A SORE SUBJECT
Just a little quickie that popped into my disturbed mind this afternoon, then it got lonely and left, but I decided to write it down anyway.
Disclaimer: It's a good job I don't own the boys, they probably wouldn't like it if I did …
Sam paced the motel room irritably, glancing from his watch to the door to the window and back to his watch again. By the time he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, he was wearing what Dean would probably describe as a fully-leaded, hi-octane, turbo-charged bitchface.
"How the hell does it take six and a half hours to buy a few damn groceries?" he yelled, "You weren't answering your phone, no word of where you were - I was worried sick!"
If he was expecting a smartass comeback from his brother, the wind was well and truly knocked out of his sails by the mumbled response "Uh, yeah, sorry. Had some other stuff to do, kinda took longer than I thought," Dean set down the bag of groceries on the floor, "I'm, um, gonna take a shower!"
It was then Sam noticed his brother looked ashen; his anger dissipated instantly. "Hey, dude," he said softly, dropping a hand onto his brother's shoulder, "are you okay?"
"m'fine!" Dean shrugged the hand off, "I bought pizza - hawaiian, your favourite"; the classic Dean Winchester subject change.
Sam sighed as the bolt on the bathroom door slid home.
Kneeling down to empty the grocery bag, Sam glanced across at Dean's jacket hanging off the back of the chair and noticed a paper bag sticking out of the pocket, curious, he pulled it out. His heart stood still when he saw it was a pharmacy bag.
Dean opened the bathroom door, to find Sam sitting on the bed. The bitchface was back in full HD glorious technicolour.
"Why's the pizza not cookin', dude? asked Dean, towelling his back, "I'm friggin' starvin'."
Sam glared at him, "What's this?" He waved a box of tablets in front of Dean's face. They were antibiotics.
"Hey, you make a habit of snooping through my pockets?" Dean snapped irritably, "they're just tablets, that's all".
"No, they're antibiotics", shouted Sam, "That means you've got an infection" He threw the tablets on the bed. "So, you gonna tell me what's wrong? What you were doing for six and a half hours today?"
"No!" Dean turned, threw the towel over his shoulder, and began to tear open the pizza box, "now, how long do I heat this freakin' thing for?" he muttered to himself.
"DEAN!" Sam stood up and snatched the pizza out of Dean's hand. "Don't you dare!" He trembled with anger, "You went out today and got a prescription for antibiotics which means there is something wrong with you - so don't you even think about keeping me in the dark."
Dean sighed and sat on the bed, "Really, dude, it's nothing - stop your fussin', Cinderella." He smiled, "I'm fine, it's just this … uh, stupid thing"
"What stupid thing?" Sam persisted.
Dean looked at him and visibly wilted; he knew the game was up.
"Uh, well", he groaned, "you remember that curvy little red-haired waitress in the diner on the way back from the wraith job in Tulsa …?"