Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.
"Oh, son of a bitch," Dean groans, his sore muscles making themselves known as he tries to work himself into a sitting position on one of the twin beds he's occupying in Bobby's spare bedroom, Sam still sacked out on the other one.
Although apparently not for long.
"You okay over there?" Sam mumbles, cracking an eyelid to see what has his brother grumbling and grousing so early in the morning.
"Shit," Dean breathes out under his breath, the fact that his surgically repaired right ankle is the least painful of his limbs causing him no small amount of concern.
Because his previous day's run in with the bookshelf have left his arms and left leg screaming their displeasure.
He'd gone to bed the previous evening knowing he'd probably be hurting in the morning, the lactic acid build-up already making itself known, but this is ridiculous.
It feels like his arms weigh ten times their normal weight, making it quite the chore as he struggles to get himself upright, not to mention the fact that he can feel each and every muscle on his left leg from his ass to his foot.
And none of them are happy with him.
Sam had practically forced him to chug inordinate amounts of water upon their return to Bobby's in an effort to try to flush his system of any toxic breakdown products from his little exercise workout, although now he questions if his little brother was trying to help him or exact further revenge.
Because now he also really has to pee.
Super.
He slowly crutches his way to the bathroom, barely containing the hiss that threatens to escape his lips with each and every motion, thanking his lucky stars that he's a guy and can take care of his business at the toilet standing up since he's kind of afraid that the next time he sits down he'll need an extra set of hands to help him get back up.
Task number one completed for the day, he crutches his way back out into the hallway, standing at the top of the steps for several seconds while he contemplates the least painful way to get down the flight of stairs.
To date he's been using his crutches and the handrail for balance as he carefully hops his way down one stair at a time, although now he's not convinced that his arms (or his left leg, for that matter) will be able to hold his weight, in which case he's liable to take the fast track to the first floor and wind up back in the ER.
Someplace he'd rather like to avoid for the time being, seeing as how he's had quite enough doctors and nurses to last him for quite some time.
So instead, he manages to sink down to the ground, making his way to the first floor on his ass, his descent unfortunately witnessed by Bobby, who does a double-take when he catches a glimpse of Dean halfway down the stairs.
"That good, huh?" the older hunter asks, not missing the wincing of the elder Winchester with each and every movement.
Dean just shoots the older hunter a glare and a growl, already fed up with the way his day's going.
And it's not even 7 am yet.
Bobby turns on his heels and heads back into the kitchen, giving Dean the space and solitude he knows the older Winchester craves in times of weakness, his efforts rewarded by a slight nod from the younger hunter when he finally makes his way into the room several minutes later, collapsing into one of the wooden kitchen chairs with a groan.
"My ass even hurts," Dean bemoans as Bobby hands him a mug of coffee.
"Well I ain't rubbing it for ya," the grizzled hunter replies blandly.
Dean snorts at the mental imagery conjured up by Bobby's rebuttal, letting out yet another groan as the core muscle necessary for such an action let him know their general displeasure as well.
"This mean you're gonna be sticking close to home today?" Bobby asks, running a careful eye over Dean as the younger hunter props his elbows on the table in order to support his arms while he drinks his coffee.
"Yeah, guess so," Dean says, letting out a disgusted sigh.
Because he'd finally been feeling like his stamina was improving. Like it wasn't such a chore to be up and around. Was enjoying getting out of Bobby's house.
He gives another low growl as he considers that he and Bobby's couch probably have a hot date for the rest of the day.
Dammit. He really hates that thing.
()o()o()o()o()
"Well, look on the bright side," Sam says, looming over his brother who's once again taken up residence on the ratty sofa in Bobby's living room. "At least now you can get to the rest of the items on the list."
Dean's only retort is the extension of the middle finger of his right hand, the expression on his face seconding his gesture.
So far, the muscles required for those actions are the only ones not lodging any complaints.
A fact Dean finds not at all reassuring.
He also doesn't find it reassuring that Sam just happens to have the meat documentary on hand, the local library having a surprisingly good selection of movies and documentaries, much to the delight of the younger Winchester and the dismay of the elder.
And even though Dean isn't looking forward to having to sit through something that puts a face to his favorite meal, it's Sam's choice of album that nearly makes the older Winchester brother consider crying "Uncle".
Because although Dean had been sure that his brother would pull out an album by one of the numerous Emo bands Sam tends to gravitate towards, his little brother instead pulls out what Dean quite possibly considers the worst form of torture available.
An acoustic Justin Bieber compilation album.
To Be Continued…
A/N: Short again, I know. Apologies…