Yes, dear readers, I am still working on Chapter 6 of "Every Breath You Take". I promise. I couldn't pass up the opportunity for a little Hurt!Dean in this quick ONESHOT story. Enjoy!

Language Warning – Not horrible but still a little swearing.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. But, boy, I wish I did. ((sigh))

A Rude Awakening

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Ow! Damn it!" The cry, full of pain, rang out in the shadow-filled room.

Ever the hunter, Sam Winchester's eyes popped open and he was instantly alert upon hearing his brother's cry. In one fluid move, Sam sat up and flipped on the light next to his bed. His gaze immediately settled on Dean in the other double bed. The other man was curled in a somewhat fetal position and writhing awkwardly.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" The expletives were followed by a low moan.

"What? Dean, what is it?"

When the older Winchester failed to answer, Sam tried again more forcefully.

"What is it, Dean?"

Dean gasped and reached for the calf of his right leg, about three inches below his knee. His fingers dug unmercifully into the muscle.

"Charley horse," he grunted, "massive charley horse."

Hearing this, Sam let himself relax against the headboard. He watched Dean harshly rub his leg for a half a minute or so.

Dean rolled to a sitting position and pushed himself to his feet. He'd loosened the cramp somewhat, yet when he put his foot on the floor and tried to take a step the abused muscles protested and his leg almost buckled. He plopped back down on the bed.

"Damn it—that hurts!"

"Stretch your leg out straight—" started Sam.

"Huh?" Dean's fingers were again massaging his leg.

Sam rolled his eyes at the interruption. "Geez, if you would just LISTEN—stretch your leg out straight and move your foot up and down like you're driving. It'll help."

Dean did as his brother instructed. He felt the knot of muscles loosen further. After a minute, he again stood and attempted to walk. He lurched and limped for several seconds before the agonized knot of muscles came completely undone. Well, almost completely. A ghost pain lingered, nagging at him, hinting that—given the opportunity—it just might come roaring back.

Still pacing, he muttered, "Well, that was almost as fun as being awakened by a vengeful spirit."

"It's your diet, you know," Sam said.

"What?"

"It's your diet. You eat like crap and you know it. Burgers, fries, onion rings, chili. You should try eating a banana once in a while."

"A banana?"

"Yeah, dude, you know—that yellow piece of fruit that grows on trees. Lots of potassium. You can get charley horses like that if you're low on potassium. Or dehydrated. You might want to eat three or four over the next couple of days."

Dean wrinkled his nose is disgust. He hated bananas. With a sigh, he turned and limped toward the bathroom.

"Well, you're just a font of useless information," Dean muttered over his shoulder. He crossed the threshold of the bathroom and closed the door.

Sam laughed and called after him, "Not useless—useful information, you jerk."

The younger man was surprised when his brother walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later and proceeded to pull on first his jeans, then his boots over bare feet.

"Where're you going?" he queried upon hearing the jingle of the Impala's keys.

Dean huffed out a short, disgruntled breath. "I'm gonna go see if I can find a banana somewhere in this Podunk town."

"But," Sam started to protest, "It's the middle of the—" His protest trailed off as the motel room door closed behind Dean.

Sam sat back with a slightly mischievous grin on his face. He really should have told Dean that Gatorade would have worked nearly as well as the bananas. But watching Dean grimacing his way through each and every bite of the fruit he so detested might prove to be rather entertaining.

Besides, a little nutrition would be good for him.

Sam's grin grew as he settled into a more comfortable position to await his brother's return.

The End

I was unfortunate enough to be struck by a charley horse struck me this morning. Afterward, I just knew I had to take it out on poor Dean.

A charley horse has been described as "as intense as a kick from a palomino". After this morning, I find that description quite accurate. VBG