Summary: A bumpy morning in the life of trial-ridden Winchesters. Dean does what he does best. Takes place roughly between episodes 8x20 & 8x21.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just messing.
A/R: Anyone else catch the "sneak peek" for S9?! Oh my God, I'm already a mess. I have a feeling it's going to be beyond wonderful. That coupled with the S8 gag reel, (I will never be able to take Crowley's name or fire engine sirens seriously ever again), pretty much made my week! Okay, shutting up.
Enjoy!
"Dammit, Dean! Quit using my laptop to surf porn!"
He could hear Sam's enormous clown feet stomping all the way from the library and turned to face the music just as his bedroom door swung open.
He'd known he was in the doghouse when Sam's laptop had just sort of shut down by itself while he'd been browsing late last night. Took almost forty-five minutes to get the damn thing up and running again.
And Sam was pissed.
It was a total three-sixty from his somber mood of late. He wasn't all right – they both knew it. But Sam usually kept stubbornly quiet even if he wasn't feeling well, kept his head down, did his research, insisted he could still do the job.
So what if he couldn't walk in a straight line anymore? So what if he didn't get any sleep because most nights he lay on his mattress hacking his lungs up? So what if Dean frequently woke in the middle of said nights to help his brother to the bathroom when the violent coughing turned into puking? Sam, the stubborn ass, would just pretend like it hadn't happened the following morning. He'd pretend like everything was just fucking fine and dandy.
That pissed Dean off.
So he was secretly pleased when all six-foot-four of his "little" brother came storming into his room demanding answers. It was stupid. But the childish outrage made Dean feel better than he had in weeks. He'd nearly forgotten how intimidating Sam could be when he was riled.
Time to go on the defensive.
"What do you care? That thing never has any fun anyway. You know what they say about all work and no play, Sammy."
Sam counted off on his fingers. "Viruses. Spam. Pop-ups. Just quit."
"Prude."
"Dean, I'm serious. Use whatever Ebay worthy relics you want but stay off my computer."
"Geez, what crawled up your ass and hibernated this morning?"
"Just stay out of my stuff, okay?" Sam sighed wearily and turned to leave.
Dean decided to just kind of ignore him and change the subject.
Worth a shot.
"I'm going for breakfast. Want anything?" He didn't miss the way Sam's shoulders slumped at the mention of food. Like even the thought of eating made him feel lousy. This was getting really old.
"No."
He'd expected the automatic dismissal and just ignored that, too.
"Coffee?"
"No, thanks."
"Cherry-filled donut? I think I'll get a crème-filled. Maybe chocolate-covered with-"
"I said I'm fine."
"Sam, you love donuts. I know for a fact you'd marry a donut if you could. So come on, what'll it be? Lemon curd? Cinnamon and sugar?"
Dean kept on Sam's heels the entire way back down the hall and into the library.
"Raspberry filled? Cream cheese? Oooh, kolaches! I forgot about kolaches!"
"Dean, stop."
"Fine. But you'll be sorry later when I come back with a box full of gooey, donuty deliciousness and I'm chomping down on pastry heaven in front of you and you'll just be sitting there all depressed and geeky and donut-less and-"
"Okay, fine," Sam spun and held his hands up in surrender. "I'll have a friggin' donut. Happy?"
Dean grinned and nodded his head in a triumphant display of enthusiasm. "What kind?"
"I don't care."
"Yes you do."
"No, I don't."
"You will when I get back and I'm scarfing all the good ones."
"Glazed."
"You're just saying that so I'll go away."
"Yep."
"Bitch."
Sam settled down in his chair, back facing his brother, effectively ignoring the bait, and began searching for his place in a dusty, leathery hardcover that Martin Luther had probably once owned.
"Bye, Dean."
Twenty minutes later….
"Dude, did you know we had a Krispy Kreme like five minutes from here? It was awesome. They had that conveyer-belt thing up and running, you know?"
Dean dumped his purchases on the table and eagerly opened the cheerful white box of colorful pastries.
"It's frozen."
Dean paused his hunt for napkins long enough to glance up at the obstinate pout in Sam's voice.
"What's frozen?"
"My laptop."
Sam looked like his friggin' dog had just died. Figured.
"Oh…uh, did you try shutting it off?"
"What do you think? Screen won't budge." Sam gestured in frustration at the computer.
"Nah, it's done that before. Just let it sit for about thirty minutes and it'll unclog on it's own."
"Dean, I was trying to finish this research. I had notes I hadn't saved yet. And then, just like I said, a pop-up...popped up and now the damn thing is stalled on a reel of some chick doing I-don't-know-what-the-hell under a freaking car hood…."
"Oh, suuurre. It just popped up, huh Sammy?" Dean smirked and Sam bitchfaced like he was competing for a gold medal or something.
"Well, no use crying over spilt milk-"
"Your spilt milk." Sam grumped. He folded his arms across his chest and pouted some more.
Dean rolled his eyes, dug out a donut and sucked the residual glaze-flakes off his fingers.
"In the meantime, I have donuts. And I got orange juice – with the pulp. You're welcome. So shaddup and come eat."
"Not hungry."
"Sammy, c'mon.
"Dean-"
"It's time you got some food down your gullet."
"I-I can't." Sam refused to look at him.
"Haven't tried yet," Dean persisted.
"Tried yesterday."
"New day, Sammy-boy."
"Not really."
"But we didn't have donuts yesterday."
"Dean…please?" And when Sam finally did glance up his eyes were working full force. Dean wasn't falling for it this time.
"Sam. I'm not arguing this with you again. You're at least going to try. Besides, donuts, dude. S'not like I'm making you eat liver and onions or anything."
Sam huffed and rose to his feet. Dean pretended not to notice his little brother wobbling as he battled a wave of dizziness.
"I need to go to the bathroom."
"No you don't. Sit down."
Sam glared incredulously before snorting. "You're seriously banning me from going to the bathroom?"
"Sam, all I'm saying is this has to stop. You gotta eat. This liquid diet crap isn't cutting it."
"Later. I'll try later."
Dean sighed in defeat. He started on his own donut with only slightly exaggerated gusto.
"All right, have it your way," he conceded around a spongy mouthful. "But I'm tellin' you, dude, you're missing out."
Sam paused at the door. He turned to stare at his brother and Dean could practically see the war waging. He pounced on the momentary hesitation.
It was a dirty move but dammit he needed Sam to eat.
"C'mon, Sammy. At least give the orange juice a go. For me?"
Even the resigned nod seemed to require a monumental effort as Sam slowly trudged back to the table and plopped down opposite his brother.
And Dean felt horrible because he knew Sam was only sitting down to make him happy and he hated that his brother was feeling so miserable but he just really needed Sam to eat something and if this was the only way then so be it.
Sam accepted the orange juice and plucked a plain glazed donut from the box. He took a few swallows of the juice and picked at the pastry for a good three minutes, tearing it to shreds before actually putting anything in his mouth.
He kept glancing at his brother in a way that reminded Dean of when Sam was little and would keep asking if he could be done with his dinner. Always had been a picky little shit when it came to eating. Back then, Dean would tell him three more bites, Sammy and help him count off when Sam piled an acceptable amount on his spoon and hurriedly shoved it down.
It was that same begrudging look; hating every moment he was forced to do something against his will while simultaneously seeking Dean's approval.
But after a few nibbles Sam caved and took some real bites. He actually seemed surprised to be enjoying the donut. They even fell into easy, albeit somewhat random conversation that ended with:
"I really don't get what it is with you and pulp."
"It adds nutrients."
"Oh c'mon, Sammy. That's crap. Squeezed oranges are squeezed oranges – doesn't matter if you have a little extra floating around, it's all the same shit and it all goes the same place."
"I like the texture. Regular orange juice tastes…I dunno, slimy when it slides down."
"Slimy! The hell, man? You tryin' to gross everybody out of drinking regular orange juice? That's all I'm gonna be thinking about now. Thanks for that."
Sam's smile suddenly faltered and he visibly paled.
"Sam?"
He had that look. That look that had Dean anticipating a mad dash for the bathroom any second. Crap. Sam flashed slightly panicked eyes in Dean's direction and seemed to be making a real effort not to scramble out of his chair, his fingers reflexively clutching the armrests as he swallowed down the sudden sickness.
"Hey, you're all right," Dean soothed, trying to sound casual. "Just relax a second. Maybe quit trying so hard to make me hate orange juice." He smiled and Sam seemed to settle down a little.
He watched as the convulsive swallows tapered off and the greenish pallor of Sam's cheeks flushed to pink. Dean released the breath he'd been holding.
Sam only looked a little embarrassed as he rolled up the napkin and tossed the remainder of his donut back in the box.
"You good?" Dean ventured.
Sam nodded hesitantly before recapping the bottle of juice and returning his attention to his book.
They sat silently for a few moments before Dean reached over to grab another donut.
"Hey, Sam?"
"Hmm?"
Dean hadn't expected him to glance up from the shriveled pages.
"Thanks."
Sam huffed skeptically and placed a hand over his stomach. "Don't thank me just yet."
"Nah," Dean stuffed half the pastry in his mouth and chewed. "Think I will."
"Okay? Sure." Sam sounded confused. Like he wasn't sure what Dean was driving at or where the conversation was heading.
Dean shoved back from the table and licked his fingers before his brother could say anything else. "I'm gonna go check on the patient."
That got a rise.
"Like hell you are!" Sam was up and weaving a path towards him in a flash. "New rule: you take my laptop-"
"Sam, don't you dare compare that fritzing hunk of junk to my Baby. I was defending her honor. Stealing her from under my nose deserves a wallop. Not the same thing, dude."
"Whatever, Dean." Sam had practically barreled him over in his haste to reach the laptop first. He picked it up and wrapped his arms protectively around the smooth plastic before carrying it back into library. "I'm sure you can find some other way to entertain yourself. There's gotta be more of those magazines lying around somewhere."
Sam was joking but Dean ran with it.
"You think? Dude, it'll be like a sexy treasure hunt."
Sam shot him a look that screamed seriously, Dean? "It's a little disturbing how excited you got just then."
"Twelve-thousand on Ebay, man. That's definitely something to get excited about."
"Uh huh," Sam went back to fiddling with his rebooting laptop.
Dean chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "Sam, I'm sorry, okay? I won't touch your laptop again without permission."
"Uh huh," Sam didn't sound convinced in the slightest.
Dean shrugged and headed for the kitchen.
"You want a beer? Or a Gatorade or something?"
"No, thanks. I'm good."
Dean sighed and kneaded the heel of his palm against the blooming ache in his forehead.
Full circle and headed back to square one. Awesome.
End.