First, some boys being normal and also bonding. Because it's almost as much fun as whump. :D
If you're desperate for whump though, you can add a new weapon to the arsenal: wet wash cloth. :D
Shawn did make cheese tortellini with marinara sauce with assistance from Sam—mostly in the form of distracting Dean.
Dean wasn't even allowed to warm the garlic bread in the microwave after the last time he'd tried to 'help'. Sam was not kidding when he said his older brother could do many things—including burn water.
And set fire to bread in the microwave when he was just supposed to warm it.
They brought dinner out to Bobby since he was much more comfortable with his heating pad on the couch than he would be in a kitchen chair.
Dinner conversation was recent cases for Shawn, recent jobs for the Winchesters, and amusing stories of Sam and Dean's childhood for Bobby.
Dirty looks were traded, laughter was shared, and some damn good food was consumed in large quantities.
After that they had a beer or two, but they called it a night early. Bobby's painkillers kept him not too far from the edge of sleepy and when he started to drift the boys finished their drinks and cleaned up.
"Sorry we had to cancel on you again," Sam said as he dried next to Shawn's washing. Dean was storing the food and putting everything away.
Shawn, as usual, waved it off. "Dude, your lives are unpredictable. If I haven't figured that out by now, I'm a lot slower on the uptake than my dad always led me to believe."
Sam smiled as Dean joined them at the sink to start putting dishes away as Sam finished with them.
"Who says you're not?" Dean asked.
Shawn flicked some suds Dean's way and Sam cried out at the unfairness of being caught in the crossfire.
Dean was about to scoop up a handful and retaliate when the phone rang.
He dropped his ammo and wiped his hands on a towel from the table as he went to answer it.
"Hello," he said, tucking the phone between ear and shoulder and intercepting the wet washcloth Shawn sent his way. He started rolling it in his hands as he listened. "Hey, Ellen, what's going on at the Roadhouse?"
He didn't stop the act of readying his lash, but he did slow down for a moment as he shifted his concentration.
"No, Bobby's not available right now. Threw his back out. Something we can help you with?"
Shawn's next volley was delayed by the conversation as he half turned and Sam fully turned to lean against the counter, still drying dishes.
Dean's brows drew down as he swapped the towel for a pen and paper from a nearby counter and scribbled down information with a sprinkling of 'Uh huh's and 'Okay's.
"Sam and I can handle this. No, it's fine." He made a face. "Bobby got hurt Ellen, not us. We're here because he's not supposed to be lifting anything heavy—or hunting anything. Yeah. Thanks for the heads up. All right. You too. See you later."
He hung up and retrieved his towel, attempting a flick that barely missed Shawn because he sidestepped at the last second, the towel hitting the counter under the sink with a sharp snap.
Shawn smirked as Dean arched an eyebrow, silently reminding Shawn a single battle won was not the war.
Sam ignored the juvenile antics of the two older men and asked, "Ellen have a job?"
Dean nodded and reached for his dry cloth as a feint, then spun in place and managed to catch Shawn squarely on the ass.
Shawn yelped and glared, wringing out his own washcloth and twirling it in his hands.
Dean grinned and jumped back when the attack was launched.
"She said Ash found what looks like a vengeful spirit not too far from here. Figured it was close enough Bobby ought to be able to take care of it easier than sending someone from the Roadhouse. Simple salt'n'burn from the sound of it. Ash even located the bones for us already. All that's left is for us to do a little digging and have a bonfire."
"A vengeful spirit?" Shawn said, sounding interested. "A ghost?" He ducked a swipe from Dean and lunged, trying to land a hit on the other man's thigh.
"Yes and no," Dean said, just barely dodging the towel's high-velocity tip.
Sam tilted his head and finished the last of the rinsed dishes, shifting to his right to both avoid being stepped on and because it put him in a better spot to resume the washing Shawn had abandoned. "No, it is a ghost, Dean."
Dean feinted to the right and went for the left, but Shawn pulled his own feint and managed to slide around the table and catch Dean on the arm while completely escaping Dean's attack.
"Yes, it's a ghost. No, he can't come," Dean clarified. He ducked another strike and then got close enough to grab Shawn's arm.
Shawn responded by hooking Dean's ankle and pulling it out from under him.
Dean half caught himself, but Sam's hand under his back actually saved him. Dean wasn't dumb enough to think he it was brotherly support. Sam just didn't want them to wake Bobby.
Which was amusing since Bobby was down for the night under sweet medicated sleep. Elephants could storm through the house and the older hunter wouldn't even stir.
But it gave Dean the boost he needed to turn Shawn's trick back on him and send him to the floor.
"Ow," Shawn hissed as he flailed an arm looking for a weapon and only managed to hit the leg of the table. "I won't interfere," he said.
Dean grinned and straddled Shawn's stomach, grabbing his right wrist and chasing after the left. "I know you won't. Because you're going to stay here and keep an eye on Bobby."
Shawn frowned and continued to evade capture, sneaking his fist in for a quick punch to Dean's stomach.
A soft oof escaped, but it did nothing to dislodge the stockier man.
"Come on, dude! I've been dying to go on a real ghost hunt!"
"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." He made a fast grab and caught Shawn's fingers but they were still moving and slipped free.
"I don't. But I'm willing to be persuaded."
Sam finished the last pot, dried it, and put it away, then watched the two of them on the floor. Dean finally caught Shawn's hand and pinned him, arms crossed over his chest like one of those mummies in the movies.
"You said it was simple," Shawn said. "How dangerous can it be?"
Dean shook his head. "It should be. But rule number one of hunting-"
"You do what you do and shut up about it?" Shawn interrupted. "I'm not going to tell anyone, dude."
Sam snorted.
"That's rule number one of being a Winchester," Dean corrected. "Or friend of a Winchester. Rule number one of being a hunter is 'there's no such thing as a simple hunt.'"
"Yeah, dude, I know that too. Been there, done that, have the shredded t-shirt, remember?"
"Exactly," Dean said, playful tone gone. "Shawn, really, we need someone to stay with Bobby."
Shawn snorted. "Yeah, because that's going to go over well with him." He tried to pull free and then gave in with a sigh. "Fine. Uncle, dude."
Dean released him and stood, offering a hand up.
Shawn accepted it, clapping Dean on the shoulder when he was upright. "Thanks."
Then with a quick glance at Sam that got a small smile and a nod, he shoved.
It wouldn't have done anything if not for Sam grabbing Dean's other shoulder, twisting him around so he was off balance, and adding the same sudden pressure.
The older Winchester found himself face down in the greasy wash water, his brother's large hand on the back of his head to make sure it went all the way under. He had just enough time to squinch his eyes and mouth shut before he hit the water so the lingering soap traces weren't forced into them.
He came up gasping and found a fist bump being exchanged over his head.
He dipped his hands in the water and flicked upwards, splashing both of them.
An hour later they were all wet, but the kitchen was dry again and they headed off to clean themselves up and then on to bed.
o.o
Sam, with some cheating assistance on Shawn's part, got the upstairs shower first and Dean fully expected to see him asleep when he finally got the last of the grease and food out of his hair and off of his skin and made it back to the room.
Sam was in bed, but not asleep, his laptop perched on his crossed legs as he tapped away at the keyboard.
Dean scrubbed at his hair with a towel, dropping to sit on the end of his bed. "You don't trust Ash?"
Sam's eyebrows crawled upward. "You don't want me to verify it? Just to make sure? He's a helluva researcher, but doesn't exactly have a lot of experience in the field."
Dean shook his head and tossed the towel into the corner with the rest of their laundry. "Nah, that's fine. Double checking won't hurt."
Sam glanced over and then said, "So far it checks out. Just a simple salt and burn."
"Good," Dean said and flopped back. He thought about actually moving up onto the bed and decided that it wasn't quite worth the effort yet.
Besides he could practically hear Sam thinking over there. He wouldn't be sleeping until this discussion was over with. So he went ahead and got it started.
"We're not taking him."
He peeked one eye open and saw the expected bitchface.
"He's right though," Sam protested. "He's seen worse."
"And he shouldn't have," Dean said, sitting up and turning so he faced Sam's bed. "We're not supposed to be dragging him into this life, Sam. I would think you of all people would get that."
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's one hunt, Dean. And barely that. You know he can handle a shotgun with enough skill to satisfy even Dad." Sam's smile turned a little mischievous. "Besides, this is Shawn. You make him dig up a grave once and he's not going to be begging to come along next time."
Dean snorted in amusement. That was a good point. Shawn was perfectly capable of doing manual labor, but it was definitely not one of his favorite things to do. He much preferred to use his ability to charm other people into doing it for him or make it unnecessary altogether.
If he were actually a hunter, he'd probably claim he was with the ME's office and get the cemetery to do the digging for him, then sneak into the morgue and season and roast the sucker with the help of the coroner's assistant.
Dean wondered if maybe he shouldn't take a leaf out of Shawn's book.
Nah. Shawn might be able to get out of a lot of hard work, but he also wouldn't be winning any wrestling matches with a werewolf anytime soon. If Dean stopped with all the manual labor he'd have to buy a gym membership somewhere just to keep his form. And considering how popular his form was with the ladies, he wasn't about to surrender it for a little less digging. And gym memberships were for pansies. Not to mention the fact that they were expensive and, oh yeah, traceable.
Besides, there was just something satisfying about setting a match to a salted corpse after you spent all night digging the poor bastard up.
"Dean?" A waving hand in front of his face made him blink.
"Huh?"
"Earth to Dean. You spaced out on me there."
Dean shook himself and moved so he was reclining on the bed. "Just thinking."
Sam grinned cheekily, dimples showing. "It's so easy to get lost in unfamiliar territory, isn't it?"
"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, tossing the second pillow from his bed at Sam.
Who caught it and stuffed behind his own back.
"Thanks, jerk."
Dammit. Shouldn't've done that. He closed his eyes and wished for the days when Sam didn't question him on stuff like this, just accept his big brother authority and went along with it.
"Look," Sam said, voice going all soft and pleading. "Bobby'll be fine for a few hours while we go take care of it. Shawn and I can dig and you can keep watch in case Casper shows up and has something to say about what we're doing. It'll go faster if two of us are digging and we don't have to sacrifice the watch that way."
Shit. If he looked, Dean was sure he'd see those big gooey puppy dog eyes and he'd be sunk.
So he kept his own eyes closed.
And frowned. "Why are you so gung ho about this? Shawn blackmail you or something?"
When there was no answer Dean cracked one eye.
And got hit with an untempered, full-force blast of Puppy-Dog Eyes of Doom.
Dammit.
He huffed out an aggravated sigh/growl and gave in.
"Fine. But you're responsible for making sure he's ready for this. You tell him exactly what to expect and that screaming like a girl and running away is not going to fly. He tries that shit tomorrow and I'll tie his ass to a headstone and leave him there in the graveyard until dawn."
Sam grinned, still Puppy of Doom, but if he had a tail his whole butt would be wagging.
"He'll be ready," Sam assured him. "And he won't cut and run on us."
"He better not or I might shoot him before I tie him up." He opened one eye again. "Can I sleep now?"
Sam nodded and closed the laptop, setting it aside and getting up to shut off the light.
"Night, Dean," he said.
Dean gave a grunt in return and snuggled into his blankets.
He was going to need all the sleep he could get for tomorrow night. His babysitting duties had just doubled.
Review, plz&thx. Also, barring unforeseen circumstances it appears that updates will be weekly. YAYZ!
