Fic: The Battle of the Bubbles - G, General, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sam & Dean
So, I wrote this story last year for my sister during the awesome time when I started writing again like a mad person. I don't know where this story idea came from, but I enjoyed it.
Now I am posting it today at the request of queenklu because I owe her for that thing with that guy in that place that one time - so I let her pick which fic I posted next.
She apparently is in dire need of Dean in a bubble bath. But, I mean, who isn't, right? Also, Sick!Sammy and cute brotherly interactions. I imagine this story could be set anywhere during the first two seasons. And yet, if you wanted, you could drop it anywhere.
Sam comes home sick and finds Dean in a compromised position. Rated G and 878 words.
Title: The Battle of the Bubbles
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Supernatural
Category: General, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Sam & Dean
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sam comes home sick and finds Dean in a compromised position.
Word Count: 878 words.
Date Written: 04/18/2010
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” is Eric Kripke’s and The CW’s. If it were mine, Dean would always be in the bathtub. But this story is mine and yet, I make no money off it.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: I imagine this story could be set anywhere during the first two seasons. And yet, if you wanted, you could drop it anywhere. The comfort foods used for Sammy in this fic all belong to people in my family - Red Vines are my sister’s, Ritz crackers are my mother’s, Teddy Grahams are my little brother’s and the Orange Crush is mine - not necessarily for when we are ill, but just for comfort.
Dedication: baylorsr, it’s not The Hobbits, or more precisely Pippin, in the tub, but it’s still pretty damn cute. Hope you enjoy it.
Sam felt awful. His head hurt and his muscles felt heavy and cramped. He’d tried to sit at his laptop, tucked into a booth at the café, looking for their next gig; but all he really wanted was to go back to the motel, take a long hard sleep and then have Dean bring him food.
He knew it was a lot to ask for but still…
Of course, Sam had forgotten that his brother was, well, Dean.
He’d also forgotten that he told Dean he’d be out until dinner time, so when he came back nearly three hours early, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to find Dean in a more than compromised position.
“Hey, Dean,” he said, finding his voice weak and shaky, as he pushed through the motel door.
Dean wasn’t in the room but Sam could see the bathroom door was shut tight. Sam dragged himself across the small space, intending to knock and let Dean know he was back, before crashing on one of the beds, when the sounds of splashing water made his hand still halfway between dropped and raised.
“Dean?” he said and found himself turning the doorknob.
Through the steam filling the air, Sam could just make out the top of his brother’s head, the only part visible from behind the drawn shower curtain.
Sam could also see the bath water full up to the top of the tub wall. And the sudsy, soapy bubbles that were spilling over the side, not to mention dabbled across the top of Dean’s head and dribbling down his face.
“Dean?”
“Dude!” Dean said, rather loudly. “With the knocking, Sammy,” but when he turned to look at Sam, his cheeks were all flushed and his mouth was all smiles.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, bewildered.
“Uh, what’s it look like I’m doing? Taking a bath.”
“Bubbles?”
“Duh. Brain freeze there, kiddo. Slow on the uptake,” and Dean splashed something into the tub and made water cascade over the side.
Sam chuckled. “Got some rubber duckies in there with you, Dean? Need some candles? Mood lighting? Alone time?”
“What’s your problem, Sam? Just because you’re wound too tight to enjoy a little down time now and then, doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“Want a tugboat or a submarine?” Sam asked but he was smiling and feeling slightly better. This would amuse for him for, like, ever.
“I’m good,” Dean told him and held up some small green plastic army men.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“The Battle of the Bridge,” Dean said and when Sam stared blankly at him, added, “Remagen, Germany. Duh.” Dean smiled proudly and Sam’s mouth fell open in shock.
Who knew his brother had actually paid attention in history class? Or had even gone to history class?
“Okay, then,” Sam said slowly and shook his head, then immediately wished he hadn’t. “I feel like death, so I’m gonna go lay down. You and your men try to keep it down, would ya’?”
“Sure thing, Sammy,” Dean replied, then made a couple phew phew noises and tossed some more soldiers into the water.
Sam shut the bathroom door, kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers. He was asleep almost immediately, the sounds of splashing water and Dean’s quiet voice barking out orders to his toys filling the background.
***
When Sam woke, the sun was lowering, lighting the room with an orange glow. He was covered in sweat and had kicked off his blankets and all his pillows had fallen on the floor.
Sam groaned, rolled over and found the room empty.
“Dean?”
When there was no answer, Sam struggled to sit up and saw the stack of food left for him on the bedside table; Red Vines, Ritz crackers, Teddy Grahams and two glass bottles of Orange Crush sitting in a bucket of ice.
Sam smiled and scooted across the bed to the window, pushing back the curtains and peering out into the motel parking lot. He expected to find the Impala long gone, figured Dean went to get a beer and left him to sleep.
But instead he saw the setting sunlight splashing across the pavement, settling brightest on the fenced-in pool in the middle of the lot, where Dean’s head could be seen poking up from inside the empty concrete swimming area. All along the side of the pool, his little green plastic soldiers were lined up in what had to be a very strategic military formation and two little red-haired boys, about nine years old, were crouched down there, moving the toys around to Dean’s instructions as Dean paced back and forth and made hand signals that their father had taught them a very long time ago.
Sam laughed out loud, his head only thudding slightly and pushed the curtains all the way open. He picked up his pillows and propped them behind his back and settled beneath the blankets, ripping open the Red Vines and pulling an Orange Crush from the bucket of ice.
He sat then, tucked in comfortably, eating the food his brother had left him and watching the three boys play until the sun settled for the night.
It was far better than anything Sam would have found on TV anyway.
The End
Now I am posting it today at the request of queenklu because I owe her for that thing with that guy in that place that one time - so I let her pick which fic I posted next.
She apparently is in dire need of Dean in a bubble bath. But, I mean, who isn't, right? Also, Sick!Sammy and cute brotherly interactions. I imagine this story could be set anywhere during the first two seasons. And yet, if you wanted, you could drop it anywhere.
Sam comes home sick and finds Dean in a compromised position. Rated G and 878 words.
Title: The Battle of the Bubbles
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Supernatural
Category: General, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Characters/Pairing: Sam & Dean
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sam comes home sick and finds Dean in a compromised position.
Word Count: 878 words.
Date Written: 04/18/2010
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” is Eric Kripke’s and The CW’s. If it were mine, Dean would always be in the bathtub. But this story is mine and yet, I make no money off it.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Beta’d: Nope.
Author's Notes: I imagine this story could be set anywhere during the first two seasons. And yet, if you wanted, you could drop it anywhere. The comfort foods used for Sammy in this fic all belong to people in my family - Red Vines are my sister’s, Ritz crackers are my mother’s, Teddy Grahams are my little brother’s and the Orange Crush is mine - not necessarily for when we are ill, but just for comfort.
Dedication: baylorsr, it’s not The Hobbits, or more precisely Pippin, in the tub, but it’s still pretty damn cute. Hope you enjoy it.
Sam felt awful. His head hurt and his muscles felt heavy and cramped. He’d tried to sit at his laptop, tucked into a booth at the café, looking for their next gig; but all he really wanted was to go back to the motel, take a long hard sleep and then have Dean bring him food.
He knew it was a lot to ask for but still…
Of course, Sam had forgotten that his brother was, well, Dean.
He’d also forgotten that he told Dean he’d be out until dinner time, so when he came back nearly three hours early, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to find Dean in a more than compromised position.
“Hey, Dean,” he said, finding his voice weak and shaky, as he pushed through the motel door.
Dean wasn’t in the room but Sam could see the bathroom door was shut tight. Sam dragged himself across the small space, intending to knock and let Dean know he was back, before crashing on one of the beds, when the sounds of splashing water made his hand still halfway between dropped and raised.
“Dean?” he said and found himself turning the doorknob.
Through the steam filling the air, Sam could just make out the top of his brother’s head, the only part visible from behind the drawn shower curtain.
Sam could also see the bath water full up to the top of the tub wall. And the sudsy, soapy bubbles that were spilling over the side, not to mention dabbled across the top of Dean’s head and dribbling down his face.
“Dean?”
“Dude!” Dean said, rather loudly. “With the knocking, Sammy,” but when he turned to look at Sam, his cheeks were all flushed and his mouth was all smiles.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, bewildered.
“Uh, what’s it look like I’m doing? Taking a bath.”
“Bubbles?”
“Duh. Brain freeze there, kiddo. Slow on the uptake,” and Dean splashed something into the tub and made water cascade over the side.
Sam chuckled. “Got some rubber duckies in there with you, Dean? Need some candles? Mood lighting? Alone time?”
“What’s your problem, Sam? Just because you’re wound too tight to enjoy a little down time now and then, doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“Want a tugboat or a submarine?” Sam asked but he was smiling and feeling slightly better. This would amuse for him for, like, ever.
“I’m good,” Dean told him and held up some small green plastic army men.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“The Battle of the Bridge,” Dean said and when Sam stared blankly at him, added, “Remagen, Germany. Duh.” Dean smiled proudly and Sam’s mouth fell open in shock.
Who knew his brother had actually paid attention in history class? Or had even gone to history class?
“Okay, then,” Sam said slowly and shook his head, then immediately wished he hadn’t. “I feel like death, so I’m gonna go lay down. You and your men try to keep it down, would ya’?”
“Sure thing, Sammy,” Dean replied, then made a couple phew phew noises and tossed some more soldiers into the water.
Sam shut the bathroom door, kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers. He was asleep almost immediately, the sounds of splashing water and Dean’s quiet voice barking out orders to his toys filling the background.
***
When Sam woke, the sun was lowering, lighting the room with an orange glow. He was covered in sweat and had kicked off his blankets and all his pillows had fallen on the floor.
Sam groaned, rolled over and found the room empty.
“Dean?”
When there was no answer, Sam struggled to sit up and saw the stack of food left for him on the bedside table; Red Vines, Ritz crackers, Teddy Grahams and two glass bottles of Orange Crush sitting in a bucket of ice.
Sam smiled and scooted across the bed to the window, pushing back the curtains and peering out into the motel parking lot. He expected to find the Impala long gone, figured Dean went to get a beer and left him to sleep.
But instead he saw the setting sunlight splashing across the pavement, settling brightest on the fenced-in pool in the middle of the lot, where Dean’s head could be seen poking up from inside the empty concrete swimming area. All along the side of the pool, his little green plastic soldiers were lined up in what had to be a very strategic military formation and two little red-haired boys, about nine years old, were crouched down there, moving the toys around to Dean’s instructions as Dean paced back and forth and made hand signals that their father had taught them a very long time ago.
Sam laughed out loud, his head only thudding slightly and pushed the curtains all the way open. He picked up his pillows and propped them behind his back and settled beneath the blankets, ripping open the Red Vines and pulling an Orange Crush from the bucket of ice.
He sat then, tucked in comfortably, eating the food his brother had left him and watching the three boys play until the sun settled for the night.
It was far better than anything Sam would have found on TV anyway.
The End