Title: Swimmer's Ear
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean do not belong to me. Any and all privileges go to the CW and Eric Kripke.
Little oneshot inspired by Mad Server and her ingenuity to pour things into Dean's nose (check out: "In The Forest"). Made me wonder what other orifices we could pour things into, to Dean's chagrin…. Going nowhere and enjoying every minute of it.
Dredging themselves back into the hotel, Dean eyed their room petulantly. The fading evening light did little to improve the dull space. Setting sunlight finally broke through the persistent clouds but rather than adding sparkle to the space, it just served to illuminate the blandness of the faded comforter and beige walls. Dean's mood nestled into the vapid surroundings and he grunted against Sam's jostling as Sam tried to move past him through the entry way.
"Move," Sam grunted back, refusing to be trapped or sucked in by Dean's crabbiness. Instead, he pushed harder and forced his way past Dean and into the room.
"You move," Dean shot back, shifting his cantankerous gaze to Sam. Then he scowled even deeper as the water sloshed around in his ear, causing a tickling, burning, and incredibly distracting sensation.
Not long before they had finally wrapped up their current hunt. An angry water spirit had been responsible for a rash of drownings in a nearby lake and though the hunt went off without a hitch; Dean was left with a very unsupernatural problem. No amount of shaking, poking or wiggling could bring relief from the bucket of water that had lodged itself in his left ear. If he didn't move he could almost forget about being thoroughly waterlogged, but every movement brought a sloshing distraction, leaving an unfocused, tetchy Dean in its wake.
"You trying out for a role in Grumpy Old Men, Dean? Stop stranding there scowling and go take a shower." Sam's voice broke through Dean's bought of self-pity.
"I soaking wet, Sam," Dean grumbled back. "I swallowed half the lake and the rest of it is sloshing around in my ear – and he says 'take a shower,'" Dean's grumbles continued under his breath, but he made his way carefully across the room, leaving as little a trail of mud as possible.
Sam started pulling of sodden clothes, noticing ruefully that the rain had stopped during their drive back to the hotel, after drenching them all day. He paused when he heard Dean shifting back out of the bathroom. Turning to look, a dry towel smacked him upside the head and then he heard the door slam shut. Sam peeled the towel from his head and, though his mood lightened a little at his brother's thoughtfulness, he was too tired and too tetchy to drum up a grin. Ever since his soiree with the lake, Dean had been complaining about a few drops of water in his ear and Sam's admonishment to suck it up just seemed to fuel his bellyaching.
A hot shower, some dry clothes, and some Chinese take out did little to brighten Dean's mood and by the time they fell into bed for some well-deserved rest, Sam found himself struggling to maintain his own temper.
"Go to sleep, Dean," he ordered as Dean's disgruntled muttering continued in the darkness. Dean harrumphed but finally fell silent and Sam sighed himself into sleep.
A few hours later Sam was shaken from his peaceful slumber to Dean sitting up in bed forcefully pounding his head.
"Dean!" Sam snapped. "What are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself."
"Sam," Dean ground out, "it is driving me crazy. I can't sleep with my head full of water. I can't move without it sloshing around. It's distracting. I can't sleep. I can't focus. I can't think. I can't hunt like this!" Dean's voice started to take on a raving quality that was offset by Sam's quiet response.
"Dean, get a grip, man. Give it some time, it'll drain."
In response to Sam's rationality, Dean grabbed Sam's discarded towel and attempted to cram it into his ear canal.
Nettled by Dean's frustration, Sam rose briskly from bed to stop the madness. He switched on the hanging lamp and dug for the first aid kit. His jerky actions belied his irritation and his body knocked into the ridiculously low lamp, causing it to swing and spiral weird twisted lights around the room.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked dubiously as the disco light matched the tide in his eardrum.
"I'm getting the alcohol, Dean. If you put it in your ear, it'll make the water evaporate."
Pause. "No."
"Dean."
"No, Sam. I am not putting that in my ear."
"Is there a hair dryer in the bathroom, Dean? 'Cause, you can use that to dry it out." Sam attempted reason again.
"Hairdryer, Sam? How many of these places have a hairdryer?"
"Alcohol it is, then," Sam concluded matter of factly, looking Dean in the eye.
Dean's gaze narrowed and he reached over and snapped off the light. The darkness was a relief to hide his discomfort. "No, Sam."
Sam stood is ground in the darkness, the alcohol bottle still clenched tightly in his right hand.
"Don't even think about it, Sam." Dean's voice floated across the space as he settled back into bed. Sam stood stock still a moment longer and then, as Dean settled, he shook his head hotly and sat the alcohol on the nightstand as he slid back in bed.
Sam lay rigidly, intensely aware of his brother in the next bed. Dean's breathing was even but tense, and he waited to see if it would slow into sleep or if the grumbling would begin again. After several minutes, Dean was no closer to relaxation, but the sound of even breathing and the warm bed under him sucked Sam back into a light sleep.
Dean, meanwhile, gritted his teeth and lay still to keep the sloshing in his head at bay. Maybe Sam was right and the water would release on its own. Maybe even by morning. He turned his head, soggy-side down, and concentrated on springing a leak. Broken ribs were more bearable than this. After a few minutes he heard his brother sigh out some of the tension and fall back to sleep. Slightly riled at his brother's easy comfort he suppressed the urge to poke him awake and wrinkled his face into a disgruntled expression.
Slowly Dean's frustration began to overrule his established calm. He bit his lip and willed himself to sleep. Finally as sleep seemed within reach, he thoughtlessly rolled over and then barely suppressed a growl as the wave rushed his hearing.
Sam came to consciousness as Dean's frustration began to rise again. Hearing Dean's suppressed grumble, he decided it was time to take action. Sam opened his eyes and let them further adjust to the darkness. He kept his breathing steady and let Dean's distraction work for him.
Without warning, Sam shifted his covers, slid himself silently across the small space between the beds and mounted Dean, his knees pressing down on either side of Dean's torso. Startled but ever ready, Dean responded to the hold by thrusting his hips upward and to the side attempting to throw Sam's bulk off of him. Prepared for this move, Sam allowed himself to be thrown, but kept his legs tight and brought Dean over with him. Fully awake now, both men paused - Sam flat on his back against the bed with his legs fully wrapped and locked around Dean's waist.
Dean's eyes narrowed and he growled, "You want to play, huh?"
Sam gave rationality one more try, "Come on, Dean. Just try the alcohol. It'll work and then we can get some sleep."
"Bite me, Sam," was Dean's entirely rational response. Who said his brother couldn't have a mature, reasonable conversation?
With a particular goal in mind, Sam attempted to guide his brother's struggles to his own advantage. Leaving a slight opening for Dean to escape his legs he waited for his brother to shift to the opening. When Dean's left arm made it around the back of Sam's right thigh in an attempt to throw Sam's legs off of him, Sam redoubled the tightness of his hold and now Dean's right arm and head were squeezed between Sam's thighs and his left was left to flail against Sam's hold. Sam hooked his right ankle under his left knee in an effective triangle choke, immobilizing Dean's head, and Dean paused briefly realizing the futility of his situation.
"Cut it out, Dean, and hold still." Close to his goal, Sam was ready for Dean to flip from play mode to ultimate fighting mode, but instead was a little shocked when Dean froze and merely gripped Sam's thigh with his free left hand. Taking advantage of his brother's semi-cooperation, Sam swept the alcohol from the bedside table and took advantage of Dean's cocked head to pour in a few drops.
At impact, Dean went from relative stillness to an absolutely statue. He eyes were squeezed shut and he held his breath as the cold alcohol slid into warm ear canal. A mild tingling sensation prickled deep in his ear. Slowly the tingling was replaced with a sensation of warmth and his senses stilled even further as he went inside to take stock.
Sam echoed Dean's silence, not daring to breathe.
Dean noted closely as the warm sensation slowly grew and was provoked towards mild anxiety, but it wasn't burning. Just warm and tingling. Dean silently listened to the popping, bubbly sounds in his head. The anxiety receded a little and he idly wondered if Sam could hear it too.
Finally Sam's controlled voice broke through his internal monitoring.
"I am going to let you go," Sam said calmly and clearly, in a conciliatory tone. "Turn your head and let it drain back out."
Sam loosened his burning thighs to let Dean's head slide free. As Dean pulled away, Sam did too, moving out of reach in case a return attack was launched.
He watched in silence as Dean turned his head to let the alcohol drain.
Dean felt the wetness emerge from his ear and drip down his cheek. In its wake, he felt a blessed unclogging and the trapped water in his ear poured out as well. Unconsciously he breathed out a thoughtful, "Huh." Then he closed his eyes and willed it to empty even more. Finally he stood slowly, keeping his head tilted to side.
Swinging his gaze around in a thankfully wave-free motion, he sought out Sam in the darkness and fixed him in a demon-worthy stare. He noted with private amusement that Sam cowered slightly across the room. Making sure he had Sam's full attention he sent out a cold warning: "Sam. Don't pour things into me. EVER."
Daring to take lack of physical retaliation as forgiveness, Sam beat back a grin and held his ground tentatively as Dean pushed past him to get a towel. He watched Dean wipe his face and wiggle his fingers against his ear to release any residual dampness.
Dean's voice carried across the room, "God, Sam, get some sleep already, you're grumpy and mean when you're tired."
Sam allowed his stance to relax more fully and felt warmed inside when Dean thumped his chest as he shuffled back to his bed.
"Good night, Dean." he said softly in the darkness.
"'Night, Sam," came the gruff reply.
THE END.
Anyone else want to pour things into Dean? I'd love to read it! Hope you enjoyed.