Fic: Makes Me Smile - SamandDean - G
Title: Makes Me Smile
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings: None. DeanandSam
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are all mine! Oh, no. Wait. No they're not. Not mine and no profit. I am sad.
Beta!Bitch: sardonicsmiley. I fall more in love with her every day. I don't know how I got this lucky.
Summary: Dean likes to sing in the shower. Sam? He's kind of annoyed.
A/N: This is for apreludetoanend. Her birthday was not so long ago and she requested Dean singing in the shower. This is just one incarnation of her request. The other is a bit angsty and still in the works. Sorry it's so short. I'm taking baby steps to get my muse back. I hope you enjoy, sweets. And I hope your birthday was wonderful and full of all things good.
Dean unlocks the motel room door and flings the door open. It makes a muffled thump as the knob hits the rubber door stop on the wall and Dean saunters into the room, humming. He's covered in mud, blood and god knows what, stinks to high heaven. And to make matters worse, his jeans are ruined, but the hunt went off without a hitch and Dean is feeling good. Sam slumps into the room behind him, just as covered in goo. Dean turns to him and says, grin plastered across his face, "I call shower. God damn you stink, Sam." Sam's face is mostly covered in mud, his hair is matted to his forehead and it makes him look absolutely pitiful. Dean cuffs him on the shoulder as Sam plops down on a bed and peels his shirt over his head.
Sam heaves a sigh and looks up at Dean, "I know. I was there too, you know. How can something so small produce so much stink?"
Dean sits down in one of the chairs at the rickety old table by the window and takes his boots off. He's still humming. The last song they'd heard before getting out of the car had been Living on a Prayer and damn it all if Dean doesn't have it stuck in his head.
Once his boots and socks are off, Dean gets up and walks to the bathroom. He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it into the pile of dirty clothes near the closet. The shirt makes a wet thwap as it hits the floor. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, he points at Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through the channels, and sings, "Whoooooa, livin' on a prayer, " grins and pulls the door closed behind him. Dean slides his jeans off, assesses the damage and shakes his head, they're completely ruined. He balls the jeans up and puts them into the trash can.
Dean turns the water on nice and hot. He stands under the stream for five minutes letting the water wash away the worst of the funk. Dean starts humming again and as he loosens up under the hot spray, his humming turns into mumbling. He grabs the soap and starts washing off. While he lathers up, taking special care to get all the gunk out of the creases of his arms and legs and from under his nails, Dean starts all out singing, "Whoa, we gotta hold on to what we got..." He thumps his hands to the beat against the tile, and grabs the shampoo. Dean has soap suds and shampoo lather in his ears and as a result, he sings louder, just to better hear himself.
In his own private concert, Dean doesn't hear Sam open the bathroom door. Dean is back to thumping his fists against the wall, singing the second verse when he hears Sam say, "Dean. Could you keep it down?"
Dean grins, "Aw, whatsamatter, Sammy? That time of the month. Do you have a headache, sweetheart?"
The only response Dean gets it the toilet being flushed, immediately followed by a rush of freezing cold water. Dean curses and tries to jump out of the direct spray but by the time he reaches the back of the tub, soap running into his eyes, the water is warming back up. Dean yells, keeping perfectly in tune, "Baby, it's okay. It's okay. We gotta hold on to what we got." After a moment, he takes the singing down to a more normal level, satisfied that he got his point across to Sam.
Dean leans back into the now warm water and starts to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. He spits out a mouthful of shampoo, curses, and decides maybe it's time to stop the singing. After all, shampoo doesn't taste very good.
Dean finishes rinsing off and turns to face the fixtures. He puts his hands flat against the wall in front of him and bends his head so that the water runs down through his hair and falls around his face, little rivulets tracing along his cheeks. He stands like that for a while, just letting the warmth of the water help him relax. He starts humming again, something softer, a song he hasn't heard in years. Something Sam used to like in high school.
Dean finally turns the water off and grabs a towel. He scrubs his head and shoulders, chest and back dry, then steps out of the tub one leg at a time, drying them as he goes. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Dean opens the door and lets the steam roll out.
Dean walks into the room and Sam looks up at him. Sam squints his eyes, quirks his mouth up to the side and says, "Is that? Are you singing Bridge Over Troubled Water? Are you feeling okay?"
Dean purses his lips and thumps Sam on the side of his head. He goes to his duffel and pulls out fresh clothes. Without looking at Sam, Dean says, "You loved that song in high school. Showers free. You stink. I'm not sleeping in the same room unless you shower." Dean looks up and smirks.
Sam rolls his eyes and gets up off the bed. Dean watches as Sam peels his jeans off and tosses them in the pile with Dean's shirt and the rest of the dirty laundry. As Sam starts peeling off his boxers, he turns to Dean and sings, "Load up on guns and bring your friends..." his voice becomes muffled as he closes he bathroom door.
Dean throws one of Sam's shoes at the bathroom door and is rewarded with Sam singing even louder. Dean plops down on the edge of the bed, flops back against the mattress, clean shorts in hand, and covers his eyes. He hates this song and Sam knows it.
Dean thinks, it sure will suck when Sam comes out of the shower to find all his clothes mixed into the toxic pile. He closes his eyes and before he falls asleep he hears nonsense lyrics tripping off his brother's tongue turn into the familiar words of Ramble On. Dean passes out naked, on top of the comforter, with a smile on his face.
Author: mgbutterfly
Pairings: None. DeanandSam
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are all mine! Oh, no. Wait. No they're not. Not mine and no profit. I am sad.
Beta!Bitch: sardonicsmiley. I fall more in love with her every day. I don't know how I got this lucky.
Summary: Dean likes to sing in the shower. Sam? He's kind of annoyed.
A/N: This is for apreludetoanend. Her birthday was not so long ago and she requested Dean singing in the shower. This is just one incarnation of her request. The other is a bit angsty and still in the works. Sorry it's so short. I'm taking baby steps to get my muse back. I hope you enjoy, sweets. And I hope your birthday was wonderful and full of all things good.
Dean unlocks the motel room door and flings the door open. It makes a muffled thump as the knob hits the rubber door stop on the wall and Dean saunters into the room, humming. He's covered in mud, blood and god knows what, stinks to high heaven. And to make matters worse, his jeans are ruined, but the hunt went off without a hitch and Dean is feeling good. Sam slumps into the room behind him, just as covered in goo. Dean turns to him and says, grin plastered across his face, "I call shower. God damn you stink, Sam." Sam's face is mostly covered in mud, his hair is matted to his forehead and it makes him look absolutely pitiful. Dean cuffs him on the shoulder as Sam plops down on a bed and peels his shirt over his head.
Sam heaves a sigh and looks up at Dean, "I know. I was there too, you know. How can something so small produce so much stink?"
Dean sits down in one of the chairs at the rickety old table by the window and takes his boots off. He's still humming. The last song they'd heard before getting out of the car had been Living on a Prayer and damn it all if Dean doesn't have it stuck in his head.
Once his boots and socks are off, Dean gets up and walks to the bathroom. He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it into the pile of dirty clothes near the closet. The shirt makes a wet thwap as it hits the floor. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, he points at Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through the channels, and sings, "Whoooooa, livin' on a prayer, " grins and pulls the door closed behind him. Dean slides his jeans off, assesses the damage and shakes his head, they're completely ruined. He balls the jeans up and puts them into the trash can.
Dean turns the water on nice and hot. He stands under the stream for five minutes letting the water wash away the worst of the funk. Dean starts humming again and as he loosens up under the hot spray, his humming turns into mumbling. He grabs the soap and starts washing off. While he lathers up, taking special care to get all the gunk out of the creases of his arms and legs and from under his nails, Dean starts all out singing, "Whoa, we gotta hold on to what we got..." He thumps his hands to the beat against the tile, and grabs the shampoo. Dean has soap suds and shampoo lather in his ears and as a result, he sings louder, just to better hear himself.
In his own private concert, Dean doesn't hear Sam open the bathroom door. Dean is back to thumping his fists against the wall, singing the second verse when he hears Sam say, "Dean. Could you keep it down?"
Dean grins, "Aw, whatsamatter, Sammy? That time of the month. Do you have a headache, sweetheart?"
The only response Dean gets it the toilet being flushed, immediately followed by a rush of freezing cold water. Dean curses and tries to jump out of the direct spray but by the time he reaches the back of the tub, soap running into his eyes, the water is warming back up. Dean yells, keeping perfectly in tune, "Baby, it's okay. It's okay. We gotta hold on to what we got." After a moment, he takes the singing down to a more normal level, satisfied that he got his point across to Sam.
Dean leans back into the now warm water and starts to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. He spits out a mouthful of shampoo, curses, and decides maybe it's time to stop the singing. After all, shampoo doesn't taste very good.
Dean finishes rinsing off and turns to face the fixtures. He puts his hands flat against the wall in front of him and bends his head so that the water runs down through his hair and falls around his face, little rivulets tracing along his cheeks. He stands like that for a while, just letting the warmth of the water help him relax. He starts humming again, something softer, a song he hasn't heard in years. Something Sam used to like in high school.
Dean finally turns the water off and grabs a towel. He scrubs his head and shoulders, chest and back dry, then steps out of the tub one leg at a time, drying them as he goes. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Dean opens the door and lets the steam roll out.
Dean walks into the room and Sam looks up at him. Sam squints his eyes, quirks his mouth up to the side and says, "Is that? Are you singing Bridge Over Troubled Water? Are you feeling okay?"
Dean purses his lips and thumps Sam on the side of his head. He goes to his duffel and pulls out fresh clothes. Without looking at Sam, Dean says, "You loved that song in high school. Showers free. You stink. I'm not sleeping in the same room unless you shower." Dean looks up and smirks.
Sam rolls his eyes and gets up off the bed. Dean watches as Sam peels his jeans off and tosses them in the pile with Dean's shirt and the rest of the dirty laundry. As Sam starts peeling off his boxers, he turns to Dean and sings, "Load up on guns and bring your friends..." his voice becomes muffled as he closes he bathroom door.
Dean throws one of Sam's shoes at the bathroom door and is rewarded with Sam singing even louder. Dean plops down on the edge of the bed, flops back against the mattress, clean shorts in hand, and covers his eyes. He hates this song and Sam knows it.
Dean thinks, it sure will suck when Sam comes out of the shower to find all his clothes mixed into the toxic pile. He closes his eyes and before he falls asleep he hears nonsense lyrics tripping off his brother's tongue turn into the familiar words of Ramble On. Dean passes out naked, on top of the comforter, with a smile on his face.