Before I got the boys' laundry underway, I called the diner and asked our cook to whip up a bunch of dinner for them. After Dean promised Sam up one side and down the other that he wouldn't leave the motel room even to get them something to eat, I figured they could use a care package. Once that was taken care of, I got to work on their clothes.
Men and laundry, I just don't know. Sam had pushed all their dirty clothes into just two machines when their jeans alone needed one all to their lonesome. 'Course he hadn't exactly been in a laundry state of mind when he was in here. Poor boy.
I picked through the machines and put maybe a woman's shine on the sorting: jeans in one machine, shirts in another, socks and small clothes in a third - and more t-shirts than I ever seen all in one place in a fourth. I probably could've been able to fit everything in three machines but more room would give them better chance to get more clean.
One thing I notice as I sorted their clothes: aside from some jeans with bleach burns and some other ones with ragged heels - and somebody has got to tell me how a boy as tall as Sam finds jeans that are too long - none of the clothes had any holes or mends or patches. Hunting is a hard life and it takes as much out of clothes as it does skin. Either the boys didn't know mending or they didn't want to wear mending. Or - torn clothes were bloody clothes and blood is damn hard to wash out and it was easier just to buy them clean than to wash them clean.
I put the clothes in with the best detergent we got and twice as much softener as the little plastic balls called for. Once all the machines were chugging away, I went to the kitchen to get the boys' dinner.
I packed it all into a sturdy banana box and carried it down to their room. Just as soon as I knocked on the door, I caught a glimpse of them through their curtains. They were both on the far bed. Sam was sitting against the headboard, curled over like a question mark. Even from where I stood, he looked miserable. Dean was sitting opposite him, one leg bent up on the mattress, leaning over like he was trying to get a look into Sam's face while he was saying something to him. Seeing that I backed up fast and wished I hadn't bothered them just then.
The door opened a few seconds later though, Dean looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Behind him, Sam had turned so that his back was to me, still bowed over.
"Laundry's not ready already is it?" Dean asked. He sounded casual enough but I could hear strain in his voice.
"I'm sorry to intrude. I thought you boys could use this, I brought you some dinner."
"Oh - um - thanks. We - um -." As Dean was stammering what I thought might be a 'thanks but he's not going to eat it anyway', Sam went into the bathroom and shut the door.
"It's the 'Bad Hunt Special'." I told Dean. "Grilled cheese, potato salad, white pizza, egg salad, veggie sticks and veggie wraps, bananas, grapes, cereal and milk, crackers and cheese, microwave popcorn, bottles of water - basically nothing that ever had a face."
"Thank you." Dean said and a weight seemed to fall off of him. "You have no idea how hard it's been to get him to eat anything. Or - I guess maybe you do. Everything seems to be blood red or look like -." He took the box from me and I could see him already scanning the containers for what he'd have Sam eat first.
"Thank you."
"You boys need anything else? I'm not meaning to diagnose or anything, but we've got tranquilizers, sleeping pills..."
"He won't take 'em. He doesn't want to fall into a sleep he can't wake up out of."
"Even with you nearby."
"Sometimes I can't be nearby enough." He looked back to the bathroom door. The weight that came off his shoulders seemed to have settled on his face. "I think once I can get him to eat, he'll fall asleep all on his own. I hope he does anyway."
"I'll let you go then. Take care of your brother. I'll bring your laundry when it's done."
"Thanks Meganne. You have no idea."
"Honey, don't you think one more thing about it. I'm glad to help you. Now go on and feed that brother of yours. I'll bring your laundry when it's done."
"Thanks." He said and smiled. Now that boy doesn't have near as knee-wobbling a smile as his Daddy, but my-my if it doesn't come close.
I went back to the laundromat to move their clothes from washing machine to dryer. A couple of their shirts still had stains - blood stains - on them, and I put those aside to wash again. I wondered if they were the shirts they'd worn when they helped that poor girl. I decided to wait until all their clothes were dry before I brought them to the room. I didn't want to disturb those boys any more often than I had to.
When all the clothes were ready, since I'd sorted and separated them and couldn't sure what was whose, I packed them all into a laundry basket instead of the duffels, and carried the whole shebang over to their room.
I knocked and heard 'I got it' from inside. The door opened - and there stood Sam Winchester. He looked four kinds of exhausted but he also looked a lot less broken than the last couple of times I saw him. The bandage was off his cheek and the scratches looked nasty, but he smiled.
"Meganne - hey. Are these our clothes? Thanks." He took the basket from me. His hair was damp and he'd changed his clothes, and beyond him I saw on the table the remains of a good sized supper. "Thanks for doing this for us. Dean's kinda particular about his clothes."
As if on cue, Dean came out of the bathroom. He was carrying a pair of surgical shears.
"Okay, they're sterilized now -." He stopped when he saw me. "Meganne."
"What in the world are you thinking of slicing off with those things?" I had to ask.
"Oh - he's cutting strips of gauze to put under the tape." Sam explained. He gestured to his cheek. "So it doesn't stick to the scabs. To pull all the edges together before he puts the big bandage on. He won't do it unless the scissors are sterilized first."
Now, off-the-grid healthcare is standard with hunters - the fewer the hospital visits, the better. But I could see with these boys that there was more than physical care going on. I had an idea Sam meant to sound put out that Dean made a fuss about the scissors being clean enough, but the look on his face was pure little brother adoration and that made it clear - Dean was tending to a wound that was on Sam's heart as much as on his face, and doing a damn fine job of it too.
"You boys need any medical supplies? We got a storehouse full."
Sam said, "Oh - no, thanks," just as Dean said, "We'll need
some more gauze probably tomorrow." They looked at each other like they weren't surprised they hadn't said the same thing. Sam gave.
"We could use some gauze." He told me, and when he looked at Dean again, Dean gestured with his head that he should be setting that basket down inside.
"I'll bring some by tomorrow. You think of anything else you need, you let me know. Just call the desk."
"Okay, we will." Sam said. "Thanks again for the laundry." Following Dean's unspoken order, he turned back into the room with the laundry basket and set it on the table and started sorting through it. Dean watched him then took a step or two outside.
"Meganne – really - thanks for the dinner. He ate more than I was hoping he would."
"He should sleep then. Both of you should." I meant it as an order as much as a prediction.
"We will. We both will." Then he turned to follow his brother into the motel room. As the door closed, I heard him say,
"Okay Sam, put down your delicates and set your ass in that chair..."
to be continued…
