WHAT COULD GO WRONG?
Rating: PG for slight language Words: about 4,300
Summary: A Mystery Spot tag. Sam is determined to make sure that Dean lives through the day and thus stop the time loop -- even if he has to force Dean to sit in the middle of the floor on a big fluffy pillow doing nothing all day. Easier said than done.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Supernatural; they belong to Kripke, WB and CW, although I hope Kripke doesn't mind too much that I borrow them to play with on occasion.
Notes: This story was originally gifted for publication in the Zine "You'll Thank Me When It's Wednesday" and by agreement would not be put on the net until a year after publication, which is now well past. The story is written in a fun tone and way off the beaten path of the angst-fests that I usually gravitate towards. Have fun! For more info on this Zine and many others, please visit www-dot-agentwithstyle-dot-com
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"Dude, you can't possibly be serious!"
Sam stood in the middle of the room and appeared determined, with his arms crossed authoritatively over his chest. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Does it look like I'm joking?" Dean found it rather annoying whenever Sam got into one of his self-righteous moods like he was doing now.
"You honestly want me to just sit here all day … and do … nothing?" Dean had his usual are-you-feeling-all-right look plastered across his face. Which was only a few steps away from the what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look that was sure to follow and certainly not as pleasant.
Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Getting his brother to just sit still on a large pillow in the middle of the floor was going to be more challenging than he thought. Convincing him to sit there all day -- literally doing nothing -- was going to be next to impossible and quite easily result in getting his ass kicked, despite the height advantage of a few inches. Sam had become very skilled at defending himself over the years but even now, as adults, he always seemed to come out on the losing end of any one-on-one confrontation with his older brother. But it didn't matter. At least it would guarantee that Dean would live through this day. If he had to watch his brother die just one more time, he was sure he would lose what little sanity he had left at this point.
By some cruel joke of the cosmos, the brothers were unwilling participants in a recurring "time-loop." At least that's what Sam called it. But every time he had to explain it to Dean it was much easier to simply reference that old movie "Groundhog Day" where Bill Murray, playing weatherman Phil, was destined to relive the same day over and over again.
And just like the movie, Sam was the only one who could remember the events of this repetitive Tuesday, which stayed pretty much the same each time. The clock radio was set the night before for 7:30 am to nudge them from sleep. It had taken Dean several passes of the dial before he managed to find the only station in the vicinity playing any type of rock music. But its repertoire ran the gamut from Led Zepellin to Metallica, from Def Lepard to… Asia? The first time Sam heard "Heat of the Moment" it brought back fond memories of riding in the Impala, his dad at the wheel and his brother riding shotgun while he was relegated to the safety of the back seat. Those long roadtrips were some of the best times he could remember, combining teasing, arguing, laughter, and lots of good, old-fashioned family bonding. While on the open road, it was a time when there were no dangers to worry about and their father simply indulged in the company of his cute little boys. Until, of course, they were ready to kill each other out of sheer boredom. Or he was ready to kill them to put an end to their persistent bickering and whining. During one of those roadtrips his dad had made some off-color remark about "Heat of the Moment," thus forever sealing the minor signifance whenever he heard this song.
When Sam first woke to the familiar sound, Dean was already up, fully dressed and busy lacing up his boots. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" he proclaimed, head bopping to the music, singing along to the refrain, and sweeping an outsretched arm in a manner reminiscent of so many campy music videos from the eighties. The first time Sam woke up in this manner, it brought an immediate chuckle watching his brother's childish antics. The second time he woke up to the song it was in a cold sweat, eased only by the total relief of seeing his brother standing there, such that he simply convinced himself he had just experienced one of the worst nightmares of his life. The third time he woke to the song he had watched his brother die yet again and he was now certain he was losing his mind. But there was Dean, lacing up his boots and bopping to the music therefore it must have been just another nightmare. By the fourth time, he was convinced that something else was going on. By the tenth time, he was desperate to make some sense of the situation. By the fiftieth time, he was an emotional basketcase having to witness Dean's death over and over, and was desperately trying to piece together all the parts of this puzzle. It was Dean who had provided what seemed to be a solution. We'll make sure that I don't die then. Prevent Dean from dying and the loop would be broken. It sounded like such a simple thing to do. Until Sam started to realize exactly how many different ways a person could die, from the most horrific manner to the most banal; from the most obvious to the most bizarre.
And so here they were. Sam looking white as a ghost and nervous as hell. Visibly shaken and worried, trying hard to present a normal façade. And Dean, being directed by his little brother no less, to sit on a large pillow in the middle of the floor, still wearing nothing but his boxers and a tee shirt. His face though was wearing a look that clearly stated "I am so going to kick your ass for this, Sammy." At least that's what was going through his head as he tried to get Sam to focus on the conversation at hand.
"Dude, I asked you a question."
"Yeah, Dean, I'm serious. Just sit there. Don't do anything, don't touch anything. At least not until this day is over." Sam walked over to one of the two beds in the motel room and sat on the edge.
"And do what? Absolutely nothing?"
"That's right. Whatever you need, just tell me. I'll wait on you hand and foot if I have to, and all you gotta do is just sit there the whole entire day."
"Sam, I checked the calendar, it's not April Fool's. So if this is your idea of some stupid pra--"
"-- It's not a prank!"
Dean snickered. "Man, if you're trying to get back at me for something by anno--"
"-- Not trying to to annoy you."
"Then what the hell is it?"
Sam just sighed again, exasperated. "For the hundredth time Dean, we are caught in some kind of time loop."
"Time loop? You mean like--"
"-- Groundhog Day. Exactly." Dean was caught off guard and truly getting annoyed.
"Sam, cut it out! You goin' all Shining on me again? Because every time I'm about to say something, it's like you're reading my mind!"
"No, Dean, there's no psychic magic. I know what you're going to say because we've had this conversation so many times now that I've lost count. We're living the same Tuesday over and over again. And no matter what I do, I can't stop it! It always ends the same... when you..." Sam paused, as he couldn't bear to say the word. He just stared at the floor.
"When I... what?" Dean asked matter-of-factly, looking at Sam as though he had completely lost his mind.
Sam swallowed hard. As much as he tried, he couldn't stop his voice from breaking. "When you... die. Every day, you die. I've seen you die so many times that I've lost count. And in so many different ways that I didn't think were even possible. It's the only thing that resets the day. And then it starts all over again, until you -- die again."
Dean studied his brother's face and body language. There was something more going on here than just a prank. Sam was an emotional mess, and he wouldn't be like that without good reason. Every instinct was telling him he had to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. After all, in their line or work, anything was possible. And he had to do what he could to try to get Sam through whatever this was.
"And I can't ... I can't go through it anymore! I can't watch you die again." He ran all his fingers through his hair, trying to compose himself. "Think of it this way, Dean. You saw me die once and it freaked you out, right? Now imagine seeing it ten, twenty, fifty times."
"All right Sammy, I see this is bothering you."
Sam sighed. "... you trust me, right?"
"You know I do."
"Then Dean, please, I'm begging you. Even if you think I'm crazy, just humor me, ok? Just for this one day... please..." Sam looked right into his brother's eyes. His own eyes wide with fear and concern and a thin film of wetness from the emotion. He was putting up a valiant struggle to keep in control of his emotions and Dean could see that whatever was going on in Sam's head, it was affecting him to an enormous degree. This definitely wasn't a prank. Sam was worried, scared and in pain. And Dean really hated seeing his little brother like that.
"OK, fine, I believe you. For the record, I think this is totally nuts, but we'll do it your way."
Dean pushed himself off the pillow and stood up. Without hesitation, Sam sprang from the bed and grabbed him by the left arm. "Wait! Where are you going?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm just gonna put my pants on."
"No, you can't --"
"Sam, they're pants! They can't kill a person!"
"They can when you lose your balance putting them on, fall backwards, and crack your skull open after hitting the corner of the nightstand."
Dean's mouth opened to provide a retort but hesitated. As the full impact of Sam's explanation sunk in, a surprised look came over his face. "Wow... that really happened?" Sam nodded in confirmation. After pursing his lips and thinking about it for a few seconds, Dean sat back down on the pillow in the middle of the room. "Okay then, no pants." After a few seconds he leaned backwards and reached out towards his bed for the television remote control.
"Dean!" Sam immediately ran over and grabbed the remote.
"Aw, c'mon Sammy! There is no freakin' way a little remote can kill you!"
"Trust me, there is."
"Really? Like what?!"
"Like having it slip from your hand to roll under the bed, where you reach for it and touch an exposed electrical wire instead, thus getting electrocuted." Once again Dean was left to contemplate the explanation. Sam pointed the remote at the TV, bringing it to life. "What do you wanna watch?"
Dean shrugged in ambivalence. "Um, the news is good for now."
Within twenty minutes Dean was beginning to fidget. "Dude, I can't sit on the floor all day! At least let me lie on the bed!"
"No bed." Dean didn't ask why, but the look in his eyes were urging for an explanation. Sam sighed once more. "The neighbors have an awful fight, shoot at each other, and a bullet passes through the wall and into your head as you're leaning against the headboard."
Dean stared at Sam completely speechless once again, his eyebrows raising up practically the full length of his forehead.
"Also, the bed can break and collapse. You're thrown off balance and roll onto one of the broken and protruding support boards and get impaled."
"Oh man, that's gross! Besides, how is that even possible?"
"Because I have tried to remove every danger and possibility, which only leaves room for those one-in-a-million things to happen. And apparently that's one of them." Dean was nodding in agreement even though the look on his face was seriously questioning his brother's sanity.
"So I assume I can't even take a shower today?"
"Nope. Because you slip and fall and somehow manage to kill yourself in there."
Sam continued. "And no mouthwash, because you manage to choke on it."
"And no brushing your teeth because the toothbrush slips from your hand to rip a hole in the back of your throat."
Reluctantly, Dean remained on the pillow and continued to watch the day's installment of "Good Morning America" or maybe it was "Today." with Sam gladly flipping between the two at his whim. It only took ten minutes for Dean to turn his head to check the time on the clock radio. 8:45 am.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"You planning on making any coffee soon?"
"Nope. Nothing to eat or drink."
"No coffee?! But I always have coffee in the morning!"
"Not today. Because you manage to choke on everything you eat or drink today."
"This is ridiculous!"
"Believe me, you'll thank me when it's Wednesday."
"You are trying to punish me by making me suffer through the caffeine withdrawal, aren't you?"
"If it keeps you alive, yes."
Dean was now indignant. "Yeah, if the migraine doesn't kill me first," he muttered sarcastically under his breath. Which got Sam's attention such that he had that look on his face whenever he was contemplating something of extreme importance. "What's wrong now, Sam?"
"I didn't think of that. Oh God, I didn't think of that. The caffeine headache could turn into an awful migraine, which could in turn cause an aneurysm and kill you." Sam's breathing quickened as he started to panic. If he gave Dean coffee, he could choke on it again. If he didn't, he might have an aneurysm.
"Dude, you realize that's not even remotely possible."
"It's that one-in-a-million scenario again... dammit!" The panic was growing with each passing second and each hitching breath. Dean wanted to go comfort him, but he knew that even the act of leaving his pillow prison would freak his little brother even more.
"Hey, Sammy, relax. I've got an idea." He spoke in the calmest, most comforting voice he could muster in view of the situation. "You make the coffee. And I'll drink it as slowly and carefully as possible. That way no choking, and no brain bleed. OK?"
Sam spent a couple of minutes pacing the floor and weighing all the options. Finally defeated, he walked over to the tiny counter and started the coffee maker. As soon as the extra strong coffee was ready, he filled a cup two-thirds of the way leaving room to add some cold water. He didn't want to take any risks with hot coffee, at least not today. Then he spent the next thirty minutes agonizing over each tiny sip that Dean took from the cup. And within those thirty minutes there was actually one time he was ready to kill Dean himself for pretending to choke, which almost gave Sam an early heart attack. Dean quickly apologized and felt like the world's worst brother for pulling something like that at a time like this. Finally when it was over, Sam let out a sigh of relief. Dean managed to finish the cup of coffee and, by some miracle, not choke on it.
"See that, Sammy? Nothing to worry about!" Dean smirked and tried to find a comfortable spot once again on the pillow, while Sam sat on his bed tapping at the keys on his laptop. By now "Good Morning America" was over and the blatantly boring offerings of daytime television had taken hold. Dean shut his eyes for a moment and let out a groan... these were going to be the longest fifteen hours of his life.
About an hour later, the combination of coffee and an empty stomach led to an inevitable necessity that could not be ignored. As Dean stood once more, Sam was quick to be on alert.
"Where are you going?"
"Gotta take a leak." As he began to walk towards the bathroom, Sam was immediately a couple of steps behind him. Dean paused, turned to face Sam, and held up his index finger in some type of warning wiggle. "Don't you dare think about following me!"
"But Dean--"
"I mean it Sam! Unless you want to get your ass kicked right now, don't even think about it!" Sam was visibly worried. Not about the impending ass-kicking, but about the death trap that Dean was getting ready to walk into.
"Then just watch out. For everything. Watch where you're stepping. Don't slip. And don't touch anything electrical. And if you drop something, don't bend down to pick it up... And if--"
"Sam, enough! It's not rocket science, man, it's just takin' a leak!" Dean continued into the bathroom while Sam ran through all the possible ways that Dean managed to kill himself accidentally while in there. Never in his wildest imagination did he ever consider the bathroom to be a death trap before.
"At least leave the door open," Sam implored.
"Bite me!" was the expected response as the door shut. Sam paced nervously, listening for any unusual sounds, which was awkward enough in itself. After what seemed to be an eternity, he heard flushing and the door opened. Dean stood in the doorway holding up both hands with fingers outstretched.
"Is hand-washing off limits too?" The sarcastic tone in his voice made Sam uneasy.
"Not yet."
Following a roll of the eyes, and the uneventful foray into the bathroom, Dean reluctantly tried to make himself comfortable in the middle of the room once more. During the next couple of hours Sam attempted to explain how they were reliving the same Tuesday. He also tried to outline the various ways he witnessed his brother's death so far, but often having to stop when it became too hard to think about. Dean didn't pressure him and just resigned himself to watching a parade of those TV judge shows. Somehow listening to other people's problems presented on TV made him more appreciative of their own twisted situation.
"Like I've said before, Sammy, a lot of effed up things happen in Florida."
"But those shows aren't all filmed in Florida."
"Yeah, well, whatever. Still doesn't change Florida." This brought a small lopsided smile to Sam's face. At the same time, he could hear the loud rumbling coming from Dean's stomach while Dean fidgeted on the pillow again.
"Look, it's bad enough that it's almost lunchtime, which my stomach keeps reminding me of. But I feel really stupid sitting here in my boxers all day. At least give me my jeans."
"Dean, you promised, no jeans."
"Think of it this way Sammy, if I do die again today, it'd be a lot better if I was already wearing 'em, dontcha think?"
"That's not funny. Besides, you said you would just sit there and let this day pass."
"Yeah, but I didn't promise to be naked all day. Get me my pants or I'm gonna get them myself." Dean's voice had his don't-screw-with-me-little-brother tone to it and, ever since a young age, Sam had learned early on to pay attention to it whenever it made its appearance.
"Fine!" As he really didn't want to take the risk of Dean walking around, he lifted the jeans from the chair and dropped them on the floor at Dean's side. Dean was being a good sport about the whole thing trying to wiggle into the jeans without standing up, which he managed to do within a couple of minutes. But as soon as he reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone, Sam practically pounced on him to grab it out of his hands. The look of annoyance was so deeply etched onto Dean's face that Sam was certain he was seconds away from being wrestled to the ground and given the world's worst wedgie. But he stood firm.
"I told you Dean. Nothing electrical or electronic. Nothing with batteries that can explode off parts of your body and make you bleed to death. Nothing that you can fall off from. And nothing that can fall on you." Dean groaned in frustration.
"Sam, I'm hungry and I'm thirsty and I'm bored out of my mind."
"Trust me, you'll thank me when it's Wednesday."
"Yeah, you keep sayin' that, but you realize I'm going to die from boredom before we even get to Wednesday!"
"Well, at least that's one way you haven't died yet."
"Ha-Ha, real funny, Sammy." Dean's face contorted into a farcical grimace reminiscent of a seven-year-old teasing a playground buddy. Letting out another guttural groan, he leaned back to lie on the floor, both arms stretched above him and punching the floor in frustration. The minor vibration strangely caused the old-fashioned lamp on the nightstand to rock off balance. With lightning-fast reflexes Sam jumped up to catch it as it fell, and almost falling on top of Dean himself in the process. Dean's eyebrows went up in surprise as he licked his lips. "Oops." With yet another potential disaster averted, Sam delivered his most intense glare-of-death-combined-with-pissy-face, saying nothing and settling back into the bed with the computer on his lap. Another loud rumble of hunger could be heard but this time it wasn't from Dean.
"You should get something to eat."
"Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"I'm serious, Sam. Just 'cause you have me on the Hollywood diet doesn't mean that--"
"Look, I said I'll be fine. Besides, we don't have any food in the room."
"Then go get some."
"I'm not leaving you alone, Dean."
"Dude, stop treating me like I'm freakin' five years old!"
"I'm treating you like you're five because I know you Dean! The minute I leave the room, you're going to be all over the place, doing God knows what, and it won't take long for you to do something totally stupid. And then this bitch of a day will start all over again!"
"Then order a pizza."
"No. The delivery guy decides to rob us at gunpoint and ... well, you know the rest."
"What about Chinese?"
"You pick a fight with that one over the tip and he ends up accidentally breaking your neck."
"Unbelievable! And you're telling me all these things have already happened?"
"Yes."
"I hate to tell ya, Sammy, but it doesn't sound like the chances of me making it to the end of the day are too good. Sounds like something's gonna happen."
"Don't say that, Dean, we have to find a way to stop this."
"Maybe the whole point is that we can't stop it."
"So... what? We just keep living the same Tuesday over and over again?"
"We do until you figure out what's going on. And you're on your own with this one since I don't remember all the other Tuesdays." Dean couldn't begin to imagine what Sam was going through. "Besides, like you said, even if I die, it starts all over again anyways."
"And what if it doesn't? What if one of those times is the real thing?" Sam paused for a few seconds, but Dean didn't have an answer to that question. "I don't know what to do Dean. I want to stop this stupid loop. But I'd rather go through a thousand Tuesdays, than just one day where..." He was unable to finish his sentence.
Dean looked pensively into his brother's eyes, which were now appearing exhausted, worried and frightened. He really didn't know what to say, but he knew exactly how his brother felt. And while he searched for just the right words that would bring some comfort, the awkward silence between them grew into an abyss. The droning of the television provided some background noise, but it was the loud ringing of the telephone that instantly jarred them out of their respective thoughts.
Ring.
Sam simply stared at the phone.
Ring.
Dean stared at Sam, eyebrows drawing together. "You gonna get that?"
Ring.
"That didn't happen before Dean. The phone isn't supposed to ring."
Ring. "Just answer it Sam!"
Reluctantly Sam answered and after a brief conversation he then conveyed that the motel manager was asking for payment for the day immediately or else he would come toss them out. Not a normally unusual request, except that today wasn't a usually normal day. And this made him very visibly shaken.
"What's wrong?"
"The phone didn't ring before. That means that this is the arbitrary thing that changes the events of the day. This is the thing I didn't plan for. The thing that will make... you know..."
"I don't see how, Sam. How can anything happen if I'm just sitting here doin' nothing?"
"I don't know Dean! But I know that it's always that one random thing that changes the outcome! If I leave to go pay for the room, then you'll probably do something stupid. If I stay and the guy comes to collect, then him being here could be a reason for the outcome."
"Look, just go pay for the room and I won't leave my fluffy little prison. Promise."
"Yeah, I've heard that before," Sam grumbled under his voice.
"I'm serious Sam. It'll take you, what, ten minutes? I'm just gonna sit here. I won't budge. I give you my word."
Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and unsure what to do. They needed the room for the rest of the day to in order to see their plan through. Reluctantly, he started out the door, pausing long enough to look back at Dean. It was a strange moment, as if he were looking at his brother for the last time.
"C'mon, Sammy, relax. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?"
Heat of the moment.
Heat of the moment.
7:30 a.m. and the clock radio comes to life heralding the start of another Tuesday. "Damn it, here we go again." Sam bolts upright to the familiar refrain of Asia singing and his brother's voice calling out, "Rise and shine, Sammy!" He falls back on his pillow, eyes shut, face in a grimace, ready to scream, with a knot grabbing hold of his stomach and bringing on an uncomfortable nausea. Something did go wrong in those ten minutes, but at least he was spared the agony of having to watch his brother die this time around. Just a small consolation to facing another Tuesday.
~ END ~