Dean's seen something on the computer that he finds really, REALLY disturbing ;-)

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own dirty mind!

The LazyDaze Motel, Room 12

"When did we last do any laundry, Dean?" Sam's voice drifted over the edge of the bed nearest the wall as he grovelled around on his hands and knees for abandoned socks.

"Uh-huh" came the response.

"Dean, your socks are disgusting" Sam's snorted, "this one's stuck to the floor, and I swear the other one's been trying to bite me; when was the last time you washed these things?"


Sam's head appeared, prairie-dog-like from behind the bed. "Dean?"


Dean was sitting at the table, staring intently at the laptop, utterly engrossed.

Sam watched him, puzzled. It wasn't like Dean to become this absorbed in any kind of research and, well, that certainly wasn't Dean's 'porn' face, Sam was mildly relieved to note.

"Dean, we really need to go and do the laundry"


"So, what, I'm going on my own then?"


"Dean, are you listening to a single word I say?"


"What are you looking at, dude?"


"Busy Asian Beauties?"


Sam snorted. "There's a Wendigo under your table …"


"Dean Winchester wears women's underwear …"


"and high-heels, but only at weekends …"


Sam scratched the back of his neck and huffed, "Dean - you might want to think about blinking sometime soon."


Sam shook his head and sighed, pulling the laundry bag over his shoulder, "I'll get food while I'm out".


"So that's a nice Ceasar Salad with celery sticks and a humous dip then?"


Sam shrugged, "I'll be a couple of hours", and headed out of the door taking one last puzzled look at Dean, who was still staring, utterly mesmerised, at the screen and, according to Sam's observations, still hadn't blinked.


The laundry took longer than Sam thought. It seemed that Dean's socks were too much even for the industrial strength washer, which broke down halfway through the run, leaving Sam waiting forlornly for an engineer; and as a result it was dusk by the time he struggled irritably back to the motel room with one huge bag of clean laundry and two bags of chinese food to find the door locked.

He hammered on the door. "Dean, open up". He peered through the grubby net curtain; the room was in darkness. "Dean", a bit less aggressively this time, "let me in".

No response.

Now Sam started to get concerned. He dropped to his knees and pressed his nose to the window glass, squinting to see through the grime and the net curtain; he wasn't sure, but through the darkness he thought he could see a lone figure sitting on the floor leaning against the far wall.

He sat back on his haunches, chewing his knuckle in thought; he had to get into that room.

With Sam's skill and the questionable quality of the door, the lock proved mercifully easy to pick, and he cautiously pulled the door towards him, snaking his head and neck around the edge of it. Sure enough, in the gloom, he could just make out a figure sitting pressed against the far wall of the room. It was hugging a rifle. It was Dean.

"Dean?" he took a step through the doorway towards his brother; and heard a scuffle and a whimper as Dean backed further into the wall.

"Dean, it's me", he called softly, "Sammy".

"S-Sammy?" the response was strained and unsure, "Sammy?"

"Hey Dean, it's me. What's wrong?" he stepped tentatively across the room towards his brother's laboured breathing, switching on the light as he went.

"No, nooo!" Dean cried out, flailing arms dropping the rifle, "switch it off, they'll find me, SWITCH IT OFF! "

Sam spun round and switched off the light, "Hey, man, what's wrong - who'll find you?" He made his way across the dark room, to crouch down next to his brother.

"They will", gasped Dean, reaching out and clutching the front of Sam's jacket, "the ones on the computer".

Sam blinked twice. "The ones on the computer? Who on the computer?" He grabbed Dean's trembling hand, "c'mon dude, talk to me, who on the computer?"

Dean looked up at him, saucer-wide green eyes drifted from Sam's face across to the laptop still sitting up on the table. "Them", he whispered, pointing at the offending item as if it could jump off the table and bite him, he looked back up at his brother.

"Sam, they want me dead. You should see the things they want to do to me …"

"Who?" gasped Sam in exasperation, "WHO?"

Dean tucked his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"The Fanfiction writers, Sam", he shuddered, as if the image was too horrific to contemplate, "The Fanfiction writers …"

TBC very soon ...

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