When Sam opened his eyes next, he saw the clock on the bedside table. "Shit!" he swore, seeing the numbers. It was already 11:15, past checkout time. "Dean?" he called, pulling off his blanket, wondering how and why he'd slept so long. Dean was usually the first one up, getting them packed up and gone well before checkout.
But when Sam looked over at Dean's bed, he saw that it was the same as it had been all night – empty – and not slept in. Or on. Had he only imagined Dean coming in this morning?
"Dean?" he called out again, now walking toward the bathroom, seeing the door closed. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked, knocking on the door.
Sam started to worry when he heard no sounds from inside. No water running, no shower, no Dean telling him to quiet down. He turned the knob and found it locked.
"Dean!" he shouted, pounding on the door, now. "Dean, I'm gonna break the door down if you don't answer me! Dean!"
His leg raised, poised to kick, Sam was surprised and relieved when the door unlocked and came open a bit.
"Keep the noise down, Sammy. And don't break the door. We can't afford to pay for it," Dean told him, his voice sounding gravely behind the door.
"What the hell, Dean?" he asked opening the door some more, moving into the small bathroom. "Shit!" he swore, seeing Dean's face, a dark bruise covering most its right side. Sam grabbed Dean by the chin and turned his head, getting a better look. "Are you all right? What the hell happened?"
Wincing as he broke from Sam's grip, Dean just said, "A little disagreement. Nothing exciting. I'm fine."
Sam knew there had to be more to it, Dean was being too quiet, too nonchalant about it. He looked over the rest of Dean's body, looking for other signs of injury. Dean looked a little disheveled, but he didn't see any blood anywhere and he was standing upright…
"I'm fine, Sammy. Just the usual shit, you know? Someone took exception to my playing skills," Dean said, moving Sam out of the way to walk out of the bathroom.
Sam watched, dismay and confusion showing on his face, as Dean dropped his jacket onto a chair, took off his boots and socks and proceeded to get into bed.
"Do me a favor, call the front desk and book another night for us," Dean said as he rolled to his side and buried himself under the covers.
Sam nodded automatically to his brother's request and did just that. Then he tried to look at Dean again, to see his face, to check the bruise. Dean opened his eyes just then, knowing he was being scrutinized. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Just the usual. Had a drink, played some pool, got laid, got into a fight…" He looked at Sam a bit longer before adding, "Better than staying in and watching those stupid infomercials at night," and turned over, away from Sam's gaze.
Sam shook his head at the insult. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe Dean just had a few extra drinks. The last job they'd done had been pretty nasty, after all. Little kids, siblings, were involved, being terrorized by some weird ghosts.
He walked into the bathroom and looked around. Dean had used a few washcloths, it seemed. They weren't covered with blood; the first aid kit hadn't been opened… Sam took a deep breath and let it out. He'd overreacted. Yeah.
00000
By mid-afternoon, Sam decided to go get something to eat. Dean hadn't so much as twitched since falling asleep hours earlier. Sam still wasn't sure if he should be worried or not. Something wasn't right.
Sam sighed and shook his head. Something wasn't right, he thought again. Yeah, like anything in their lives were right? They hunted down ghosts, goblins, demons, witches… you name the baddie from any nightmare or campfire tale and they'd seen it and kicked its butt.
And had their butts kicked right back, too. They weren't superhuman. Fists still hurt. Words hurt. They ate. They slept. They got drunk. They were guys… Sam smiled then, thinking on some of his drunken college adventures. He wasn't always the good college boy Dean thought him to be.
For the first time in a few hours, Sam relaxed. Dean was fine. They'd both had worse encounters with the monsters and demons. A bar fight was nothing. Sam continued walking toward the delicatessen, ready to order a couple of subs for them.
00000
Hearing the door latch shut, Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. Took deep breath in, regretted it, and let that one out, too.
"Fuck," he swore, turning over onto his back, his entire body in pain. Dull aches and sharp stabs both fought for his attention.
Taking another deep, but more cautious, breath, Dean managed to sit up. Throwing the covers to the side, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he swore again, the words coming out in quiet succession of their own will.
Reaching out a hand, he grabbed onto the bedside table and used it to lever himself upright. The dizziness and nausea he'd come back to the room with that morning were still with him, though lessened, and he managed to stay upright. He could do this.
He found his duffel bag and rummaged through it, grabbing some clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom.
It didn't take long to shed his soiled clothing, wanting to be rid of it as soon as possible. He'd have done all this sooner, this morning when he'd gotten in, or later when Sam had woken him up, if he'd had the energy and thought he would have been able to stay upright for this long. If he thought he'd been able to get away with it. Without Sam finding out.
Dean shut his eyes tight; winced as the right one stung; winced some more as his hand automatically reached up to touch it. He was going to look at in the mirror, but changed his mind. He reached for the shower faucet, instead.
Tired, he dropped down to sit on the toilet, and took care of business while the water warmed. After finishing, flushing without looking, he managed to get to his feet, using the sink's countertop for leverage, and climbed into the shower.
Leaning against the cool tiles as the hot water rained down upon his body, Dean wasn't sure if it felt good or not. The warm water felt good on the bruises, but stung the scratches and cuts. It took all his willpower just to stay upright and not slide down onto the tub's bottom.
Finally steeling himself, knowing he didn't have a lot of time before Sam returned, he grabbed the soap and began to wash away the blood, dirt and filth from the bar.
00000
When Sam returned to their motel room, Dean's bed was empty and the sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. He dropped the bag of food onto the table in the corner of the room and turned on the television, automatically changing the channels, surfing for something good, finally settling on a rerun of The X-Files.
Shortly after the noise of the shower ended, Sam heard a few muffled curses from his brother. He smiled, figuring Dean had gotten his first real good look at his face. Then he tried to come up with what Dean would say about it. First, he'd moan and groan about the bruises messing with perfection, but then he'd change tactics and talk about how the chicks would feel sorry for him after he came up with some heroic tale about how he'd gotten them: pushing some little kid out of the way of a moving vehicle, rescuing some damsel in distress from her abusive boyfriend…
00000
Dean heard the sound of the television, The X-Files theme song, and shook his head, a half-smile coming to his face. He wasn't surprised, though. He'd gotten his brother hooked on the show. When Mulder and Scully weren't dealing with Cancerman and Krycek, were dealing with things more up their alley, they'd gotten some good laughs. They played their own version of Mystery Science Theater 3000.
He finished dressing, slower than normal, and bundled his dirty clothes up in one of the clean towels. Closing his eyes once more, he took a second more to put up the façade, then opened the door.
"Hey, Sam," he called to his brother, walking out of the bathroom and over to his duffel bag. He stuffed the towel and clothes inside and zipped it up. "Which episode is it?" he asked.
"Kill Switch," Sam replied around a bite of his sub. "I got you a sub. Roast Beef."
"That's the one with the Goth computer chick, right?" Dean asked, slowly walking toward Sam, hoping his brother was more interested in the show and his sub than his brother's ability to walk at the moment. "The one where Mulder gets tortured by the hot nurses?"
"In the virtual set up, yeah."
Sam kept his face toward the television, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw how Dean was hurting. If Dean didn't want to make a big deal of it, he wouldn't. It would be useless to try, he'd learned over the years.
"So what else've you been up to today? Find our next gig?" Dean asked as he finally sat down at the table.
"Maybe. Some stuff up near Binghamton, New York. There was a big flood up there. Since then, a bunch of people have reported strange appearances in their houses; ghosts."
Dean nodded. "Houses get wrecked, things get moved, hell, even the cemeteries shift a bit underground with all the water. Bound to upset a few dead people."
"If we left tonight, we could be there by tomorrow night. Start fresh the next morning," Sam suggested.
"No."
Sam thought Dean's denial came a bit too quickly.
"I'm a little more sore than I thought," Dean added just as quickly. "Bitch of a headache. We'll leave in the morning."
Sam looked at Dean more carefully. Yes, there was pain in Dean's eyes. He wasn't lying about that. But that never stopped Dean before. Something else was up. Sam thought some more. "You're going back to the bar," he said, shaking his head. "What, you got kicked out and gotta just step one step in, to prove you could?"
Dean shook his head, an annoyed look on his face. "No, no, no," he denied. "Nothing like that. Just some unfinished business, that's all."
"What kind of 'unfinished business,' Dean?" Sam asked. "The kind that means I need to keep the car running outside?"
"No," Dean denied quickly, playfully slapping the back of Sam's head. "The kind that means I want to play a game of pool and recoup my losses."
"You lost!" Sam's eyebrows were high on his forehead in disbelief. "My brother, the pool shark, lost!" Then he changed direction, putting up his hand. "No, wait… I know…you didn't lose. You just lost the money when they beat the crap outta you for hustling them, right?"
"Yeah, something like that," Dean replied with a tight smile and a short nod.
"So I am gonna have to keep the car running outside."
"Yeah, I guess so."
