A/N: Well...as promised in that last chapter, things indeed fall apart. There are some callbacks/parallels to the tone of the first few chapters but then we take a hard left turn.
I wrote this chapter a little fast so apologies for typos/mistakes I may have missed. I also cannot disclaim enough that my depictions of medical procedures and terminology should never be considered legitimate.
Feedback is always appreciated and I sincerely hope this story continues to be engaging and rewarding, albeit in the dark way only Supernatural can...
Calling it a bad day wasn't fair; it was an insult to 'bad days.' Today was awful. Interminable. Abysmal. Dean Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. And because Dean was suffering, by extension, so was Sam. Both of them were beginning to wonder if this new, proactive approach wasn't worth the cost.
Dean was in bed, and he would be in bed all day. His good arm was flexed over his face, eyes in the crook of his elbow. A very quiet groan came from him and Sam perked up slightly from his chair beside the mattress.
In short, Dean was in pain.
They were already two seizures in and the afternoon had only just begun. Dean didn't want any medication-he was committed, Sam gave him that. But nonetheless, it was miserable. Dean was being particularly stoic today-talking very little and complaining even less; this made it nearly impossible for Sam to find any way of comforting him. Instead of trying to distract or curb, Sam sat next to Dean and tried to simply be there for his brother. But Dean, knowing good and well that Sam was drowning, tried to relieve his brother from the heavy burden of obligation. There was no avoiding this process they had-it was the dance they did, and the dance they'd keep on doing.
"S'm?" Dean's voice broke slightly and Sam couldn't help but feel like it was an involuntary expression of disappointment to the way his speech had disintegrated over the past 24 hours.
"I'm here." Sam replied, his own voice steady and relaxed.
"M' g'on s'eep. Y' c'n go." I'm gonna sleep. You can go.
Dean still hid behind his arm, not letting his face show.
"I'll stay till you're out." Sam offered.
"S'm?" Dean paused, hoping his brother would pick up on his subtext. Unfortunately, he did not.
"'M n't g'na sl'p. D'n hf'ta s'ty." I'm not gonna sleep. Don't hafta stay.
Conceding, Sam accepted and left the room quietly. He felt guilty for the unconscious sigh of relief that came from his chest, but quickly forgave himself.
This just plain fucking sucked.
There was no way to sugar coat it and no desire to. Sam took a moment to himself-in his own head-to process what it was he needed. He needed a shower. And a shave. The morning had been too chaotic for either. He needed to eat-he was starving, actually. Okay, take an hour. Sam had to instruct himself on self-care, but at least he was obedient. At the sound of his stomach growling, Sam made eating his top priority. Each step came into his mind as a simple command and he executed without much deviation from simple action. The contents of the fridge was overwhelming but he forced himself to eat something substantial. He began reaching for the eggs and had an idea halfway into the motion. Dean had made french toast the other day...if he felt better later, maybe he'd be up for pancakes. Despite the late hour for breakfast, Sam used the eggs in a batter and made a batch of the simple food. Cooking, eating, and cleaning up only took, all-in-all, about half an hour. A stray yawn escaped, but he quickly stifled it with a cup of coffee. Padding back to Dean's room, Sam peaked through the crack where the hinges adhered to the wall, despite the fact that the door was mostly open. Dean had hardly moved from his earlier position but Sam could still tell that he'd shifted slightly; the movement most likely an attempt to lessen the pain of cramping muscles. Sam backed away quietly and headed towards his own room. Picking up a change of clothes on the way, he continued on to the bathroom and promptly turned on the shower. The water still wasn't quite warm by the time he was getting in, but Sam didn't want to waste already limited time waiting for the ancient hot water heater to do its thing. He closed his eyes as the spray covered him and he tried to find a spare reserve of energy to make it through the rest of the day. Interrupting his brief moment of meditation was a muted sound. Shutting off the loud stream of water, the noise became much clearer.
Screaming
Tumbling from the shower, hair still sudsy, Sam grabbed the first pair of pants he saw and flung them on. It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall that he realized they were a little short-they were Dean's sweatpants. Following the cries, Sam wasn't taken aback by the fact that they came from Dean's room. On the bed, Dean was thrashing; his head moving rhythmically side to side as noises continued emerging from his throat. Still dripping, Sam approached his brother and observed for a second. If it was about to end, Sam wouldn't bother rolling him. As the younger man predicted, the jerking became more sporadic and the noises ceased; Dean's body stilled and Sam sat in the nearby chair, a small puddle having formed where he stood moments earlier. Dean began to rouse slightly, his eyes opening. Not only that, but it appeared that the fit caused him to arouse as well-as if the day wasn't going poorly enough. Sam debated leaving Dean in the name of privacy, but he didn't want his brother to wake up alone. So Sam remained in the room, wet and tired, in case his big brother needed reassurance.
After a few minutes of long blinking and blank stares, Dean finally settled his head to one side and focused on Sam's face. Wrinkling his forehead, Dean's face contorted in mild confusion.
"R y' w'r'n m' p'nts?" Are you wearing my pants?
"I was in the shower when...whatever. Yeah. Sorry, they were the first thing I grabbed."
Dean's wrinkled face persisted and his gaze shifted to his own pants. He clumsily reached for the blanket and managed to cover himself before speaking again.
"G' f'ns s'w' 'm 'g'd."
Sam pursed his lips a little and tried filling in the blanks.
"I didn't quite get all that but I think I got the gist. I'll uhh...leave you then." Sam stood to leave but by the time he was at the door, Dean was speaking again.
"Y'r a'ws 'ere 'en I w-wa'ke 'p. I-tt h'lps." You're always here when I wake up. It helps.
Sam smiled and nodded, leaving to finish his shower and proud he'd managed to make Dean's day a little more bearable.
( ) ( ) ( )
The next two hours went remarkably well with the exception of the fact that Dean refused to eat. Sam couldn't blame him, but he feared it would be problematic in the long run. In compromise, Dean agreed to drink some gatorade and eat a few crackers. Bringing him the sustenance, Sam could see the sweat beginning to collect on Dean's forehead. Despite his pain, Dean had complained so very little; hardly a murmur of whining. Sam knew that his brother had been unable to sleep amidst the pain and regrettably, if Dean was refusing medication, Sam didn't really have any way to help. Sam remained as quiet as Dean was and silently deposited the goods onto the bed. Sam then picked up the blue gatorade and worked on unscrewing the cap before handing it to his brother. Upon extending his hand, Dean watched as his limb trembled too badly to accept the bottle. He retracted his hand and let out a hiccupy breath. Sam was only flustered for a second before he started problem solving.
"I'll go get a straw." Sam placed the open bottle on the nightstand, placed a napkin full of crackers on Dean's bed, and departed for the kitchen.
While on his short errand, Sam also picked up a bottle that had a nipple-like lid, in case that wound up being a better option. Returning to the room, Sam saw Dean awkwardly lifting a cracker to his mouth. When the cracker successfully made it to Dean's lips, the older man let out a quiet sigh. Sam then slipped the straw into the open gatorade and patiently awaited Dean to guide the proceedings. Staring at his brother chew, waiting for his next instruction, Sam noticed the beads of sweat that continued to collect on Dean's forehead.
"Do you have a fever?" Sam's pitch rose in mild surprise.
"D'nt 'nk so." Don't think so.
"You seem sick." Sam clarified. Perhaps Dean's taciturn mood was a result of more than plain exhaustion.
Dean gestured for Sam to hand him the gatorade and he received it steadily, quickly bringing the bottle to rest against his chest for added support. As his brother sipped, Sam laid the back of his hand against Dean's forehead and felt a mild indication of heat.
"We'll keep an eye on it." Sam threw out the comment as it was his only form of productivity in the immediate moment.
Dean listened but ignored his brother's comments. Instead, he gestured for Sam to take the bottle back, and put it on the table. In an effort to make up for Dean's lack of verbalization, Sam tried to fill the silences.
"You should try and sleep, if you can."
Dean still didn't reply, but gave an unconsciousness shrug; something that almost resembled embarrassment. Rather than addressing this observation of defeat directly, Sam recounted an anecdote. He grinned and sat in the chair, learning forward and resting on his knees.
"You remember when I was in seventh grade? We were settled in Meridian, Idaho? We were holed up in some crappy condo Dad rented and we hadn't seen him in a week… Anyways, I got the flu and puked in front of the whole class and uhh...the teacher asked me if I wanted her to call my Dad but I gave her your number instead. And you got yelled at for leaving class but you brought me to the car…You gave me your jacket to hold in my lap in case I puked again. And I did. All over your jacket. But you told me it was okay, that you'd take care of me. You bought me orange gatorade and fed me saltines… I don't think I slept at all for those three days but you stayed with me the whole time."
Dean looked on with large, round eyes.
"'S n't 'h f'lu, S'am." This isn't the flu, Sam.
"No, Dean. It's not. Which is why it's that much more important that I be here."
"D'nt o'we m' 'ny'ing. W'nt y' to k'nw 'at." Don't owe me anything. Want you to know that.
"I know." Sam declared. "But if it helps, it's worth it."
Dean had already confessed the same sentiment earlier, so there was no point in trying to deny it. Besides, it was the truth.
( ) ( ) ( )
In time, Dean finally fell asleep and Sam took the opportunity to nap as well. He didn't know how long this bad spell would last, and he wasn't going to assume that things would look up. As much as he hoped this was only going to be a bad few days, the reality was that this was entirely new territory and they had no way of predicting the future.
Before Sam had time to get into bed, his phone buzzed. Assuming it was Dean, he pulled his phone quickly from his pocket. Instead, the messages were from Nikki and Sam opened them to make sure that it wasn't an emergency. In fact, it was only an update; she would be heading out on a hunt to Colorado. Replying quickly, Sam fell into bed and let sleep steal his worries.
( ) ( ) ( )
Sam awoke to the sound of water running through the loud pipes of the bunker. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was nearly eight; he'd slept through the late afternoon and into the early hours of the evening. He'd never intended to sleep for so long and he knew there was no way Dean slept the whole time. Going to investigate the water, Sam wondered if Cas had come by and was the source of the sound. Walking past Dean's room on his way to the bathroom, Sam went to peek in on his brother but Dean wasn't there. Not in the bed, not on the floor, not anywhere. Adrenaline flooded Sam's system and he raced to the sound of the running water. Discarded clothes on the floor, towel draped over the sink, and water spraying partially onto the floor, the bathroom looked a bit like a war zone. Standing in his boxers, amidst the mild chaos, was a shaky Dean Winchester.
"H'y, sl'py h'ead." Hey, sleepy head.
"How long have you been up? Why didn't you call me?" Sam demanded, a little offended.
"I c'n t'ke c're 'f th'ings, S'm." I can take care of things, Sam.
There was a little bit of a warning tone in his voice; for both of their sakes, he was reminding Sam that he was capable.
"I know. I just mean what happened?"
Dean's gaze broke away as he leaned a little more on the counter and Sam used deductive reasoning to conclude what he'd missed before. The fact that Dean was showering, the wet clothes on the floor... He'd had some kind of accident. Though Sam had figured it out in the intervening silence, Dean still responded.
"Y' r'lly d'nt w'nna k'now. B't I g't it." You really don't wanna know. But I got it.
"Are you feeling any better?"
"uhL'ttle." A little
"Okay…"
Sam stood awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to do. Dean was clearly unsteady, nearly all his weight on the countertop. Not only that, but having been asleep for so long, Sam was going on very little information. He'd missed hours of activity and it's not like Dean was volunteering any answers. He wanted Dean to have his space, Sam really, honestly, did. But this wasn't a day for routine 2, or 3… This was a day where they both needed to accept that Dean needed all the help in the world.
"Dean," Sam began, "I'm not gonna think you're any less capable because you ask for help." Sam spoke softly, his tone soothing.
Dean let his eyes drop and shifted his weight ever so slightly.
"Th'ngs 're g'n r'ly w'll. D'nntw'na l'ose 'at." Things were going really well. Don't wanna lose that.
"I know. But this is us-" Sam corrected himself. "This is you taking back control. We knew it wasn't gonna be easy."
"W'nt m' 'ce b'k." Want my..
"Sorry. What do you want?"
Dean laughed a dry, humourless chuckle and tried again.
"V'o'ice b'ck." Voice back
It was Sam's turn to give a pitiful grin.
"Oh."
"W'tv'er. H'lp me s't d'wn?" Whatever. Help me sit down?
It appeared that a little bit of regular Dean was returning to the bland vessel he'd been most of the day and Sam was happy to see it. Taking most of Dean's weight, Sam felt how shaky his brother's muscles were; Sam was shocked that he'd managed to stay upright as long as he had. In a flash of déja vu, Sam felt the familiarity of this scene hang in the air around him. It wasn't so long ago that this very circumstance had played out. How much had changed since that memory? They'd visited Jody, hunted, Dean had gotten his speech back, they'd diagnosed the Archangel grace dilemma, and yet-Sam felt a wave of sadness wash over him just as the spray of the shower caught his sleeve-and yet they were right back where they started. Overwhelmed by this thought as he was, he couldn't possibly imagine how hard that realization must have been for Dean. The logical part of Sam wanted to shout and scream and argue and persuade that they had come so far. He wanted to do this because it was true. But the fragility of their situation made it such that there could never be linear progress; never anything truly reliable, truly dependable. Dean must have had the same memory recall because he suddenly asked Sam for a distraction.
"S'm? W'ld you t-talk t'o me?" Sam? Would you talk to me?
"Yeah, of course..umm…" Sam hesitated for a moment, Dean's anxious breathing audible even over the sound of the water. "Nikki texted me earlier. She's heading out on a salt 'n burn in Colorado but wanted to let someone know where she was headed."
"N'kki was a'lways very..." Sam could hear Dean's grin. "P'repared."
"That's what does it? I've been talking to you all day and Nikki's the one that gets the perfect pronunciation?" Sam laughed, blushing and genuinely happy.
"No 'ffense, S'm, but my g'ood m'mories with h'er 're l'ttle m'ore-" No offense, Sam, but my good memories with her are a little more-
"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I get the picture."
"W' sh'ould go h'lp 'er out." We should go help her out.
Sam snickered uncharacteristically; partially because he knew Dean would appreciate it.
"N-not that w'ay. If s'he hasn't been h'nting she's s'prolly a l'ttle r-rusty." Not ~that way. If she hasn't been hunting she's prolly a little rusty.
"If you wanna see her I'm all for it but I'm sure she can handle the case."
"Y'eah." Dean was a little disappointed but recognized it wasn't really a feasible option at the moment. "C'ld you g'et the w'ter?" Could you get the water?
"Yeah." Sam reached behind the curtain and shut the water off. He then grabbed the towel laid over the back of the sink, and extended it blindly behind the divider. He heard a soft groan and couldn't help the sympathetic thump his heart gave.
"You okay?" The younger man asked.
In return, a louder, more severe whine came from his brother and Sam tried to stop his instincts from tearing the curtain out of the way.
"Arhhhh… S'mmy."
That was all the permission Sam needed. Sliding the fabric out of the way, Sam frantically tried to identify the problem. It took him a painfully long moment to recognize the issue because, in fact, it looked like a solution rather than a problem. Dean's bad leg-usually angled and locked-was straightened and lax.
Despite the seeming improvement, Dean showed little indication that he considered this a success; Sam quickly changed gears and tried to gauge how helpful he could be.
"Hey, hey, I'm here. Is it your leg?"
"Rgghh-'ss r'eally b'ad. F'uck." It's really bad. Fuck.
"What can I do?"
"F'ls l'ke s'mone's s'awing 't off." Feels like someone's sawing it off.
"I can call Cas, he can try to-"
"No, nonono. W'nt help. G-get uhh.." Dean struggled to concentrate. "P'hne num'ber 'n m' d'esk. D'cter from the c'lin'c. C'all." No, no, no. Won't help. Get uhh… Phone number on my desk. Doctor from the clinic. Call.
Sam took off and easily found the scrawled number on top of a manilla folder. Dialing, he made his way back to the bathroom and began hearing dial tones. Pick up, pick up, pick up….Sam repeated in his head. Finally, a faintly familiar voice picked up.
"Hello?"
She sounded mildly surprised and Sam remembered that it was best for everyone if he stayed calm.
"My name is Sam Winchester. You treated me and my brother Dean a little while ago outside of Sioux Falls…"
"Oh sure, I remember you two. Look, I'm really sorry if it was forward of me to give your brother—"
"We need your help." Sam interrupted her, not having the time for politeness.
"What's happening?" Her tone was accommodating to his-suddenly authoritative and competent.
"Dean's leg is—I don't know. He's in a lot of pain."
Echoing Sam's observation, Dean banged his head lightly against the bathroom wall and made an angry sound.
"Can you get to a hospital?" She asked.
"Not really." Sam's pitch rose, desperation growing.
"Okay, I need you to describe to me what the pain feels like and where it's radiating from."
Sam adjusted the settings on his phone so that she was on speaker; while this wasn't a circumstance to worry about inclusion, Sam wanted Dean to be more than an object they were discussing.
"Dean—I have her on the phone, okay? Can you explain how it feels?"
"Ss n't cr'ampin. Ss l'ke p'lses."
"He says it's not like cramping. It's pulses." Sam translated.
"From your hip, Dean?" She specified.
"Vrh'here n m l'g." Dean's teeth ground together as he spoke.
"He says everywhere. His whole leg." Sam interpreted once again.
"Does Dean have myositis? Has that diagnosis ever come up?"
"No-we've never heard that…"
"It's chronic muscle weakness, damage...an auto-immune disease, the body attacks itself." She explained.
Sam and Dean shared a knowing look. It seemed that their theory was solidifying; their supernatural, archangel, crisis-despite its otherness-was being met with biological, human resistance. If the stakes weren't so high, it would almost be poetic; all that Sam and Dean stood for was reflected in this very circumstance. Two men- two human beings-outgunned and underprepared—attempting to combat evils far out of their control.
Despite the lack of response she received, the doctor continued thinking out loud.
"Dean, do you have a fever?" She asked.
Sam's shoulders fell.
"He had a mild one earlier."
"Okay. It's probably a flare up of his spasticity."
"D'nt c're what i'tss c'lled." I don't care what it's called.
Whether the women heard or understood him was unclear. Either way, she was committed to doing what she could.
"What medications do you have available? Dean takes Diazepam, right?"
Dean silently shook his head and Sam gave his response, disappointed.
"No, we don't umm…"
Unaware of the fact that Dean wouldn't take it rather than couldn't, she tried to offer an alternative.
"Any bottle that says Benzodiazepine?"
"No."
"D'nt n'ee dit t f'x'd jus n'ee dit b'tter."
"He says he just needs a little relief. Until we can get somewhere." Sam adjusted Dean's comment so that she wouldn't suspect they were refusing treatment.
"Dean, do you remember how I moved your leg at the clinic? Did that help?"
"Y'sss t'll S'm."
"He says yes. Tell me what to do."
"Okay, he needs to be flat on his back-on a bed or the floor, anywhere stable."
Sam rubbed his forehead and placed the phone on the counter. A little slippery, though, the cell clattered to the tile floor. Grunting in exasperation, Sam looked for a new location to prop it on.
"G've 'tto me." Give it to me
Sam handed the phone to Dean's outstretched arm and Dean spoke into it.
"C'n w'e c'all y' b'ack?" Can we call you back?
"I'll be here. Try to relax as best you can." She hung up then and Sam bent to get his shoulder under Dean's arm; Dean was all too aware of the towel still precariously laid over his lap.
"W'oh wwhhh...p'lls g't me s'me p'nts." Woah, woah. Please get me some pants
"That's a really good idea." Despite the tension, Sam gave a small smile and turned to retrieve the folded sweats on the counter.
The pants were wet from the residual shower water by the time they were on Dean and he was panting—pun intended—by the end of the activity. His earlier stoic mood had fallen away and he was now cursing and groaning as Sam lifted his weight and began hauling him out of the bathroom.
"N' p'nt n t'kin me t' my r'oom. J'st p'ut me d'wn in th' h'all." No point in taking me to my room. Just put me down in the hall.
"Lean into me." Sam instructed.
In easing his weight further onto Sam, the taller man was able to slowly kneel down such that they were both seated on the ground. Dean made noises of discomfort and opened the phone to call back the doctor. Before she picked up, Dean told Sam that he'd need a sheet or a towel, a rope...anything to create leverage. Sam dashed to find something and Dr. Kroff picked up the other end of the line.
"Is he still hanging in there?" She answered, obviously thinking it was Sam.
"M' t'ryin." Dean replied.
Sam came back in then, a few supplies in hand, and took the phone from Dean. Putting it on speaker, he placed it on the floor beside them.
"We're both here. Can you walk me through this?"
"Dean, I need you to keep breathing, okay? Panic is gonna make this worse. Sam?"
"I'm ready."
"Okay, you need to make sure his leg is as straight as possible. While he's lying down you want his knee to be in line with his peck. Does that make sense?" She confirmed.
Dean lifted his head and banged it against the floor, trying not to make noise as they spoke.
"I understand. But his legs are bowed, it doesn't naturally line up like that. I don't wanna make it worse."
"St'pid f'ckin leg." Dean mumbled.
Dr. Kroff adjusted her instructions accordingly and continued speaking.
"That's okay. Make an invisible point closer to his shoulder, further away from his torso. You want to keep the knee straight when you move the leg."
"I got it." Sam affirmed.
"I want you to use a sheet or a towel and loop it under his foot."
Sam was silent as he worked and Dean had receded back into pained silence, his good arm flung over his face.
"Done."
"Dean?" She called out to him.
"He's here." Sam responded for him.
"Dean, Sam is gonna pull your leg towards your chest, okay? And it'll hurt a lot. I'm sorry. But keeping it bent will help, it'll just take a few minutes to start feeling better. It's just like what we did in the office when you were cramping."
"K." Was all Dean said.
"Alright. Sam? I want you to pull the sheet slowly and try to keep his knee in line with that point you made by his shoulder. When his thigh is between a 45 and 90 degree angle with his hip, stop pulling. Dean? Tell Sam if he pulls too far. You'll feel it." She took a breath and started again. "You can hold the tension of the sheet until he feels relief or you can tie it behind him. When he feels better I strongly suggest you get yourselves to the hospital so they can give him something. I'll stay on the line until you're settled."
Sam reached out a hand to Dean's elbow which was currently over his eyes. Dean nodded from underneath Sam's touch and the younger man positioned himself for the movement.
"One. Two. Three."
Sam pulled back slowly just as she'd instructed. Dean's arm flung away from his face and his fist slammed on the ground as a pained, angry shout came from him. Approaching a rough 45 degree angle, Sam slowed but continued pulling back. A few more centimeters and Dean was pounding his fist on the ground, yelling at Sam to stop progressing. Sam held the position until Dean caught his breath and Dr. Kroff remained silent on the phone.
It felt like hours that they stayed frozen but in reality, it had only been about four minutes. Dean then suddenly released a gust of air he'd been holding in his lungs and Sam saw Dean's body drop its painful tension. Sam held onto the sheet with the same force, but had his own wave of relief knowing they were out of the woods.
"Better." Dean spoke clearly and Sam nearly lost his mind with the emotional whiplash today's events were causing.
Dr. Kroff's electronic, filtered voice filled the room once again as she checked in.
"If Dean continues feeling more and more relief you can continue holding the leverage but letting go shouldn't bring the pain back."
"Thank you. Really." Dean was high on endorphins and had an odd calmness in the way he spoke to her. Almost reverent.
"Promise me you'll take care of yourselves? I've become pretty invested after all."
"We promise. Thank you." Sam's tone was more than grateful.
They heard the phone click as she left the line, and Dean released another breath.
"You can let it go."
Sam ever so gingerly released the tension on the sheet inch by inch until Dean's heel had reached the floor again. Only in this moment of peace did Sam realize how utterly ridiculous the scene they created looked. Dean's wet hair made a small puddle underneath him, he was still shirtless and now, in such bliss, practically on the edge of sleep. Sam's hair had fallen in his face, an off-white sheet lay in the middle of the hall, and the phone still sat on the floor, equidistant between the two of them.
"So what I learned today is that showers are bad luck and a huge waste of time." Dean spoke, humor dry but potent.
Sam laughed a big laugh and felt his own rush of bliss.
( ) ( ) ( )
The next morning, Sam woke up before Dean and made coffee as usual. Despite the awfulness of yesterday, by the time they were going to bed Dean had been in much greater spirits. Sam had also gotten another update from Nikki-that she'd arrived in Colorado. As he sat drinking at the kitchen table, he heard Dean stumbling out of bed. He briefly debated getting up to help but decided against it. Dean's uneven footsteps approached but then stopped about halfway down the hall. Perking up, Sam's brow furrowed at the odd pause in movement.
"Sam? Would you c'mere?" Dean called out though he didn't sound distressed or surprised in any way.
Sam stepped out of the kitchen and saw Dean, as usual, leaning a little off-center and standing close to the wall for support.
"Sammy, you remember when we watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory when you were, I don't know, eight maybe?"
"Yeah…? Dean, are you sleepwalking? What the hell are you talking-?"
Before Sam could finish his question, Dean took a limping step forward and then leaned against the wall. Suddenly, he pushed away dramatically, bounded with perfect balance another few steps forward, and eventually ducked down to the floor, curling himself into a ball, and rolling to Sam's feet before popping back up with an agile jump.
It was a picture-perfect recreation of Willy Wonka's dramatic introduction from the film.
"Sammy?" Dean said, dumb grin ear to ear, "How much do you think a trampoline costs?"
Answering Dean's question without any words, Sam engulfed his brother in a smothering hug.
As far as Sam was concerned, Dean could get a trampoline, a race car, paintball guns, anything.
Hell, he even deserved a chocolate factory.
( ) ( ) ( )
A/N: Feedback is demon blood and I am Sam. What can I say? I'm addicted. In all seriousness, I am so thrilled that anyone at all is enjoying this story.
More to come! Thank you!