OK, so you all know the deal….don't own them….simply worship and admire.
Just a little blurb found floating around in my noggin. Enjoy!
Beta'd by wonderful Mish!
Reviews are good for the soul (and ego)! Just saying!
"Dean?...Dean, you awake?"
Sounds of sheets rustling, mattress squeaking, as a body rolls over.
"Dude, it's freaking O' Dark Thirty! Why would I be awake?"
A deep sigh issues from the other bed, "Oh."
There's silence for a few minutes then Dean rolls over to face the opposite bed.
"Why?" He sounds cranky.
"Nothing." Sam sounds contrite.
Dean's "morning brain fog" begins to clear and he remembers. He remembers the bar. He remembers hustling the very large biker out of a very large amount of money at the pool table. He remembers the hospital. He remembers that he feels guilty.
"Dean, I don't think this is a good idea." Sam was muttering as they walked up to the pool table. They had just finished a salt and burn that had ended fairly anti climatic. Sam knew Dean was still tightly wound and needed to release some of his pent up energy. But the man standing over by the pool table just looked….off to Sam. He couldn't explain it, it was just a gut feeling that normally Dean listened to. Tonight obviously was not one of the times he chose to listen to Sam's insides.
"Hey, don't worry your pretty little self, Sammy. This guy has sucker written all over him." Dean was oozing self confidence. He patted Sam on the cheek as he turned to face the man with a Satan's Son tattoo on his bulging bicep.
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and went to the bar to get a couple of beers. He stayed at the bar for awhile, talking to the barmaid, who was going to law school during the day and working nights at the bar. It was a slow night at the bar, so they chatted for thirty minutes or so about insane work and class schedules. He told her how he would literally fall asleep at the dishwasher, waiting for it to cycle, at the restaurant he worked at during college. They laughed at professors, and she regaled him with tales of the young students she studied with. Finally Dean yelled for his beer and Sam smiled at the future lawyer and turned away.
As Dean won game after game, getting more cocky and snarkier with each win, Sam was thinking, wondering, "What if…." What if he had finished law school, become a lawyer, married Jess, hell maybe even had kids! Finally, finishing his beer, he pushed away from the table he had been sitting at. Deciding to banish the thoughts from his brain, before he became too maudlin, he wandered over to the pool table.
Sam should have caught the tension in the air as he neared the table, but his thoughts were still on his "what ifs". He should have seen that the biker's face was turning red as he slammed the eight ball down on the green table top. The biker began screaming at Dean that he was going to kick his ass into the next millennium. Sam focused in to the actual scene before him just as the large man threw a punch at Dean's face. Dean, not knowing his brother was directly behind him stepped back as the man threw a huge, meaty fist, missing his Dean's face by mere inches. The brother's feet tangled and before they knew it both where falling backwards. Dean fell back square onto Sam, hearing a faint snap under all the other noise in the bar. He scrambled up ready to plow into the biker.
"Sam, you alright?" Dean shouted over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam still down on the floor. Dean quickly assessed the biker coming at him with a pool cue and turned, grabbed a chair from a nearby table and clobbered the bigger man over the head with the piece of furniture. Satan's Son dropped like a lead balloon! Dean stopped in mid stride, a little shocked that it was so easy to take the man down.
The lady behind the bar yelled, "I'm calling the cops!"
Dean turned to see Sammy still on the floor, face as white as fresh snow, and sweat glistening on his brow. Beneath his left leg were the remains of another of the chairs. He had fallen over it when he and Dean had gone down. Unfortunately Dean had fallen onto Sam's leg, which was on the seat of the chair. Dean's weight had come down on Sam's upper leg just right, or wrong in this case, and snapped the bone.
"Oh my God! Sammy!" Dean was down on the floor looking at Sam's leg, not knowing if he should move it or leave it.
By now, Susan, the barmaid had rushed from around the bar. Dean seeing her yelled, "Call the ambulance too lady!"
"I told you it was a bad idea, Dean!" Sam, a pasty white now, eyes closed mumbled even as his face turned from white to green.
Dean closed his eyes, sighed and replied, "Yeah little brother ya did."
So, after a trip via ambulance to the nearest hospital, Sam was x-rayed and put in a cast. The cast went the entire length of Sam's leg, a freaking lot of cast! After promising the doctors and nurses that Sam would rest and not put pressure on the injured leg for a few days, Dean managed to wedge Sam into the backseat of the Impala and had taken him back to the hotel. Drugging Sam up on pain pills, Dean had finally managed to get to bed him. Making sure Sam was asleep, Dean collapsed on his own bed. It had been nearly twenty four hours since he had last lay on that crappy motel bed, but man did it feel awesome! He closed his eyes and….
FOUR HOURS LATER
"Dean?...Dean, you awake?"
Sounds of sheets rustling, mattress squeaking as a body rolls over.
"Dude! It's freaking O Dark Thirty! Why would I be awake?"
A deep sigh issues from the other bed, "Oh."
There's silence for a few minutes then Dean rolls over to face the opposite bed.
"Why?" He sounds cranky.
"Nothing." Sam sounds contrite.
Dean sits up, rubbing his face and short spiky hair with one hand.
"Sorry, bro. What do ya need? You hurting? S'only been four hours so I don't think…."
"No, it's not that. I….um." Sam was looking very uncomfortable, a red color creeping up his neck.
"Oh! You have'ta…."
"Yeah."
Sigh from the other bed.
"I think that if you can just help me up, I can make it on my own…." Sam frowned as he spoke.
Rising from his own bed, Dean looked down at his younger brother. Pain lines were etched on Sam's pale face.
Knowing the movement was going to hurt Sam, made Dean reluctant.
"Maybe if I got a bottle…" Dean began, but was interrupted by a now scowling brother.
"No! Dean, I am not peeing in a bottle! Just give me a hand and I'll get to the bathroom!" Sam began to swing his left leg over the edge of the bed, trying to slide the casted right leg as he went. Suddenly he stopped all movement, sweat popped out on his face and he gasped in pain.
"Sam? Ok, ya gotta breathe dude! Come on, breathe through it." Dean worriedly eased Sam back onto the pillow, bringing the left leg back up to the bed.
A few minutes later, Sam, now breathing close to normal and color coming back into his pallid face, whispered, "So, where's that bottle?"