Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. I'm just taking the boys out for a little spin.
SOMEWHERE IN TEXAS
By: Vanessa Sgroi
One evening somewhere in Texas . . .
"You want me to do WHAT?"
Sam Winchester sighed mightily and repeated for the third time, "Go line dancing."
"That's exactly what I thought you said," exclaimed his brother, Dean, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. No way. Absolutely not. This is where I draw the line."
"Dude, you lost the bet. The deal was that I got to pick something to do tonight."
"But . . . but . . . LINE DANCING! Huh uh. Pick something else. There's a nice hole-in-the-wall down the street. We can go there."
"C'mon, Dean, there's more to having fun than hustling pool, playing darts, or cleaning up at poker," Sam anchored his hands on his hips.
The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes and smirked before opening his mouth to respond.
Beating him to the punch, Sam said, "And sex. Fun doesn't always have to involve, or revolve around, sex, Dean."
To this, Dean merely snorted in disbelief.
"There's nothing wrong with us going to The Jagged Spur. Just for a couple of hours."
"Yeah, except for the country music AND line dancing."
"Dean . . ." Sam's tone of voice was dangerously close to a whine, "I won the bet!"
"But why line dancing, Sam? Huh?" now it was Dean's turn to whine, "Besides how do you even know how to line dance?"
The younger man shuffled from foot to foot and stared down at the carpet.
"I went with Jess a few times. She taught me," Sam shrugged, "It was fun and I just thought . . . you know . . . with the way things have been recently . . ." Full blown puppy dog eyes came to the fore and he looked directly at his brother.
As always, unable to resist that particular look, Dean threw up his hands in defeat. "Oh, for cryin' out loud! All right—fine! Let's go. But two hours. Two hours and that's IT!"
Sam pumped his fist in the air and let out a little whoop. The occasional victory over his brother's intractability was always reason to celebrate.
"I'm just gonna change my clothes and we can go."
"Oh, God, please just tell me you don't have a cowboy hat or boots hidden in the Impala somewhere," groused the older hunter.
"Cheer up, dude. At least The Jagged Spur will have cold beer. And, hey, barbeque. You can get some barbeque if you want."
"Yeah and be up all night with heartburn. Wonderful."
Later at The Jagged Spur . . .
Dean sat at their corner table cringing at the twang of country music, nursing his second cold beer, and watching Sam in utter and complete astonishment. For someone so damn tall and lanky, and quite often awkward and clumsy, his brother could line dance like nobody's business. And just how in the hell did he get his hips to move like that? It almost—almost—seemed unnatural, unless you were in the middle of . . .
God, don't even go there, Winchester.
He watched Sam swing around and then complete a series of rather complicated steps. Dean shook his head and resisted the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief.
When the song ended several minutes later, Sam returned to the table breathing hard but grinning from ear to ear. There was a distinct sparkle in his eyes. It was such a rare sight anymore that Dean caught himself smiling in spite of himself.
Sam grabbed his bottle of Budweiser and took a long drink before sliding onto his chair. He wiped away a little sweat from his brow.
"You should come out on the dance floor. It's a blast. I'd forgotten how fun it could be." For a moment, sadness colored Sam's voice.
"Nah, I'll pass. Line dancing just ain't my thing, little brother. I'll just have another beer."
"Dean, you might have fun if you'd give it a try. You have to admit, there are some . . . uh, hot looking . . . women out there dancing."
Having noticed a few of the women himself, the older Winchester nodded and took a swig of his beer, conceding that Sam had a point.
"C'mon, bro, why not just give it a try. I'll show you the moves."
Just then, Dean met the gaze of a pretty blonde in a denim mini skirt, a red halter top, and red cowboy boots sitting a couple of tables over. She winked and cocked her head toward the dance floor. One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose in query.
Trepidation filled him faster than the two beers he'd already downed. "Uh . . . I dunno, Sam. I don't . . . I mean, I can't move like . . ." He glanced again at the blonde.
"One or two songs. Then we can eat something and leave, okay?"
Dean sighed. "Okay, fine, one song—Tex. Just don't beg anymore. It ain't pretty." He swallowed the last inch of his beer and followed his long, tall brother out onto the dance floor.
Later, back at the motel room . . .
"I'm never gonna walk again. Remind me not to listen to you anymore."
"I shoulda told you not to drink too many beers. If you drink too much and try to line dance, things can get a bit . . . messy.
"No kidding. And four beers isn't that many, Mr. McTeetotaler. It was hot in there."
"Here." Sam wrapped a towel around a small plastic bag full of ice and handed it to Dean.
Dean groaned as he put the makeshift ice pack on his throbbing cheek and jaw. He only wished there was as quick a fix for the rest of his aching body.
"Geez, I said I was sorry! First of all, I didn't know you were going to go out on the dance floor and end up dancing for six songs in a row without stopping!"
"Blame it on Sue Ann. She kept asking me to stay out there."
"Right. And how was I to know that that giant cowboy was going to think you were making a play for his girlfriend? Man, did you see the size of him?"
"The man was the size of a friggin' mountain. Had a punch like one too. And I wasn't making a play for anyone, Sam," Dean growled, "I tripped trying to do one of those fancy moves you showed me."
Sam couldn't hold back a small snicker. "It was like dominoes. You went down and then everybody else in the line went down one by one."
His snicker earned him a hard glare. "I went down all right—flat out—and ended up on top of Sue Ann."
"Yeah, that's when her boyfriend, Bubba, decided that you were—what was it again? You were 'flirtin' with his filly'." What had been a snicker turned into a full-fledged laugh, earning him another death glare from his older sibling.
"If I could move right now, Sam, I swear I'd get up and kick your ass."
Biting his lip to stifle the remainder of his laughter, the younger Winchester said in a mollifying tone, "Okay, okay. Anything else I can do to help besides the ice pack?"
Dean slowly stretched out on his bed, rested his head on his pillow, and closed his eyes. "Yeah."
"What?"
"The next time you win a bet—IF there IS a next time—can't you just pick a freakin' movie to rent or something?"
(-SN-) THE END (-SN-)