Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.
Author's Note: Just a little something of no consequence whatsoever. But it wouldn't stop bugging me. Directly follows Relearning to Fly.
"Come on, Sam. Ne-Ghost-iators."
"Dude. No."
"It beats the pants off of those other Yahoos."
"You mean the Ghostfacers?"
"Yeah. I mean, at least mine's catchy."
Sam gives his brother an eyeroll. Dean thinks he's hilarious. He's usually wrong.
Dean wheels himself ahead, then stops and swings his chair around so he's effectively blocking Sam's path. Sam gives a couple of passersby tight smiles as they wind their way around the impromptu obstacle course in the middle of the sidewalk while Dean keeps his gaze focused on his brother.
"Come on man," he says, gently cajoling Sam in a manner similar to when he had to convince his little brother that this next school wouldn't be that bad. "I've gotta do something. I'm going crazy."
While Sam contemplates telling his brother that he'd crossed that bridge a long time ago, he keeps his mouth shut. He knows where Dean is coming from on this one. Several months have passed since Dean's run in with Black Dog left him without most of his legs, arms ending just slightly beyond his elbows, prosthetics not even close to being visible on the horizon. And as close to "normal" as he's going to get.
And he can't begrudge his brother's desire to rejoin Life. In fact, he supports it wholeheartedly. Just not quite like this. Ever since their little "Hunt Lite" episode with Kelli, Dean's been making noise about getting back on the horse. Which, Sam supposes, he should be thankful for. His brother could decide to become a recluse, wallow in self-pity, and become an expert on daytime television.
But for Pete's sake. Hunting? While Sam actually does like the ring of "Ne-Ghost-iators", he'd rather take a pool cue to the nether regions than encourage Dean on this one.
A/N: Perhaps a set up for something further. Perhaps not.