Time for part 2! It gets a bit more angsty, so hopefully it's still enjoyable! Thank you so much to Kathy and bagelcat1 for your reviews and interest in a second chapter!
Still don't own SPN
The Impala was two hours away from the red and blue lights at the crime scene before she was finally pulled over to a stop in the fairly vacant parking lot of a bar, which was in the first town for a while and would be the only one for a while longer. Both brothers were silent as Dean shut off the ignition and they sat in the car for a few moments.
"Drink then find a motel?" Dean asked.
Sam didn't complain about the late hour, or how his side was probably aching, or the reason why a beer sounded better than sleep. He only nodded and got out of the car, with Dean following suit. Dean, who had tried to get Sam to talk about it, hadn't had much luck, and was left trying to somewhat lighten his brother's spirits in any way he could. If that meant not asking if Sam was okay every minute, lowering the music, and cracking corny jokes to try to get him to smile, then Dean would do it. Maybe he was doing it for himself too, as a distraction, a mission that he would actually be able to accomplish.
In short, the previous hunt had not gone well. Many of them usually didn't go smoothly, but on the scale of good to bad, it had been a mess, and Dean wasn't quite sure where it fell. It had started with an angry witch, which threw Sam against a doorframe before Dean could distract it, and ended with an innocent young woman dead because they hadn't been able to find the hex bag and burn it in time. Dean had eventually been able to get a shot off at the witch, and ended her small reign of terror, but it didn't change the outcome of the night.
It was always hard when they weren't able to save a person in trouble, but they had promised to protect her, and ultimately, they hadn't been able to keep their promise, all because of some stupid tiny bag with objects in it. It sucked. They had called the authorities, because that was all they could do, cleaned up what they could, and left. Sam had been fairly quiet ever since.
Inside the bar, Dean got a few beers and slid into a booth across from Sam, passing him a bottle. "Your side holding up?" he asked and took a drink.
Sam shrugged noncommittally. "Just a bruise, it'll be fine," he replied simply.
"Right," Dean nodded. They lapsed back into silence, listening to the clink of glasses and seldom shots from the pool table in the corner. It was past twelve before Dean spoke again, because Sam had been staring at his bottle for the past few minutes. "We did all we could, Sam, stuff like this happens, more people would've died if we hadn't jumped in when we did."
His younger brother sighed, sliding the glass back and forth between his hands a bit. "Doesn't make it any easier though."
"Nope," Dean said in agreement. There was no sense in trying to belittle the facts. Eventually they'd move on, but for the next few days it would definitely hang over them. "You want another?" Dean asked when they had both finished their drinks, and when Sam shook his head, they got up to leave. Sam was more aware again, more out of his own head, but he was still thinking, even as they made their way out to the car. "So, drive around a bit, see if we can find a decent motel and-"
"And what?" Sam asked, as Dean had cut off mid-sentence. Dean was standing by the Impala, looking at a neon sign for a bowling alley across the parking lot. The alley was open until two in the freaking morning and had discounted prices after midnight, which it was. "Dean, you're not…"
"Why not?" Dean asked with a bit of a smile. "Come on, we could use a bit of a mental break, when was the last time we went bowling?"
Sam honestly couldn't remember. "Never…?" he ventured.
"So we're on even ground, maybe? Whatever. We should at least check it out, discounted price too, no harm in it." The lightness of Dean's suggestion finally made Sam give in, and Dean almost happily led them over to the establishment.
It was completely empty when they got inside, and the only sign that it was open was a half asleep kid at the desk. Dean looked to Sam and shrugged a bit before he made his way over and tapped a bit on the desk. "Hey, kid," he said, and waited for him to fully register that yes, there were customers past midnight.
The kid, he was a young man really, but whatever, looked up, seemingly startled, and apologized for his sleeping. Sam, of course, having had experience with similar situations, smiled a bit at him. However, when Dean announced that they'd be doing two games, Sam paused. "Dean, come on, it's late," he tried, but Dean was adamant, so Sam let it slide. Maybe in his mind, the more time they could spend away from the real world outside, the better. Maybe they could use a bit of a break. Dean, thankfully, at least got games and shoes squared away before he nudged Sam, who still wasn't totally on board but was going along with it.
"Oh, hey, Sammy, you need bumpers?" Dean asked next. Sam just rolled his eyes, but smiled a bit again at the familiar jesting back and forth. He had heard the kid mention lane three, so he went over and waited for Dean to join him.
"Just practice, right?" Sam said, just wanting to make sure.
"Of course, I can't be destroying you and getting you all annoyed before the real game," Dean replied. He may have been trying a bit too hard, but it was fine. It helped. He then held up his hands, one with a fist, one flat. "Come on, winner picks first or second to throw."
Sam sighed, but followed in the gesture, as it was their customary way of deciding things. Three hits later, and Dean threw scissors and Sam rock. "Damnit," Dean muttered and put his hands down.
"Second," Sam made his decision, and gestured for Dean to get up to toss the ball. After trying out a few different weights, Dean settled on a thirteen pound and got up. He tested his shoes on the slippery surface, which looked great with jeans and their typical garb, but it wasn't like anyone was around to witness it.
It was clear that the first game was a practice round. There were more than a few gutter balls as they got used to throwing and how to not curl it all that much. Dean got a spare and let out a louder than necessary 'yes!' at his accomplishment. Sam had to reach up to give him a high five, simply because of how happy it made him, and then tried to take it back when Dean messed up the next throw, muttering that his fingers got stuck in the stupid holes.
Sam was the first to get a spare in the second game, which actually counted, and Dean refused to give him a high five because it wasn't professional.
"Not professional? Just because it's game two?" Sam checked as he sat down, swapping spots with Dean.
"Hell yeah. This is an actual game that counts for bragging rights, no high fives," Dean replied, seemingly very set with his serious decision. On his fourth throw, which was a bit harder and careened down the very center of the lane, he managed to get a strike.
"Yahtzee! It's in the hole!" he shouted, and raised his hands up in the air in victory. He turned back to Sam, a giant grin on his face. "Match that," Dean added when he practically sauntered back.
But Sam wasn't necessarily worried. "You sure you want me to, Dean? I'm up by four," he pointed out. Sure, a strike would be harder to beat given the double points, but Sam thought he could manage. He did his best to try and match Dean's strike so he could rub it in, but only managed to get a spare. Still, he turned around, obviously proud of himself, which Dean blew off.
"It was a lucky extra point."
"It was a split and one pin hit the other one, that's calculated-" Sam tried as he came back to the little table.
"Lucky," Dean said with a shake of his head after he got up and readied his ball to throw again. He threw it pretty much the same as he had done the previous time, but only knocked down nine. The last one teetered mockingly, but didn't fall, and Dean grumbled angrily at it. The next throw curved and didn't knock down the mocking pin. "Stupidfrigginball," he muttered as he went to sit back down.
"Oh, what, not lucky?" Sam jested back at him, enjoying Dean's bit of annoyance as things turned out of his favor. He lined up his next shot, determined to show his brother up while he had the chance, but the ball slipped ever so slightly and he missed three pins.
"Gotta do better than that, Sammy," Dean helpfully reminded from his spot in the peanut gallery.
Sam could do better than that, for sure. The pins were all together, he just had to throw it hard enough to hit all of them at once. He built up a bit of power, but as soon as he was about to let the ball go, his ribs painfully protested and his hand jerked. It was a quick, white hot pain, but it left him breathless as he grasped at the side that had connected with the doorframe earlier in the night. It had been a fairly mellow pain until then, nothing to really be worried about.
Of course, Dean was out of his seat and by Sam's side in about half a second, any look of joking or laughter completely vanished from his face. "Sammy? You okay?" he asked quickly, and checked him over, as if the ball had attacked him or something.
"Yeah, just, just my side. Tweaked it the wrong way, threw too hard," Sam explained, still a bit breathless, but the pain was subsiding.
"Maybe it would be better if we stopped then? Can't have you hurting it more, we've got a long drive back tomorrow-" Dean started, but Sam cut him off with a slight wave of his hand.
"No, no, it's fine, you're right," Sam said, which had Dean looking at him a bit confused, "we needed a break, we can finish up."
Dean was silent for a few moments. "And you're sure it's not cracked?" he asked, even though he had done a slight 'exam' when they had gotten back to the car and determined himself that no, it wasn't cracked or broken.
Sam shook his head. "No, probably just really, really badly bruised." He knew better than to lie about it, especially when Dean was watching him like a hawk.
"I can see if they've got some ice here," Dean said, about to set off on a mission right that second before Sam grasped his brother's shoulder to get him to stop.
"Dean, it's fine, I'll keep it in check."
Dean thought it over for a few moments before he sighed and nodded, not happy about not being able to help his brother right freaking now. But if Sam said he was honestly good, Dean wouldn't push, not tonight. "We'll get you some ice when we find a motel," Dean promised.
"Yeah, sounds good," the younger brother nodded back. He dropped his hand from his side, where the pain had faded back to about where it had been before. It was more noticeable, but not so bad as to be a real problem. "You're up," he reminded, and gestured to the score board before he went and sat down.
Dean stayed up and grabbed his ball, and looked back to Sam, just to make sure he had seated himself alright, before he got up and threw again. They continued like that for a few more rounds, but Dean was even more conscious of Sam's injury. He had, of course, known Sam had been hurting before, a throw into a doorframe never felt good, but the admission of it made it more real and put a quickness to Dean's throws that hadn't been there before.
In the last round, he was pretty sure he had the game in the bag. Nine pins, fine, a spare should happen…and it didn't. "Freaking spin on the ball," he muttered and shook his head, but went to sit down next to Sam. Still, he was up by more than ten, and that was what mattered.
"It's the final countdown, Sam, hope you've got your pins in a row," Dean teased.
Sam smiled back a bit at him. His ribs were bugging him, as he had been throwing slower, but it wasn't awful. If there had been any sign of a tight pinch of pain in Sam's face, Dean would have called the game off. "Damn right I do," Sam countered.
"Sure you do," Dean mocked back, certainly not expecting the spare Sam came up with next. "Seriously?" he breathed, a bit openmouthed as Sam got literally only one of two things he could have in order to win. The game was rigged, totally, no way Sammy beat him like that. Sam cast him a victory glance before he threw again and the total counter went a few points above Dean's own.
Still, he gave Sam a high five when he made his way back to the table, despite his earlier rule. "Cheater. You sure you're not feigning an injury to get my sympathies to let you win?" he asked, obviously joking, but it elicited a laugh from Sam.
"You just don't want to admit that I beat you, even with a handicap," Sam replied, wincing slightly as he sat down and laughed again before he shook his head. They were quiet as they took off their shoes and replaced them with their familiar, much sturdier boots, and returned them to the counter.
The kid at the counter was way too into his book, but neither of them minded that they'd had a spectator on a slow night. "Have a nice night," he said tiredly as he took the shoes and smiled at the pair.
"Yeah, yeah, a car ride with this gloater," Dean jerked a finger towards Sam, who rolled his eyes and shook his head, "nothing nice about that." He smiled at the kid one more time before he and Sam turned and started walking out of the alley.
"You think he had a bet going with himself about who would win?" Dean asked quietly as he opened the door and Sam slipped out into the parking lot.
"Probably. Not like he had much else to do, hopefully it was entertaining."
"A bit stalker-y."
"Dean, come on."
"Hey, just saying," Dean raised his hands before he opened the car door, though he was laughing to himself. Sam took an extra few moments to lower himself down, but soon enough they were closed into the quiet confines of the Impala once again. "You good?" Dean checked once again.
Sam took a second before he nodded ever so slowly. "Better," he said simply. He wasn't talking about his ribs, but Dean got it.
"We'll find a motel, get you some ice, catch some z's, and head out in the morning. Who knew bowling could be so tiring?" Dean carefully pulled the Impala out of the completely vacant lot and began searching for motels the second they were on the main road.
"Sounds like a plan," Sam nodded in agreement. "We should see if there's a bowling alley near the bunker," he started.
"You want to join a group?"
"No, in case you wanted to get some practice in before the inevitable rematch."
"Oh, and a rematch there will be. I just let you win, Sammy, out of pure pity."
"Let me win? Sure, all those mutterings and missed shots by an inch were on purpose."
"Of course! Had to make it look real," Dean defended, not backing down on his joking stance.
They continued like that until they reached the motel, where, after they got a room and thoroughly washed their hands, Dean found Sam some ice and they went down for the night.
Their little nightly escapade hadn't fixed what had happened, nothing ever could or would, but it helped. At the end of the day, sometimes the job sucked and they needed more stitches than ice packs, but it wasn't all bad all the time. Sometimes it just took a bit of post-hunt bonding to make it more apparent.
Prompts are always being accepted! Please please send in some so my muse has something to work with ;) until next time!