Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.
AN1: This takes place a little while after 1x15 'The Benders'
AN2: Thank you all so much for being so patient for this chapter! Sorry it took so long for me to update, exams are... long, unfortunately LOL xD
AN3: A super shoutout to everyone who review Without a Word so far! Thank you all so much for all your fav's, alerts and reviews! It's been such a fantastic response, WAAAYYY better than what I'd expected! A Special Thanks to smalld1171 , Rosetta Brunestud, LeighAnnWallace, twiandsuperfan , Webster and Storystuff for your reviews on the third chappie :DD I truly appreciate it! Thank you so much! You guys rock!
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Calm
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Calm... one thing Sam was pretty sure that Dean had lost that along with his first epidermal layer about forty minutes ago.
"You alright in there, man?" Sam yelled through the bathroom door, subtly testing the doorknob.
Of course, no reply came, but the sigh he heard followed by the kick to the door was the best answer he got. I'm fine, Sasquatch. The steam still escaping through the small gap between the motel floor and bathroom door was enough to tell Sam exactly how hot the shower was.
And, unfortunately, Sam knows that Dean's shower temperature tends to be directly proportional to his temper... and right now, Sam could tell that Dean was pis- ... crabby.
Unfortunately, the fact that Sam had walked into the motel room just when Dean started coughing up a storm in the bathroom had Sam reverting to his basic mother-hen nature. Yep, their little escapade at three in the morning in the freezing cold of Colorado had Dean relapsing.
"You better not pass out in there," Sam snapped angrily, "... Look, I'm going to break this door down if you don't open this door and doors don't fix themselves, you know..."
Dean suddenly yanked the door open and gave Sam the hairy-eyeball. Oh yeah? Well guess what? Shiners don't disappear overnight either, you know?
One glance at Dean's dew-eyed stare, splotchy red cheeks and the black-rimmed eyes... and Sam was pretty sure Dean's sporting a good one-hundred fever. But, just like any Winchester, he knows the best way to tackle the problem. "I think the diner'll open in about ten minutes... " Sam says, checking the time on his cell, "I'll go get us some coffee and breakfast, 'kay?"
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Avoidance aka. The Winchester-way. If you ignore something long enough and it'll disappear.
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And about thirty-minutes later when Sam returns with two Smith-diner specials of bacon, eggs, hash-browns and two 'bottomless' coffees. Only, the 'bottomless'-part only applied to eat-in orders... oh the irony that the price still stays the same... Dean's asleep on the bed closest to the bathroom in one of the long-legged black sweatpants he snatched from Sam's duffle and one of their dad's old oversized grey tees. The one Dean usually wears when he's feeling sick.
Sam locks the door and sets down their breakfast on the table next to the TV. He walks over to Dean, trying to decide which is better. Leave him to sleep or wake him up and gets some chow. But, when Sam spots the aspirin and cough syrup bottle next to Dean's bedside table and it's painfully obvious that Dean had taken the meds before dozing off. See? I AM taking care of myself, dammit!
Sam leaves Dean to sleep and decides to dig into his chow before turning-in.
The medicine takes its sweet time to kick in though, and Dean sputters himself awake every few minutes every time he coughs in his sleep. But, for the most part, the aspirin seems to be kicking-in since Dean's grouchy-lines were seemingly all the more less permanent the longer the morning stretched on and by seven, he seemed to be sleeping soundly.
It's up to Sam to finally pack up and check the lines and sigils. It takes him a good few minutes to set up the runs that cover most of the protection signs they'd probably need... but he browses over the research to just double-check. Witches and Hoodoo wasn't something to trifle with and overlooking details just to save time never saved anybody.
Dean sniffles and suddenly squeaks as he starts to snigger in his sleep and wriggles himself deeper into his duvet.
"I do not want to know what you're dreaming about..." Sam mutters with an awkward smile and finally toes off his shoes. He tosses his jacket on the chair next to his bed and yawns.
The actually time he finally got to sleep stopped bothering him long ago, since being a hunter meant you'd take what sleep you can get. And sometimes, that meant taking a five-minute doze against a headstone while their dad finished up covering-up the grave of the spirit they were hunting after a quick salt-and-burn ... or a three-hour nap when Bobby decides to tune-up the Impala when they pass through South Dakota.
He slides under the covers and sigh. He sets his alarm for four hours, figuring he'd try and dig up some more dirt to try and find this damn creature... whatever it is they're supposed to be hunting.
It doesn't take long for him to drift off into an idle sleep. Still and quiet –which was strange for motels in general- and it's only the bass of some music playing a few doors down that disturbs the peace. It doesn't even dent Sam's usual acceptance of noise and it barely registers as a distraction as the brothers finally get to sleep.
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The quiet rattle of the AC keeps the room at a comfortably warm temperature, not cold as it was intended to do. But in Colorado, it's so damned cold in autumn, even an AC's coldest temperatures end up acting more like a heater than anything else.
The pull of sleep had them both down for a good hour before Dean suddenly snaps upright, screaming and blindly slashed his blade in front of him.
Sam grips his blankets, white-knuckled, freaked and stares at the wide-eyed Dean.
Dean's frozen on the spot though, panting heavily as he grips his blade tighter. He swallows with a cringe and finally coughs harshly, dropping the blade as he doubles over.
A nightmare. Sam realises, jumping to his feet and jogging to the bathroom to get Dean a glass of water. When Sam returns to the room, Dean's stashed his blade back under his pillow and seems to be having trouble catching his breath. "Here," Sam says, handing his brother the glass of water.
A stiff nod came as a reply. Thanks, dude. He downs the entire glass before taking another gasping breath.
"Want another one?" Sam asks, automatically taking the glass from his brother.
Dean sighs and drops his head before nodding. Yeah...
Sam takes his time to fill the glass and check himself out in the mirror before heading back, giving his brother enough time to get himself together and 'act himself again'. It doesn't take long before Sam hears Dean knock on the bedside table to signal for Sam to 'hurry the hell up with my damn water, bitch!'
... and Sam gladly walks over.
"I got us some chow if you're up to it?" Sam suggests with a tired smile.
Dean downs the second glass, wincing on the last gulp before shaking his head. I'm seriously not going to attempt that just yet... and Dean's not too tired to realise that Sam's subtly measuring his heartbeat when his little brother takes his water glass with two hands, Sasquatch's one hand on the glass and the other hand on Dean's wrist. But, Dean decides not to bitch about it this time and lets it slide.
"I've set my alarm for eleven... if Katelyn isn't the witch who's bewitching up the town, then the real witch is still out there... if it is a witch..." Sam mutters as he walks off to fill the glass one more time. He pauses by the door when Dean tosses a used tissue at him.
Dean lifts up one hand, he knocks on the bedside table, and point to himself then points to his watch and holds his first and fourth finger together. Wake me up in four hours, dude.
Sam nodded absentmindedly and headed off into the bathroom. Dean finally sits back against the headboard. He yawns and rubs his eyes hard with his knuckles. Sam heads back to Dean's bedside table and sets down the glass, "Don't drink all of this in one go this time... you're going to make yourself sick," Sam reminds Dean with the accusatory I-know-what-you-were-going-to-do-so-don't-do-it eyebrow quirk.
A flipped bird was Dean's reply. Love you too, bitch.
"Very funny, Mr. Squeaky... " Sam grinned cheekily as Dean suddenly flushed beet-red in embarrassment, "Can I get you anything else? Maybe some Armor All to get rid of that squeak of yours?"
And Sam proved just how not-out-of-practice he's been since he's been off to Stanford when he dodged Dean's oncoming flying-pillow attack.
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