I got yo back, you got my back & that's the biz [Blood is rushing through my veins, I got the power]
["I'm sorry that I'm not exactly what you bargained for."]
The pain screams through his head, constant and loud; shattering every fiber of his being like glass that’s too fragile. The lights in the motel room are off, drapes drawn tight and he wishes the bed didn’t squeak. His eye twitches at every sound; he wants to scream but he knows that would make his head explode like a moltov cocktail. Instead he pulls the pillow tighter around his head, trying to dampen the rattle of the air conditioner.
The door opens, sunlight slashing across the bed and sending a crack of agony through Sam’s head. It shuts too loud. The bed squeaks and dips with added weight just before cold numbs all the pain. It doesn’t go away and he knows it will return but right now there’s an ice cold bottle of water against the back of his neck. The cold shoves aside the migraine so that Sam can take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” The words sound like he’s gone on a bender and this is the hangover from hell.
“You know for a smart kid you can be awfully stupid.” Out of respect for Sam’s head, Dean keeps his voice to a whisper.
“I’m trying, Dean.”
“I swear to friggin’ God, Sammy, you don’t shut up I’m gonna smack you in the back of your giant head. So you’re a friggin’ enormous freak. You were a mathalete in high school, you’ve always been an enormous freak.” He shoves an open bottle of Advil into Sam’s hand and watches as Sam tips it out, pouring several into his hand. Sam can almost feel Dean rolling his eyes when he chews the Advil dry. Seconds later, Dean is pressing the bottle from the back of his neck into his hand and replacing the one at the back of his neck with a fresh, colder bottle.
“Get some sleep, Bitch. I wanna get on the road tomorrow,” Dean says finally.
The cold is starting to chase the rest of the pain away and he relaxes, letting go of the pillow. Dean grabs it one handed and stuffs it behind his head. He still has the bottle of water firmly pressed against Sam’s neck.
He’s just drifting off to sleep when he remembers. “Jerk.”
Maybe they’re at odds and maybe from this point on, they always will be but they’re also brothers. And they always will be.
The pain screams through his head, constant and loud; shattering every fiber of his being like glass that’s too fragile. The lights in the motel room are off, drapes drawn tight and he wishes the bed didn’t squeak. His eye twitches at every sound; he wants to scream but he knows that would make his head explode like a moltov cocktail. Instead he pulls the pillow tighter around his head, trying to dampen the rattle of the air conditioner.
The door opens, sunlight slashing across the bed and sending a crack of agony through Sam’s head. It shuts too loud. The bed squeaks and dips with added weight just before cold numbs all the pain. It doesn’t go away and he knows it will return but right now there’s an ice cold bottle of water against the back of his neck. The cold shoves aside the migraine so that Sam can take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” The words sound like he’s gone on a bender and this is the hangover from hell.
“You know for a smart kid you can be awfully stupid.” Out of respect for Sam’s head, Dean keeps his voice to a whisper.
“I’m trying, Dean.”
“I swear to friggin’ God, Sammy, you don’t shut up I’m gonna smack you in the back of your giant head. So you’re a friggin’ enormous freak. You were a mathalete in high school, you’ve always been an enormous freak.” He shoves an open bottle of Advil into Sam’s hand and watches as Sam tips it out, pouring several into his hand. Sam can almost feel Dean rolling his eyes when he chews the Advil dry. Seconds later, Dean is pressing the bottle from the back of his neck into his hand and replacing the one at the back of his neck with a fresh, colder bottle.
“Get some sleep, Bitch. I wanna get on the road tomorrow,” Dean says finally.
The cold is starting to chase the rest of the pain away and he relaxes, letting go of the pillow. Dean grabs it one handed and stuffs it behind his head. He still has the bottle of water firmly pressed against Sam’s neck.
He’s just drifting off to sleep when he remembers. “Jerk.”
Maybe they’re at odds and maybe from this point on, they always will be but they’re also brothers. And they always will be.