was bald I'd still look absolutely, without a doubt, devastatingly handsome."
"And what do I look like?" Sam had a really scared look on his face.
"Devastatingly average." I pulled my cell out of my pocket. "Say cheese." I snapped a picture.
"Lemme see." Sam cautiously reached up with a grimace.
I held the phone out of his reach and studied the photo. "Nah." I glanced back down at Sam. "You better not."
"Dean, I need to see."
"Sam, you wouldn't want to see this."
"Dean, let me check it out," Sam demanded hotly.
"Sam, you got to get over this whole beauty pageant thing."
"Please…Dean…please." I looked away a little to late - Sam puppy-dogged me. "You got to stop that shit, Sam." I immediately turned the phone toward him so he could see the picture.
I heard Sam gasped.
"Dude, I tried. I really tried. I've been working on your hair for like three hours tyring to get that crap all out," I explained, still unable to look my brother in the eye. "In a few weeks you won't even notice," I justified. I waited for screaming, yelling, crying, but I heard nothing. "Look, bro, Bobby wanted me to just shave your head. I couldn't do it. It's not that bad, is it?" Sam still didn't have an answer for me." Sam, is it?" I asked again.
Sam said something under his breath that I couldn't hear.
"Look," I steeled myself, turning back toward Sam totally prepared for the girl-like meltdown. "I did my best. I did what I thought…" I drew back in shock. Sam was smiling up at me. "Dude, what?"
"It looks the same." Sam's eyes watered. "I'm not bald," he whispered in aw.
I felt my face heat up and quickly stood gathering the peanut butter and wet paper towels. "Yeah well..." I headed toward the kitchen. "Don't Sam-out about it," I grumbled.
"Where you going?" Sam called after me.
"Dude, I'm going to salt and burn the 'damned' spoon."
"To hell you are, boy!"
I whirled just in time to see Bobby in the doorway, spoon at the ready. "Ah, crap."
Whack, whack, whack.