A Moment With My Brother
Towels
Dean's mad with me.
Real mad. He's waxing loud and lyrical about my terrible, wicked failing and he is, I have to say, magnificent to see.
He's standing in the middle of the lounge, dripping and near naked and he's madder'n hell.
His cheeks have a slightly pink blush to them...Get you're mind out of the gutter! His face I mean and you well knew that...and his eyes are that fiery golden green that can entrance man, woman and child at thirty paces. He's gesticulating, as he rants at me, with the hand that's not currently occupied with keeping that very skimpy, fluffy-white, really not much bigger than a hand towel locked about his slim hips as a puddle of shower water forms around his feet.
And he clearly expects me to be humble and apologetic and contrite and I try to be but it's tough in the face of Sam and Cas's giggles but I play my part and nod, my downcast eyes begging forgiveness for my transgressions cause he is my big brother, when all said and done and he deserves my sisterly respect.
"So have I made myself clear this time, Charlie?"
He mutters, his simmering rage powering down in the relative cool of the bunker's high ceilings.
I raise my pretty-pooch (my learned version of Sam's puppy dogs) eyes back to his now not-so-much volcanic gaze and ensure my lip trembles by the correct amount to show I have learned my lesson. At last that is cause well this isn't after all the first time he's mentioned this. Oopsie!
"Yes, Dean."
I nod slowly and precisely, ignoring the fact that Sam and Cas are now openly whooping their delight as Dean wrestles to keep the way too small towel from exposing anything vital.
"Yes what?"
He narrows his eyes, shivering a bit now and I respond quickly so he can try and retain some shred of his dignity in front of the giggling boys.
"I promise I will not use...and I am paraphrasing the damper Winchester in the room here...every freaking, goddamn towel in the entire fucking bunker next time I have a shower without replacing them so the next one in doesn't have to try and cover his massively impressive blah-blah-blah...Dean's words again, ahem!...with a goddamn, fucking wash cloth!"
He holds my eyes for a moment as the cute little pink blush creeps a little further and I risk the smallest smile. So that he knows I love him even though he was mad at me and I will (probably) heed his words.
And so he sees I understand and he nods and turns on his heel, ignoring the wolf whistles from Sam and stalks back towards our shared bathroom, the fluffy white washcloth just about covering his pinker'n ever blush.
ends
Dizz - I thought of you as I wrote this one...no idea why! :0)