I Need a Bag of Frozen Peas—Stat!
The motel room door swung open and banged into the wall so hard it could be sworn it wobbled, and in walked Dean Winchester. He was hunched over, taking the tiniest steps possible—if his skin wasn't so youthfully smooth, one could mistake him for an old man—and he was clearly in some pain.
"What are you—a hundred?" Sam asked from behind his brother—there was no heat in it, but the point still needed to be made. He hovered around Dean, equal parts amused and sympathetic. When Dean at last cleared the threshold, Sam closed the door behind them. He was restless, the adrenaline from a—mostly—successful hunt yet to wear off completely.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean grumbled. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam practically bounce from foot to foot—he was not jealous. "Quit your bouncin', will ya? Geez."
Sam huffed but he was enjoying this too much for it to be in any way convincing. He went ahead of his slowly shuffling brother and straightened the sheets on the bed closest to the door. The thought of having to lie down and straighten his body made Dean wince.
"I'll take the bathroom," he announced, changing course with some effort. A full six minutes later he had reached the en-suite's door, and in another four minutes he managed to gingerly sit down on the lowered toilet seat. He made the mistake of not closing the door behind him and Sam was standing there. The ratio of sympathy to amusement had taken a battering—Sam's face was beginning to go red from holding back laughter.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice sounding odd as if it was a struggle to speak rather than laugh.
Dean fake-smiled at him. "I'm just peachy, Sammy. Now go away."
Sam snorted softly and closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Dean alone with terrifying flashbacks of the incident. That ghost had really big friggin' feet—and she fought dirty. Dean squirmed where he sat, but even that slight movement was really painful. Sam was the one digging the grave—why was Dean the victim here? If anything, Sammy owed him an apology.
As if on cue, Sam knocked on the door. "Dean?"
"What?" Dean snapped, tired and sore and not in the mood.
"I got you something," Sam said. The bathroom door opened a little and Sam's arm appeared up to the elbow. He was holding a bag of frozen peas in his hand. The thought of reaching the peas, of moving at all, was not a pleasant one. As if Sam could read his mind, he threw the bag. Dean caught it with a grimace at the motion. He set the bag on his injury.
"Ahh," he breathed, sighing blissfully at the sweet relief.
Sam closed the door to give Dean a little privacy but Dean could still hear the stifled laughter from the other side.
"Next time you're digging the grave, bitch!"
"Jerk!"
THE END
Author's Note: This challenge was quite short notice, okay? That is my excuse for this. I hope you have/are having are wonderful day, Wynefred. Thanks for reading! :)