A/N King For a Day originally published in "You'll Thank Me When It's Wednesday" published by Whatever You Do, Don't Press.
King For a Day
by Swellison
Sam woke to silence and sunlight filtering through the flimsy off-white motel curtains. Not hearing Asia blaring "Heat of the Moment" disoriented him for a few seconds, as his last memory jarred through his mind.
He walked down the street for the umpteenth time, Dean next to him. Trying to lighten Sam's mood, Dean suddenly changed his steps to an exaggerated strut and burst into song. "Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk…" While Sam tried to wrap his head around the concept that Dean knew the words to a disco song, Dean skipped to the chorus "Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive--"
Thwack! An arrow flew out of nowhere, piercing Dean's upper chest. He took a half-step forward, then fell to his knees.
"Dean!" Sam went down on his knees, catching a hold of Dean as his brother sagged backwards, one hand feebly reaching to clutch the edge of Sam's drab jacket. There were no words, but Dean's eloquent green eyes spoke volumes in the seconds before Sam saw the light fade in them completely.
Dean was dead. Again. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and then one more time….
"No!" Sam sat up in bed, his hazel eyes drawn to the old-style yellow clock on the nightstand between the two double beds. It was almost seven a.m., and the dreaded but expected "TUE" appeared in the lower left corner of the tri-sectioned clock face. "No," Sam lay back down, "I'm not doing this again. I'm NOT."
"Sammy?" Dean's sleepy voice spoke from the bed closer to the door. "Are you all right?"
"No." Sam whispered.
Seconds later, he felt Dean staring at him. Sam cracked his eyes open and saw Dean sitting on his own bed, his pajama-clad legs planted on the floor between the two beds. "Nightmare?" Dean's face tightened. "Or vision, maybe?"
If I said it was a vision, you'd believe me, right? "I don't wanna get out of bed," Sam sounded whiney, even to himself. "Wanna sleep in, and wake up to tomorrow."
"That's not like you. Where's Mr. Morning Person? Besides, we've got a hunt in progress, so get up, sleepyhead."
"No. Something bad's gonna happen to you, I just know it." I can't do this anymore. Watch you die and then wake up to Dean No. 64 lip-synching to "Heat of the Moment."
"Aw, Sammy, c'mon--"
"You're gonna die today--and then I wake up and it's Tuesday, again. I can't stop it and I can't watch that, not again." Sam sat up in bed, speaking earnestly. "I'm stuck in a time loop; I don't know how. At first, I thought it was the Mystery Spot, but I really don't know what's causing it."
"Sam, that's--"
"Crazy? Dingo ate my baby crazy?" Sam watched Dean start at his words. "Yeah, I know. Took the words right out of your mouth, right? You've said 'em before, Dean. That's how I knew what you were going to say."
"Or your psychic powers have come back and you are a mind reader."
"Not funny, Dean. Nothing about today is funny."
"Okay, relax. Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out."
"Actually, you already did--two months of Tuesdays ago."
"And?"
"The way to break the time loop is for you to stay alive until Wednesday."
"Well, that sounds easy enough."
"It isn't." Sam shook his head and continued, "I've tried everything I can think of to keep you alive. And I've failed, sixty-two times." And counting.
"We'll think of something." Dean started to rise to his feet. "Now, do you want first shower--?"
"No--yes!" Sam suddenly changed his mind, hearing Dean's yelp and the fatal thud as he slipped in the shower. Wait a minute…. He ran through all the ways that the motel room previously had been a death trap for Dean. "I've got it!"
Dean dropped back on his bed, staring at Sam. "Huh?"
"We need to control the environment, as much as possible. So, you're not going outside today." His eyes swept the green, blue and pink tourist trap motel room. "We're staying here, where I can keep an eye on you, all day."
"Sam--"
"C'mon, Dean. It'll be like playing hooky." Sam coaxed. "We'll do whatever you want; you can be king for a day."
"Whatever I want?" Dean sounded interested.
"As long as it passes the safety test."
Dean scowled. "And who decides what passes the safety test?"
"I do." Sam tapped his gray t-shirt on the chest. "Palace Security - and your one loyal subject."
"Okay." Dean grinned. "But I get first shower."
"No!" At Dean's startled gaze, Sam got to his feet, explaining. "Royalty doesn't take showers, Dean; that's for commoners. I'll draw your bath for you, your Highness."
"My god, you're a freak. Anyone ever tell you that?"
"You do, all the time." And I wanna hear you say it tomorrow.
Sam crossed the room in three long steps and disappeared into the small bathroom, which only held the tub and the commode. The sink with its long marble countertop was located in an alcove in the motel room proper, behind a pastel green grillwork divider. He quickly started Dean's bath, and then stepped back into the main room.
Dean was scrounging in his duffel for clean clothes. He pulled out a black t-shirt and set it on the bed.
Sam stared at the t-shirt and saw it soaked in blood, riddled with bullet holes, charred beyond recognition, ripped to bloody shreds, chomped in the distinct U pattern of alligator teeth, crushed under a tree, pierced by an arrow…. "No! Not that one." He grabbed Dean's duffel and sorted through it, hastily extracting an olive green t-shirt in its place. "Wear this, there's a stain on your black one." Without another word, he walked back to the bathroom, to check on the water level in the tub. He turned off the spigot, making sure that the water was hot but not scalding, and reappeared. "Your bath's ready."
Dean walked towards him, his jeans and t-shirt slung over one shoulder.
"One thing, Dean. You need to sing while you're bathing."
"Most people sing in the shower, not the tub." Dean pointed out, not unreasonably.
"We're not most people," Sam half-smiled. "I mean it. Either you sing, or I'm keeping watch from the toilet seat."
"Sam--"
"Hey, turnabout's fair play. You used to watch me all the time when I was little."
"I had to keep you safe--" Dean broke off and Sam watched his brother's expression change as he mentally took stock of everything that Sam hadn't said. "I died in the shower?"
"Slipped and fell, cracked your head open." Sam confirmed quietly. "I mean it; if you stop singing for more than five seconds, I'm coming in."
"Okay." Dean walked into the bathroom.
"And no shaving, either." Sam told his brother's back.
Dean turned around, looking a question, and Sam said, subdued, "Electrocuted." For a moment he flashed back to Nebraska, and Dean being electrocuted on a day that wasn't a Tuesday.
"Hey, I like the stubbled look," Dean tried to joke, and then shut the bathroom door, leaving it cracked open an inch. A few seconds later, Dean's singing penetrated into the main room. "Mustang Sally, think you better slow your mustang down. Mustang Sally, think you better slow your mustang down."
Sam sighed, relieved. He went over to his bed, trying to ignore the three-quarters life-sized pink flamingos painted on the wall behind the headboards. He began to systematically make his bed, smoothing out all of the wrinkles in the sheet before carefully pulling the blanket on top. Last, he placed the bedspread over the blanket, turning down the top two feet. Sam plumped his pillows, and then set them precisely flat, barely touching the rattan and wood headboard, overlapping the turned down bedspread by a few inches. Neatly folding the comforter over the pillows, he tucked the edge between the pillows and the headboard, and then karate chopped the front of the bedspread into an exacting crease along the front of the pillows.
He finished, about the same time that he heard Dean start belting out "Born To Be Wild." Next, Sam turned his attention to Dean's bed and made it to the same exacting standards. He fluffed Dean's pillows as Dean's final, drawn-out "…Wiiiiild" faded into silence. Sam placed the first pillow on the folded over bedspread, mentally counting.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three-- Sam took two long steps towards the bathroom just as he heard "Back in black, I hit the sack…" emerge from behind the almost-closed door. Sam about-faced, stepped back to Dean's bed, and finished making it in short order.
As Sam gave Dean's bedspread a final straightening, Dean exited the bathroom, fully dressed except for his boots and socks. "Next."
"I'll be quick." Sam grabbed his clothes from his duffel and the last clean pink towel from the rack next to the sink. He turned around, for a moment seeing Dean sprawled lifelessly on the pale green rug between the beds and the TV, a vacuum cleaner cord wrapped tightly around his neck. One hand held a fluffy white bath towel, the other reached fruitlessly towards the cord that had strangled him. "Dean!"
"What?" Dean asked from across the room. He was seated in one of the S-shaped chairs with a slotted rattan back, pulling on his socks.
"Don't let the maid or anyone in," Sam ordered, noting that the Do Not Disturb sign was absent from the door handle.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Sam. You know we never let the maids in."
"You're too close to the window," Sam said, worry evident in his tone. "C'mon back here and sit on your bed while I'm showering."
"I get all tingly when you take control like that."
"Quit screwing around and get over here."
"Sam--"
"I'm not Sam, I'm Palace Security, and I'm trying to keep you alive, jerk!"
Dean rose from the chair and padded over to his freshly made bed, plopping on the bedspread. "This is payback for me leaving you sitting in the middle of that motel room in Black Rock, isn't it?"
Sam shook his head. "Read my book or listen to the radio, but stay put. I'll only be a few minutes."
Dean reached for the old-fashioned clock radio, but before he could touch the knob, it burst into sound. "--heat of the moment, telling me what your heart meant. Heat of the moment shone in your eyes--"
"Hey, Asia." Dean grinned and began lip-synching and grooving to the beat. Sam flinched and glanced at the time: 7:30.
Sam straightened his shoulders and headed for the bathroom, determined to make this his shortest shower on record. Tuesday had just begun in earnest. Six minutes later, he was out of the shower and dressed in his blue and tan plaid shirt and jeans. He saw Dean gargling at the sink in complete disregard of his order to stay on the bed. Pick your battles; he's all right, Sam reminded himself, silently joining Dean at the sink.
He reached for his toothbrush and gingerly picked up the half-squished tube of toothpaste, eying the excess toothpaste ringing the top. How does he manage to do that every time? Sam carefully squeezed new paste onto his toothbrush and started brushing his teeth, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye.
Dean must've felt his gaze, because he started auditioning for the world's longest gargle, even showing off by blowing a bubble at the end. Then he spit into the sink and wiped his face with a pastel pink hand towel. Dean grinned. "Didn't we drive past a diner on the way through town last night? I could sure use a nice home-cooked breakfast." His stomach growled in emphasis.
Sam scowled. "What part of 'we're staying in the motel room' did you not understand?"
"Sheesh, royalty ain't what it's cracked up to be. I can't even get breakfast." Dean grumbled, his stomach rumbling in agreement.
"Dean, I didn't say you couldn't have breakfast; I said you couldn't have breakfast at the diner. Gimme a second and I'll whip up some oatmeal." Sam recapped the toothpaste and then crossed the room, heading for the kitchenette towards the front of their all-in-one quarters. After two months, he knew this motel room blindfolded. It was a typical Florida tourist trap motel, geared to a vacationing family on a budget. The tourist trap's owners apparently watched HGTV religiously. The kitchenette was a triple pair of built-in cabinets with a sink and microwave, but the cabinets were painted aqua to match the room's blue, green and flamingo color scheme.
Sam supposed the flamingos were meant to appeal to youngsters, but they were all over the room. Some of the circles in the grillwork that separated the bathroom alcove from the rest of the living quarters held small, iridescent flamingos, and the pattern on the pastel green wallpaper, which Sam had mistaken for flowers, was a single flamingo standing on a tuft of grass. Not to mention the impressive flamingo mural on the wall behind the beds, with four large flamingos in various poses.
The dorm-sized refrigerator was concealed behind an aqua painted wooden panel, blending in with the rest of the cupboard space, mimicking the current trend in high-end kitchens. He grabbed the oatmeal box from the center top cupboard and fished out two individual packets and two motel-supplied bowls. Dean's partial to blueberry; maybe it'll put him in a better mood. Sam tore the blueberry oatmeal packet open and poured it into the first bowl. He ran the tap water, guesstimating he'd added the required half-cup of water, and then popped the bowl into the microwave. While it cooked, Sam dumped the maple and brown sugar packet into the second bowl. He poured water on top of his oatmeal and swapped bowls when the microwave's timer dinged. Sam set the blueberry oatmeal on the countertop and located the silverware drawer, taking out two spoons. He took a bite out of Dean's oatmeal and heard his brother's footsteps behind him.
Sam turned around and handed Dean his oatmeal and a spoon, not hiding or apologizing for his taste test.
Dean took the bowl and sat at the small round table. "I died eating?" Sam heard the annoyed disbelief in Dean's tone.
"Choked on a sausage; poisoned by tacos. The sausage was at the diner, but you were here when you ate the tacos." Sam's voice was flat. "So I'm also the royal taste tester. Get used to it." Sam retrieved his oatmeal from the microwave and set it on the table. Three steps took him back to the cabinets and he stooped, taking two small cans of orange juice out of the refrigerator. He popped the tab on the first can and took a swig before handing it to Dean along with a straw. Grabbing his spoon and another straw, Sam stepped back to the table and sat down. They ate in comfortable silence, finishing quickly.
Dean licked the last spoonful of oatmeal and set his spoon down. "You're on KP. Royalty has its privileges, y'know."
Sam watched as Dean rose from the table and wandered over to the television, on a small stand under the half-wall, half-grillwork room divider. Dean angled the set towards the beds, and then walked back towards them, picking up the TV remote from the nightstand.
Sam returned his attention to the task at hand. Stacking the bowls, Sam had their eating area cleared and the dishes cleaned in no time. He strode back towards the beds, glancing idly at the television screen and froze.
"Look what's just starting," Dean, stretched out on top of his bed, smiled and pointed to the opening credits. "Groundhog Day."
"Dean, I c-can't watch that. Not today." After seeing Dean die too many times, Sam had tried to adopt his brother's hard-as-nails exterior, but unexpected little things still crept past his shields, like this movie.
Dean's smile vanished and he flicked the channel over to the TV listings. He watched the programs scroll by for a few seconds before spotting a replacement movie. "How about The Mummy? I know the destruction of the library offends your geek sensibilities, but it's a good movie."
"Sounds good." Sam shook off his mood and flopped down on his bed. "I remember, the first time we saw this, you screamed like a girl when you saw the rat."
"I did not," Dean denied instantly.
"Did, too."
"Did not."
"Dude, you totally did." They'd been cooped up in another hotel room, Sam's junior year of high school almost over, on a weekend hunt with Dad. Dean had been recovering from a black dog attack and not at his best, but still….
"I did not." Dean took a breath and clicked over to the right channel. "Sammy, that's enough. Shut up and watch the damn movie."
Sam smirked. "Yes, your Majesty."
Dean rolled his eyes and they both turned their attention to the eye-catching opening sequence to The Mummy. They thoroughly enjoyed their escape to 1920's Egypt and beyond time to Hamunaptra, comparing the movie's special effects to some of their real-life encounters. The Mummy Returns aired directly after the first movie, so they kept on watching and the morning passed more easily than Sam had imagined.
TBC
Hope you're enjoying the day so far….
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