TROUBLE AFOOT
This started life tonight as an EO challenge story for Vanessa Sgroi's birthday, but I liked the concept so much, I decided to give up on 100 words and turn it into a little one-shot instead. Ness, hope it was a great one :)
Sam has issues with a certain aspect of Dean's personal hygiene.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, or their feet.
xxxxx
The California heat was relentless, wringing the life and soul out of an limp and overheated population. Among those wilting, simmering souls were the hot and bothered Winchesters who, after an infuriating morning's search had, to their incalculable relief, finally found a moderately respectable motel to crash in.
Finally refreshed and showered, Sam opened the bathroom door and stepped through a cloud of scented steam into the room ready for coffee and a bit of shuteye.
In front of him, Dean was already stretched out on his bed, bare-chested and bare-footed, boneless and faintly flushed in the cloying, soul-sapping humidity.
But it wasn't the humidity or the heat that hit Sam square in the face.
xxxxx
"Jeez Dean; your feet stink!"
Dean grunted irritably; "no they don', nothin' wrong with my feet."
Sam theatrically waved his hand in front of his face and opened a window.
"Heck, I haven't smelt an odour like that since we gutted that chupacabra in Wisconsin."
Dean shrugged nonchalantly throwing his arm across his face; "a man who don't sweat ain't healthy," he grumbled; "'course you wouldn't know that, you great girl."
Sam grimaced, gagging slightly as he glared at the offending feet; "sweat? What do you sweat for chrissake? Cat piss?"
He received a finger for his trouble.
"I like to let my feet breathe," Dean mumbled into the crook of his arm, wiggling his long, knobbly toes to reinforce the fact.
Sam shook his head in disbelief; "yeah, but the rest of us like to breathe too." He picked up Dean's boots timidly between his fingertips and carried them to the door at arms length.
"Holy crap; that's nasty," he panted, tossing them through the door onto the sidewalk.
Dean watched him go with an exasperated eye-roll then settled back into his pillow, turning his proud attention back to the feet that were causing his brother so much distress.
He smirked as a shadow loomed over him.
"Shower's free," Sam announced pointedly; "you've got one minute to get those vile, rancid things into the shower."
"And what if I don't?" goaded Dean gleefully.
Sam folded his arms menacingly. "You wanna sit in a stinking room?" He threatened; "fine. I've got a burrito, and I'm not afraid to use it."
xxxxx
Dean stood under the shower.
He still didn't see what all the fuss had been about.
xxxxx
end