Disclaimer: These character are in no way mine and-- wow, how can a person actually get all the way through a disclaimer?

A/N: I don't have too much to say for this story at all. Haha, it's title pretty much explains it all. It's a story that's inspired and dedicated to Windy Fontaine, as I wrote this after she was telling me she was having a bad day...

Title: No Good Terrible Really Bad Day
Genre: This story has a little bit of everything in it. But in the end, we all love the brotherly fluff...
Summary: A story in which Dean is having a really bad day, and Sam tries to think of what he can do to help...

No Good Terrible Really Bad Day

"Damn it!!" the yell of anger was heard all the way from the bathroom as Sam finished up his shower, "Sam!"

Sam quickly dried himself off, and slipped on his pants. Dean was mad, and if he was bellowing his name, Sam figured the elder brother was ready to accuse him for something. In his mind, Sam tried to figure out anything that he could have done. He'd borrowed the Impala the day before, but had been sure to top off the gas.

With his wet hair dripping onto his bare chest Sam walked into the open living area of the hotel room, "What is it?"

Dean held up his cell phone accusingly, "Did you unplug my phone last night?"

Sam almost laughed at the question, "No. Why would I unplug your phone?"

"Well someone did!" Dean barked, "It's dead!"

"Well I don't know!" Sam was getting angry himself, "Maybe you just forgot to plug it in last night."

"And maybe you forgot that you unplugged it," Dean spat out, "Dude, I'm supposed to go down to the cemetery tonight to scout for the grave. How the hell am I supposed to contact you!"

Sam took a deep breath to calm himself, "Here," he said, sticking his hand into his jean pocket, "Use my phone."

Wordlessly Dean grabbed the phone out of Sam's hand and slammed out the door. Sam knew he wasn't leaving yet to go to the graveyard, but assumed he was getting something to eat. This gave the twenty-three year old time to finish getting dressed. He'd only just put on a t-shirt and fully dried his hair when the slam of the door to their hotel room caused Sam to jump. Dean strode in, anger plastered on his face.

Without a word the elder brother shoved Sam out of the way and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Sam waited a moment, "Dean… are you ok?"

The sound of running water then came on, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean was rinsing off his face rather than actually doing anything significant. A moment later the door opened, and sure enough Dean walked out, his face wet.

"Dean?" Sam tried again.

"Just leave me alone Sammy," Dean huffed walking over to his bed and going through his bag.

Sam knew that Dean was in a bad mood, "Hey Dean, want me to go pick up something for us to eat?" he paused a moment, "My treat."

"I'm not hungry," Dean replied coldly.

Sam sat on his own bed, opening his lap top to browse the internet. The next hour went by uneventfully until a knock came at the door. Dean jumped at the sound; promptly knocking his cup of coffee all over the bed.

"Damn it!" he cried out, shaking the hot liquid from his hands and walking towards the door.

Sam looked sympathetically at his big brother; it really wasn't Dean's day. By the time the grumbling Dean came back Sam was in the process of removing the wet sheets.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean frowned.

A hundred smart ass replies came to Sam's mind, but he decided, in consideration of his brother's mood, for the truth, "Changing the sheets."

"I don't need your fricken help," Dean snatched the sheets out of Sam's hands, "The manager just came and said we're short twenty bucks. That was my supper money!"

"Dean, I said I'd get you something to eat," Sam tried to keep the hurt from his voice.

"And I said I wasn't hungry!" Dean shot back.

"Why don't we go down to the bar," Sam suggested, "We can have a few beers and maybe play some darts or pool or something."

"I would," Dean steamed, "If my rear tire of the car wasn't flat."

Sam didn't know what to say. He remembered one time when they were really little Dean was having a bad day, and was sitting on the couch crying.

'He couldn't have been more than eight,' Sam recalled.

In Sam's innocent youth, all he'd done was walk over to Dean, sat beside him and gave his big brother a hug with the comforting words of 'It'll be ok.'. Dean later brought Sam an ice cream cone with a handmade card reading 'Thank you Sammy' on it. Things were different now, and they were grown up. Sam was pretty sure if he tried to walk over to Dean and hug him now, he'd find himself lying flat on the floor.

Instead the younger brother remained silent.

"I'm leaving now," Dean grumbled a while later, "I'm gonna fix the tire and head out. I'll phone you if I find anything."

"Ok Dean," Sam said as the door slammed shut, "…be careful."

It wasn't that his big brother wasn't always careful, but when he was in a bad mood, Dean could be a little sloppy. With a smile on his face, Sam thought of something and left out the door not even ten minutes after his brother left.

An hour and a half later Dean walked into a relatively silent hotel room. He'd searched every single grave with no luck, and was about ready to punch his hand through a wall. The sound of the shower greeted him, and Dean wondered briefly why his brother was having a shower again.

"The kid didn't even go out today," Dean mumbled tossing his jacket onto one of the chairs.

It was then that he noticed something on the table. Curiously he walked over and saw a six pack, his fully charged phone and a twenty dollar bill. On top of it was a piece of paper with the rough writing of Sam's reading 'It'll be ok.'. Slowly a large smile came to Dean's face. He ran his hand through his hair and was startled to find tears brimming in his eyes. It was then that he realized how horrible he'd been to his little brother all day. Looking around quickly, Dean grabbed his wallet and rushed out the door heading to the lobby down the hall.

Ten minutes later Sam finished up in the shower. He'd heard Dean come in, and thought he heard him leave and come back since. He wasn't sure how his little gesture would be taken but figured he didn't have too much to loose. Taking a deep breath he walked out of the bathroom. Glancing over, Dean was sitting on his bed, beer in hand reading the latest edition of Maxim magazine. The younger brother walked over to his bed to shove his dirty cloths away, and that's when he saw it.

Sitting on top of the bed sheet was a wrapped Drumstick Ice Cream cone with a piece of paper on top. Dean's handwriting stuck out in big letters;

'Thank you Sammy'

The End