Sam was trapped, and there was no way out.
He had been out of the room maybe ten minutes, leaving his brother and the fallen angel alone with each other while he took a shower. Ten minutes, and now he was awkwardly stuck in the bathroom, listening while trying not to listen to what was going on beyond the door.
"It won't fit, Dean," Castiel's frustrated voice drifted beneath the bathroom door. "It's too big."
"Dude, it'll fit," came Dean's reply, "it was made to fit, you just took it out of there! Just shove it back in."
"I'm trying." The bed springs creaked as someone moved.
"Here, lemme see that," Dean grumbled and the springs creaked some more. "Ow! Son of a- Oh, for cryin' out - no wonder it's not going in, Cas! You didn't oil the fuckin' thing!"
"You only told me to 'give it a good wipe-down'," Cas responded dryly, and Sam envisioned him air-quoting with his fore and middle fingers.
"Common sense, man," Dean shot back, "when you've got moving parts like this, you gotta lubricate 'em or the friction's just gonna burn it out. It's like the pistons in a car's engine - remember when I showed you how to put oil in the car?"
An impatient sigh. "Yes."
"Same kinda thing, only in this case it helps the rod slide in easier and keeps it from getting stuck."
Enough was enough. Sam pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, wrenching his eyes shut and covering them with one hand as he threw the bathroom door open. He'd had enough innuendo and metaphor to scar him for weeks.
"Sam, uh, what are you doing?" Dean asked as his brother clomped out of the bathroom with his eyes shut, as though he'd just walked in on something traumatizing he didn't want to see.
"Just getting my boots and I'll head to the cafe or something," Sam hastily replied, groping for his boots near the door, eyes still firmly clamped shut.
Dean turned to look at Castiel, who shrugged, returning the confusion.
"What's with the 'see no evil'?" Dean watched, trying not to laugh as his little brother nearly toppled over forward trying to yank the left boot onto his right foot in his hurry.
"You guys could've given me some warning," Sam shot back testily, giving a sour bitchface in what he presumed to be the direction his brother's voice had come from.
"Warning for what? And while you're there, can you toss Cas the gun oil?"
Sam paused, stricken at first, and then actually thinking about what he'd heard in a different context.
Cautiously he opened his eyes, and his face flushed beet red. Dean was sitting against the headboard of his and Cas' bed, a hunting catalogue spread in his lap while Cas sat at the other end of the bed, a disassembled pistol laid out in parts in front of him on a towel, fidgeting with the slide lock and chamber.
Oh. My. God.
Sam facepalmed, feeling like an idiot, then grabbed the little white bottle off the coffee table and tossed it onto the bed in front of the fallen angel.
"So, um, yeah," he mumbled, unable to look at his brother who he knew was going to give him crap about this, "you two want anything while I'm out?"
After receiving a pair of negatives from his companions, Sam beat the hastiest retreat of his life, Dean's hysterical laughter chasing him out the door.
A/N: So, this takes place a day or two before the first chapter of Road to Nowhere, after they've arrived in Oregon, but before the plot of the main fic picks up. It's not a prompt, just a random cracky idea that popped in my head, "wouldn't it be hilarious if..."
Poor Sam, having to share space with those two 24/7...