I own neither Supernatural, nor Sam nor Dean (much as I would really like to…).

Just a one-off that's been stewing in my brain and is probably the result of leaving my laundry undone for too many weeks. *grabs quarters and heads off to the laundromat*

~~~~~***spn***~~~~~

"Dude, fold." Sam dumped an armload of clean clothes on his brother.

Dean rolled over, groaning. "Dude! Sleeping!" he protested.

Sam grimaced unsympathetically. "That's, what, the third time I've done the laundry? In a row. Least you can do is fold your own underwear." He proceeded to ignore his brother, firing up his laptop. "Besides, I thought you were going to be doing research."

Dean harrumphed awkwardly, scooping the fallen clothes into a pile. "I was doin' research."

"Yeah, on the inside of your eyelids. Soon as you finish with those, you can help me on the new case."

"New case. Right."

Silence fell between the pair, interrupted only by the hum of the computer and the occasional crackle of static cling as Dean peeled a sock out of a shirtsleeve.

"Hey, Sammy, forgettin' somethin'?" Dean's voice broke into the quiet. His brother looked up. "Where's the rest of the socks, Sam? I've got, like, two whole pairs here. The rest are mismatches."

Sam shrugged. "They're socks, Dean. There's always one missing. It's like, Murphey's Law of the Laundromat, or something." He turned his attention back to his computer, but he ought to have known that Dean wouldn't let the matter rest.

"You mean there's like a monster or somethin' eating socks outta the dryer?" Incredulity melted into insult. "That's just wrong. We gotta do something, Sammy. Find out what's happening and put a stop to it." He stood up, checking his gun.

"Uh, Dean? Where you going?"

The shorter brother blinked. "Laundromat. Duh."

Sam smiled, then coughed a laugh when he realized his brother was serious. "Dude, it's nothing. Happens everywhere, all the time."

"So do ghosts."

"Ghosts hurt people. We can get new socks."

"And what if the sock-eater-thing starts moving up the food chain, huh? Shorts? Shirts? People? Someone's gotta stop it while it's small, Sam, that's all I'm sayin'." Dean's face was the picture of intensity.

Sam stood up, worry lines creasing his forehead. "Okay, Dean, we'll work on it. In the meantime, I think you need some more sleep. A lot more sleep."

"What about the research?" He sounded genuinely worried.

Sam guided his brother back to the bed. "I can take care of it, no worries. You just lay down and get some rest."

Dean let himself be pushed. "Well… okay. As long as you're sure."

"I'm sure." Sam was firm. He tucked his brother in, then picked up his laptop and headed for the lobby. As he left the room, he turned around and looked back.

Dean's eyes were shut. He was grinning.

Sam smacked his forehead. Conned. Again.

Ah well. He grinned to himself. So, prank season again, huh? Lucky for him, he'd been saving a joy buzzer. Maybe he'd plant it in the Impala before he went back to the room.

Sock-eater. Right.

~~~~~***spn***~~~~~

In a little laundromat down the street, a small, furry creature scuttled along behind the line of dryers, its long tail whisking behind it down a hole as it secreted its latest haul of single socks.

Life was good.