Sam is irritated. Not yet pissed off and not frustrated as he probobly will be in another hour or so. Somewhat annoyed perhaps, a little put out and possibly heading toward personally affronted if the little lip twitch that started a few minutes ago is anything to go by. Dean has spent more time with his brother than he can even comprehend yet he is still trying to comprehend all his brother's neatly categorized and sub-categorized moods. There is just no rhyme or reason to them, or perhaps there is and he just hasn't seen the pattern yet. If all the things that they hunted had such complicated patterns, Dean doubts that they would ever manage to finish a single job.
"...are you even listening to me Dean?"
Of course he is listening. How the fuck can he not listen to his emotionally inflated brother go on and on about the same shit he went on and on about yesterday ...and the day before ...and the day before that going back until the dawn of fucking time. Dean loves his brother, he really does, but at times like these he can't even believe that they are related. He nods and repeats Sam's last words. He is listening. He kind of has to, after all they are in the car in the middle of nowhere and the tape deck died about four states ago. It is either listen to Sam or some evangelist on the radio go on about sin and debauchery. Sin and debauchery are actually sounding somewhat appealing right now and Dean wonders absently what Sam would do if he turned on the radio in the middle of his brother's own sermon. The lip twitch is getting more pronounced, so it's probobly not a good idea. No sin and debauchery today. Too bad.
Seriously though, where does Sam come up with this stuff? Moral ambiguity? Accepted social etiquette? Who the fuck even talks like that? Sam apparently, and my god can he talk. And talk. And fucking talk! Jesus, the guy would take gold at olympic talking hands down. What's the big deal anywhay? Like he is the first guy on the planet to whip out his dick and start a conversation with it over a beer. They are old friends after all, his dick has been hanging around with him his whole life. Dean still thinks that is pretty fucking funny. Sam doesn't. Neither did the waitress or the bartender. People really need to lighten up.
"...convinced them you were mildly retarded so they wouldn't call the cops. Dean you really..."
Dean gets comfortable, this is bound to go on for a while yet and he is not at the point where he is ready to concede to any wrong doing. He will never admit to it actually and he wonders why his brother keeps trying. Isn't that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. And Sam has the nerve to say that he is retarded. How are they even related?
Sigh. Nod.
"...what were you thinking..."
Dean shrugs.
That it was pretty fucking funny is what he was thinking. And it was. It is. It is still pretty God damned funny. Amusing enough in fact that it was worth sitting here listening to Sam go on and on about... whatever he is going on and on about.
"..do you even care? ..."
"I care Sam"
See, he's listening. And he does care. Not about what anyone thinks about his little dick chat, but he does care. About lots of things. So it wasn't a lie. Sam wants honesty and there it is. He apparently wants a lot of honesty because a hell of a lot of sentences that are coming out of his mouth lately start with 'Honestly Dean'. Fuck it sucks not having a tape deck. Who would have thought that it would be so hard to find a fucking tape deck?
"...do you ever think Dean?..."
Ok, so maybe Sam is moving on to frustrated and pissed off ahead of schedule or maybe Dean just zoned out for a while, either way there is now a pronounced brow crinckle along with the lip twitch. Not good signs. And yeah, he thinks. He thinks all the time. Right now he is thinking about hamsters. How many hamsters does it take to keep that wheel in Sam's head spinning around? He would hate to be that hamster. Bet the poor little guy just thought he was gonna get a little exercise, have a little fun and now he is trapped on the perpetual wheel in Sammy's head. Poor little hamster never thought that he was gonna get stuck on the wheel till his little heart gives out.
There is sudden silence. It's like being at a concert and having the power go out. The silence is oporessing and Dean glaces over at Sam who has paused for a moment of self reflection while staring out the widow. He is suddenly sure that the hamster has just died and fallen off the wheel, hence the silence. Poor little guy never had a chance.
"I mean honsestly Dean..."
It seems that Sam has an endless supply of fuzzy rodents in his head.
"... could have gotten into some serious trouble.."..squeek squeek squeek.
Dean realizes that Sam is actually talking, but all he can hear is a squeeky wheel going round and round and round. Sam's head squeeks. That's pretty fucking funny too. And where do all these hamsters come from anyway? Where the fuck does he keep them all? Maybe that is why he is so abnormally huge; has to have a place to store all those doomed fuzzy mice. Dean is struck by another thought: what happens to all the dead hamsters once they've fallen off the wheel anyway?
Dean's previous pity for the cute little critters is starting to fade. I mean really, why would you get on that wheel in the first place. With the way Sam must goes through them there has to be hamster carcasses in various states of decay strewn all around that stupid wheel, so why get on?
"... squeek squeek squeek..."
This one seems to have a lot of energy. Stupid little fucker. Serves him right. He deserves to die. Hundreds of dead bodies aren't warning enough? Anything that stupid deserves to die. Go ahead and run you little douchbag, you'll get what's coming to you. Sooner rather than later. Not that it matters really, there are always more apparently. Hamsters are fucking stupid.
And Sam's head squeeks. That is still pretty God damned funny.
Dean catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Oh God, Sam has started to flail his arms around to emphasize his point. He looks like muppet having a seizure. No, not a muppet, one of those puppets that have the strings. What are those things called again? Mary something. Mary widow? No. Mary...What the fuck are they called? You know, like the Team America guys. Mary something he is sure. Mary...Marry me? Ha ha, no. Marionettes! That's it! What a stupid name. Why aren't they just called string puppets. Whatever, Sam looks like one. And Team America was fucking hilarious. Of course Sam didn't think so. Figures.
...Squeek squeek squeek..."
Dean wishes Sam had strings. Not like 'strings attatched' kind of strings, Sam has plenty of those, but real strings. He could have all sorts of fun with that. Like right in the middle of interviewing a witness Dean could make Sam start smacking his own face. That would be funny. God he could have so much fun. Maybe he would make him whip out his own dick in the middle of a bar and then harp on him about it till kingdom come. Nah, take too much effort. The harping part, not the dick thing; he'd still love to do that.
"Squeek squeek squeek..."
Harping. Stupid word. Harps are supposed to sound beautiful and relaxing, not that Dean has ever heard one for real, only in cartoons when Wile E gets ganked and goes to heaven, but yeah, aren't they supposed to sound nice? Nagging doesn't sound nice. Not even a little bit. So why is it harping? Do angels play nags? No. Although it would be appropriate considering how much of annoying douchbags they are so yeah, guess harping is kind of appropriate in a wierd round about way.
" Squeek squeek squeek!" Deep sigh. Momentary silence.
Another one bites the dust. Good riddence you beedy eyed little fucker.
Sam is now scrunching up his nose in that snarky way that he tends to and Dean thinks that he kind of looks like hamster with his scrunchy nose and curling lip and big brown glossy eyes. His hair falling around his face only adds to the effect. Sam's mouth never stops moving and he looks like a big hamster gnawing on an invisible piece of wood.
"... squeek squeek...Dean...Dean!"
"What!"
"Have you heard a single word I've said? At all?" Sam stares at his brother accusingly.
Dean sums up Sam's pshchobabble and pompously stares back at him. He tuned Sam out about fifteen minutes ago but Sam always says the same shit, so he can't go wrong.
"Just promise me you'll think about it Dean."
"Yeah Sam I promise."
And he will think about it. Think about stupid hamsters and Team America puppets and Sam smacking his own face. And lets not forget that Sam's head squeeks, cause admit it, that's still pretty God damned funny.