In response to foundficspn over at livejournal, prompt 6.
A/N: Since I don't know a thing about armlocks, I looked it up on wiki. Very.. enlightening, I must say. The line in italics is quoted from the wiki entry.
"You know what this book need?" Dean asked, loud enough for the other patrons of the bookstore to glare in their direction. Sam gave them a little embarrassed smile, rolling his shoulders as if to say, "Sorry, but what can you do?" A woman, holding a rather large cup of the local brew in one hand, apparently was unsatisfied with his response and actually scowled at him, as if he was responsible for Dean's behavior.
"This book needs an index," Dean continued, simply oblivious to the tension he left in his wake. They had been in the used bookstore for the last hour, perusing its shelves in random order, not looking for anything in particular but always on the lookout for titles particular to their trade, and Dean had kept a running commentary almost nonstop – to Sam's mortification; some of the things spouting from Dean's mouth was borderline censorable.
Sam had given up controlling his brother and just tried to mitigate the worst of the outbursts. He'd have wandered on on his own long ago if it wasn't for the fact that he was afraid to let Dean out of his sight. Coming back to a scene of a bookstore brawl was not out of the question, unfortunately.
"I mean," Dean said, waving the book in Sam's face, "there's gotta be at least a hundred and fifty different moves in this thing. Forty in armlocks alone." He ignored Sam's motion for him to keep his voice down. "What if I need to know how to execute the -" Dean paused, peering interestedly at a photo, "the Omo plata before a, a- well, something eats me?"
Sam ignored the urge to point out his brother's faulty logic, like why he would have this book with him while being chased by whatever in the first place. It'd only spur on an argument that he would not win. Again, due to Dean's special brand of logic.
"Maybe I should make one. Be a little, what did you call it, pro-active? Should I put it in order of techniques or hold position? Maybe by discipline." Dean flipped through the book as they moved down another aisle, Sam trying his best to steer Dean toward the back of the store, away from normal people.
"Dude, this reads like a dirty magazine. Submission holds, rear naked choke, side mounting." Sam could see a leer forming on Dean's face. "Hey, check this out." The book was thrust at Sam, and he had to admit the pictures capturing those moves were quite suggestive, given a certain frame of mind.
Dean snatched the book back, skipping the pages and pages of, no doubt, carefully researched techniques and safety reminders to the pictures. "We need to get this."
"Dean-" The protest was only half formed before he was cut off. "Shut it, Sam. We're getting it."
Horror crowded Sam's mind with visions of Dean practicing those holds and locks upon him. A briefly glimpsed passage from the book when Dean had shook the book at him blazed across his eyes: these techniques may cause dislocation, torn ligaments, bone fractures, unconsciousness or even death.
"But it doesn't have an index!" Sam said rather lamely, his mind grabbing desperately at the only excuse he could think of in his panic.
Dean paused, lips pursed. "Yeah," he agreed, and Sam held back from rolling his eyes to the heavens as Dean put the book back on the shelf – Sam, unknowingly, had somehow been led back to the section on martial arts. Dean pulled down another book, looking exactly the same as the original, except in bold red letters across the front that read, "Index listing now available!"
"But this one does."