Not mine, don't own. If the boys were mine, I would treat them better. Daily pie specials for Dean with an all-you-can-eat salad bar for Sammy, open 24/7.
Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.
Sam glanced toward the bathroom door and listened to make sure his older brother was still taking a shower. Quietly, he moved toward Dean's side of the room and picked up the other man's duffle. Sam fully expected the bag to feel heavier than usual; Dean's normal level of restless anxiety had recently ratcheted into a persistent, desperate twitchiness. Chasing Dick Roman was clearly weighing heavily on the man. Dean rarely sat still anymore, and, when he did, he usually had a bottle of Jack or Bobby's flask in hand.
Last night, Dean had crept out while Sam was dozing. The younger brother had roused just enough to see Dean lift a smaller bag from his duffle as he snuck out the door. Dean had stayed out most of the night before crawling back in the wee hours of the morning and collapsing in the other bed. Since his brother didn't make much effort to hide his drinking, Sam knew that Dean was stashing something worse inside his duffle - harder liquor? drugs? - that he didn't want his little brother to know about.
But the duffle's weight didn't feel off. Maybe Dean's clothes plus a bottle of liquor, Sam thought, minus the weight of the kit bag Dean's currently using. Sam shook the duffle experimentally. There was an odd clink that he couldn't readily identify. The sound of metal hitting glass?
Sam's stomach lurched. Why would Dean hide a weapon? A vision flashed before Sam's eyes - Dean heading out with the intent of drinking himself into oblivion before attempting self-harm ...
Enough of this. Sam took a deep breath and unzipped Dean's duffle. There was an unfamiliar light blue flannel bag with a zipper top nestled inside, resting on his brother's clothes. Sam blew out the breath he had been holding. That was too easy. Picking up the smaller bag, Sam could feel the expected bottle of liquor inside, wrapped in something soft. His curious fingers noticed something else as he turned the bag over in his hands: a small thin weapon was inside, about the length of his hand.
What in the world?
"Hey!" Dean emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his midsection. He turned a set of furious green eyes on his brother. "What are you doing with my bag?" Dean's voice squeaked over the last two words.
Sam cocked his head at Dean, studying his big brother's reaction. Dean attempted to snatch the bag back with his free hand, but Sam, being taller, simply held it over his head.
"Not until you tell me what's inside." He tried a pleading look. "I'm worried about you, Dean."
"This isn't funny, Sammy," Dean growled. "Now, give it back!"
Sam held his ground, and he watched as his brother paced around him, chewing his lower lip. Normally, Dean would simply tackle him, dressed or not. The bigger problem, Sam realized, was the unknown contents of this bag. If they broke the liquor bottle during their fight, whatever was inside might get ruined. And that, clearly, was the only thing standing between Sam and the floor.
"Not until you tell me what's in here," Sam reiterated, holding the bag aloft.
Dean glared back. "You are such a prissy little bitch." He walked over to Sam's duffle, and began to throw its contents on the motel room floor. Then he stomped on top of Sam's clean T-shirts, grinding them into the filthy carpet. As Sam's face began to twitch, Dean smiled with malice. "Give me my bag, Samantha." He sat his bare ass down inside Sam's duffle.
Sam blinked and twitched some more. This is important, he reminded himself. I'm trying to save Dean's life here. Said brother was currently putting on a pair of Sam's underwear, followed by Sam's favorite pair of sweats, and the last clean T-shirt Sam owned. He had a brief flash that perhaps a dead Dean wasn't such a bad thing. Abruptly, he brought the bag he was holding down and unzipped it, dumping its contents on the nearest bed.
His brother leapt for the items, but not before Sam got a good look. A bottle of Jack, mostly full. A sheet of paper with some sort of weird code on it. Three skeins of yarn in shades of green and blue. A half-finished scarf. And a tool that Sam tentatively identified as a crochet hook.
He crinkled his wide brow in confusion. "Dean? What the -"
His brother flushed beet red. Without comment, Dean gathered up the items and put them back in his blue bag.
His craft bag, Sam realized. He's been hitting up ... craft stores?!
Dean held up a hand, his red face lowered. "Dude, I am only saying this once and then we are never speaking of it again." He looked up at the bewildered expression on his younger brother's face. "I ... uh ..." Dean crossed his arms and studied the floor. "Lisa ... she taught me ..."
"You like to crochet." It took every ounce of Sam's self-control not to laugh.
Dean nodded. If possible, he turned even more pink. "With Bobby ... and everything ..." He gave Sam an imploring look.
"It helps you relax?" This time, Sam phrased it like a question.
His brother nodded again. "It ... uh ... it gives my hands something to do. So I don't drink as much." He ventured a glance at Sam, who felt his heart constrict at his brother's raw admission.
"And this scarf?" Sam asked softly.
Dean cleared his throat. "That's ... uh ... it's for you. For Christmas." His brother's eyes dropped back to the floor.
Sam's own eyes were moist. "Dean, I ... I don't know what to say."
Pointing a finger at Sam, Dean replied roughly, "And this, this right here? This is exactly why I never told you." Walking over to his duffle, Dean shoved the blue bag inside, added his kit bag, and zipped the duffle closed.
"Fair enough." Sam nodded. "But Dean, I don't want you to have to hide away in the car or wherever to relax." He took a step toward his brother. "I'm not going to think less of you if I see you crocheting."
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam. "You can't even say that without laughing." He rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's blow this popsicle stand." He hoisted his duffle and moved toward the door.
Somewhere over on Archive of Our Own, I read a sweet little story in which Cas teaches Dean to knit. Or maybe Dean teaches Cas to knit, I don't remember. Anyway, one of them owns a craft store and it was a cute little story and stuck in my head. Add my own obsession with craft stores and you get this. I couldn't really think of an ending, so this is a one-shot for now.
Thanks for reading!