Maybe I'll Be Back Some Day After My Holiday
Title: Heels Over Head.
Author:
oceanicair815.
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or those sexay boys.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Summary: Sam can't die, so Dean decides it would be funny to kill him over and over again.
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Note: This is kind of a prequel to my first fic. It was sort of hard to write, as the tone kept changing from serious to stupid. I think I did an okay job though. Also, I used a pony idea from someone's hilarious idea of "Sam wants a pony" but I totally forgot who. I hope it's okay. And thanks to everyone who gave me some ideas yesterday, you is all soo sexay.
“I am soo gonna fucking kill you, dude.”
Dean lunged towards Sam, who playfully jumped out of reach, laughing manically.
“Oh yeah, I’d like to see you try.”
Dean grabbed his younger brother’s arm, dragging him towards him. He pushed a small kiss to his lips, and threw him against the wall. He bought up his hands and gripped Sam’s throat tightly. Sam was still laughing as the air in his lungs finally faded and he fell head over heels into death.
The first time. The second time, wasn’t as funny.
“Um, Sam. I left my shotgun in the bathroom, can you get it for me?”
Sam looked up at his brother from the laptop on his, um, lap. “Get it yourself. What am I, your Joey?”
There was a stifled cough, “I can’t get up, I’m sick.” Dean threw his arms out on the bed beneath him, and lay back onto the pillows. “Please Sammy, I promise to make it worth your while,” he grinned evilly.
Sam rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair. He walked towards the bathroom, gripping the doorknob and pushing it open quickly.
There was a click, as various strings and wires went slack and then Sam was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap; half of his head covering the bathroom wall in a mushy grey mess. Dean couldn’t stop laughing.
Sam on the other hand, couldn’t see the funny side.
“Oh come on, dude. It was just a joke, get over it,” Dean said a few days later, when the sulking hadn’t subsided.
Sam shook his head, “Fuck you, Dean. You fucking killed me, twice!”
Dean laughed, “Yeah, but wasn’t the shotgun trick awesome though? I mean, man, that was some serious effort to get the wires to work like - what?” Sam was staring at him with a look that said it all. I fucking LOATHE you, fucker. He almost had it down to a fine art, he did it so often.
Dean shook his head and stepped into the car, turning to Sam. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I am. But dude, you can’t die! Don’t you feel totally fucking awesome?”
Sam stared at him with a look of pure contempt. “It. Still. Fucking. Hurts. You dick.”
Dean shook his head, starting up the car. “Stop being such a fucking baby,” he smiled, pushing his foot down onto the accelerator. “If it were me I’d let you kill me all the time, just for the entertainment value.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t you.”
Dean glanced down at his watch, which drew Sam’s attention, and he sat up in his seat in an instant, looking nervously around the car. “Okay, what did you do?”
“Huh? Nothing.”
“Dude, you’re planning something. What is it?”
“Sam, nothing’s going on, I swear,” Dean answered quickly, staring at something in the road straight ahead.
Sam traced his line of sight, his eyes widening as he noticed what he was looking at.
“Stop the car, Dean.”
“Sam, what the fuck…”
“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!”
And in what seemed like a second, Dean had leapt from the car, sending it swerving right onto the railway tracks that were embedded deep in the road before them. There was a huge “honk” sound as the 10:11 came roaring into view.
“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, not even bothering to undo his seatbelt.
~~
After the train accident, Sam really was in the foulest mood Dean had ever seen him in.
“Hey, how about me and you go someplace?” the older of the brothers asked.
“No.”
“You can pick?”
Another “No.”
Dean had one last trick up his sleeve that he knew Sam couldn’t refuse. “How about the Zoo?”
“I’m so there,” Sam muttered, grabbing his jacket and running from the motel.
After they’d had dinner at the shitty zoo McDonalds, Sam was adamant that he wanted to see the ponies, and Dean, ever the big brother, was only too happy to oblige.
“I want one,” Sam muttered, as he ran his hand through the streak of shock black pony hair in front of him.
Dean rolled his eyes; ever since Sammy was little he’d wanted a pony. Dean, on the other hand, already had a hard time looking after one - Sam. “How many times Sam, you can’t have a pony. You can, however, go into the pony cage and get a little closer.”
Sam shook his head, stopped stroking the pony and turned towards Dean with a knowing grin. “Oh yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Send me in there and scare the shit out of it until it fucking stomps me to death!?”
Dean feigned looking hurt, “Me? Never.”
Sam shook his head again and turned away from the ponies. “I want to see an animal that couldn’t maul me to death,” he smiled to the zoo keeper, who looked more than a little confused. But he nodded, and beckoned for the two of them to follow him.
“Monkeys?” Dean asked, turning his nose up at the little creatures swinging and screaming in the enclosure before them. “Rats with arms?”
Sam laughed at that, remembering that Dean was shit scared of rats. Monkeys, it seemed, didn’t fare much higher.
“This is great,” Sam smiled, poking his finger through the cage. “Hey,” he asked the zookeeper, “is there any chance I can get in there and feed them?” Dean looked horrified, but the keeper thought it was a good idea. After all, they were only monkeys. What could they possibly do?
As soon as Sam was in the cage, Dean couldn’t help but laugh as one of the monkeys picked up a small nut and threw it at Sam’s head, who recoiled in pain. There was a roar of laughter from the monkeys, who seemed to think this was a good idea. One by one, they began to throw mass amounts of nuts at Sam, who stood there, shielding himself from the tiny amounts of food showering him.
Then, one particularly bright monkey decided it would be funny to throw an incredibly large rock at Sam’s head and that was that, he was dead again, bright spurts of blood squirting from his broken skull.
Dean was in hysterics, while the zookeeper decided to flee the scene.
~~
Since the monkey fiasco, Sam hadn’t spoken to Dean for two days.
“Aw, come on dude. When you are you gonna start speaking to me again?” Dean asked, getting on his knees in front of Sam, who was staring at the laptop in false concentration. He didn’t answer. “Come on, you have to admit, it was pretty funny. And no one forced you into the monkey pen.”
Sam finally looked up at him, and spat “If it wasn’t the damn monkeys, you’d have thought of something else!”
Dean couldn’t stop laughing, pushing himself up on Sam’s knees until he was face to face with his brother. He smirked a little, the kind of smirk that made Sam just melt and… yep, he couldn’t help it. Their lips met, tongues powerful with experience duelling for some sort of twisted ownership.
Dean won as usual, placing himself in the drivers seat. He gripped the back of Sam’s head tightly and pushed himself deeper and deeper into those amazing lips. Sam pulled away after a few seconds, breathing heavily.
“Dean, you’re not gonna kill me again are you?” he asked seriously.
“Not unless you want me to,” Dean grinned, pushing his lips back into Sam’s, who pushed away yet again.
“Seriously, I’m not doing this if God’s getting a front row seat.”
Dean shook his head, “I promise.” And he meant it, at least for now. He took Sam by the hand and led him to the small bed, pushing him back onto the duvet and standing up straight. “I think I owe you a little something, you know, for killing you. Thrice.”
Sam nodded, eyes bright with anticipation.
Dean stepped back, bowing his head. His fingers strayed towards his belt buckle and he opened it quickly, with experienced fingers (which is weird, Sam thought, how many belts has he opened?) shedding his jeans quickly, and kicking them at Sam who practically dived out of the way.
Next off came the t-shirt, and Dean did this sort of grind as he pulled the clingy material from his body, throwing that at Sam too, who decided to catch that one. So there was his big brother, standing in nothing but his boxers and greying socks. If Sam was honest, it wasn’t all that sexy. The socks boxers were killing it.
And then, Dean started to dance. Seriously, stood there in his boxers and socks, dancing. And not the sexy kind of dancing either; the kind of dancing that your uncle does at someone’s wedding. The drunken “I think I’m sexy” dance, except Dean wasn’t drunk. And this certainly wasn’t sexy.
Hilarious maybe, but not sexy. Sam couldn’t stop laughing.
Dean turned away from him, shaking his butt, which made Sam laugh even more. He turned back towards him, looking slightly hurt, a slight pout evident on his pursed lips.
“What?”
“Dude, you’re laughing at my sexy dance.”
Sam just gaped at him, “Seriously, that’s your sexy dance?”
Dean nodded, arms folded across his chest.
Sam burst into another fit of giggles, rolling around on the bed. “Oh my god, that is the most stupid thing I’ve ever seen!” he screamed, pounding the mattress with his fists.
Dean shook his head, “You dick, it’s always worked in the past. What was wrong with it?”
Sam sat up straight, the laughter disappearing in an instant. He opened his eyes and mouth wide and said calmly, “Um, everything?” Then he fell back into a fit of giggles.
Dean was severely upset, “Well fuck you, Sammy,” he started, stomping over towards his jeans and pulling his t-shirt sharply from Sam’s grip. “I happen to be one hot fucker, and you’re lucky to have me,” he finished, pulling his t-shirt back on.
Sam could see how upset his big brother was. “Um, Dean. I was just kidding.”
“Whatever” Dean muttered, turning towards the table and setting himself down.
Sam got up from the bed, walking quickly towards Dean and getting on his knees at his feet. “Seriously, Dean, I loved it. More than loved it, in fact, I am so hot for you right now.” So hot for you right now? WTF?
It seemed to work though; Dean sat up straighter and looked down at Sam with a slight, proud, grin. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sam smiled, tracing Dean’s thigh with his fingers. “I was laughing because I was so turned on.”
Dean grinned again, “Well… if you’re so turned on, why isn’t my dick in your mouth right now?”
Sam burst into a fresh fit of giggles at the way Dean had phrased it. Why isn’t my dick in your mouth right now? Ooh, butch.
Luckily, Dean didn’t go into a sulk this time. He simply bit the edge of his lip and looked patiently down at Sam.
“Oh, right,” Sam muttered, with a smile, snaking his hand up Dean’s thigh again and gripping the rock hard cock beneath his boxers.
~~
“Dude, I think I’m gonna take a bath,” Sam sighed, getting up from the bed and stretching with a quick yawn.
“Great idea, I’ll join you,” Dean muttered, jumping up from the bed and walking towards Sam.
Sam shook his head, “Alone,” he smiled, placing a soft hand on Dean’s bare chest and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, which caught Dean off guard.
“What was that for?” he asked, although it had been pleasant enough.
Sam shrugged, “Dunno,” he answered, “just wanted to.”
Dean nodded, “Well, I’m not moaning,” he smiled, slapping Sam on the butt as he walked towards the bathroom, “Damn Sammy, you letting yourself go a bit?”
“Fuck you,” Sam laughed, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Dean jumped back onto the bed, picking up the TV remote and clicking the box into life. There was a show on called “Ghost hunters” which he thought was pretty funny considering.
Experts believe this is the ghost of Mary Goose, who was electrocuted when her pet cat, Blinky, knocked her curling tongues into the bath - with her in it.
It was as if a light switch had been pressed inside Dean’s head, and he smiled evilly to himself as he got up and crept towards the bathroom. He pressed his ear against the wood, listening for the familiar sound of tinny music from Sam’s headphones. Yep, he could hear it. Bracing himself, he pushed the bathroom door open slowly, noiselessly, and crept past Sam, who was in the bath, eyes closed, his head moving in tune with the music in his ears.
Dean spotted the hairdryer on the cabinet next to the bath, and reached for it, clicking it on.
Sam heard it and opened his eyes, screaming as Dean threw it into the bath.
~~
A few hours later, Sam opened his eyes, nearly vomiting as the smell of burning flesh flooded his nostrils. The bathroom was filled with misty grey smoke, and he looked down at his body expecting to see a burnt mess.
Luckily, he’d already healed. His hair, though, was stuck out at awkward angles from his head, the ends severely singed. He grit his teeth as he stood up from the murky water, pushing angrily into the main room.
Dean was lying in bed, half naked, the TV blaring. He was giggling madly at something on screen before he noticed Sam standing there, looking like Frankenstein’s fucking Bride!
“Jesus, Sammy, it took you long enough this time,” he muttered, pointing towards the table. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Sam shook his head, silently raging on the spot. “The… killing I can live with. But the hair? How could you?”
Dean burst into a fit of laughter, “Oh my god, dude, you look like one of those emu kids!”
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” Sam screamed, lunging towards Dean, who rolled from the bed, sending Sam face first into a pack of cheesy Doritos.
“Okay, Sam,” Dean breathed, holding up his hands, “let’s just calm down.”
Sam shook his head, jumping up from the bed. He grabbed Dean in a headlock, squeezing him tightly.
“Fuck, gah!” Dean choked, as Sam just held tighter. He smelt like a fucking Doritos factory.
And before Sam even had a chance to collect his thought and realise what he was doing, Dean was dead.
Sam just stood there, numb. He’d killed his only brother, his only family. And sure, Dean had killed him, over and over, but he always came back. But Dean wasn’t coming back. Sam knelt to check Dean’s pulse, not really realising what he’d just done. There was no heartbeat. Dean was truly dead.
Sam turned away, burying his face into his hands. Jesus, what the fuck am I going to do?
There was a cough beside him, and he turned quickly, watching in fascination as Dean got up from the floor, clicking his neck. “Dude, what the fuck?” he asked, noticing Sam’s hair again and bursting into laughter.
“Oh, it’s on,” Sam muttered, with an evil grin, a million thoughts of painful death’s for Dean buzzing through his still buzzing brain.
Author:
oceanicair815.
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or those sexay boys.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Summary: Sam can't die, so Dean decides it would be funny to kill him over and over again.
Spoilers: Nope.
Author's Note: This is kind of a prequel to my first fic. It was sort of hard to write, as the tone kept changing from serious to stupid. I think I did an okay job though. Also, I used a pony idea from someone's hilarious idea of "Sam wants a pony" but I totally forgot who. I hope it's okay. And thanks to everyone who gave me some ideas yesterday, you is all soo sexay.
“I am soo gonna fucking kill you, dude.”
Dean lunged towards Sam, who playfully jumped out of reach, laughing manically.
“Oh yeah, I’d like to see you try.”
Dean grabbed his younger brother’s arm, dragging him towards him. He pushed a small kiss to his lips, and threw him against the wall. He bought up his hands and gripped Sam’s throat tightly. Sam was still laughing as the air in his lungs finally faded and he fell head over heels into death.
The first time. The second time, wasn’t as funny.
“Um, Sam. I left my shotgun in the bathroom, can you get it for me?”
Sam looked up at his brother from the laptop on his, um, lap. “Get it yourself. What am I, your Joey?”
There was a stifled cough, “I can’t get up, I’m sick.” Dean threw his arms out on the bed beneath him, and lay back onto the pillows. “Please Sammy, I promise to make it worth your while,” he grinned evilly.
Sam rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair. He walked towards the bathroom, gripping the doorknob and pushing it open quickly.
There was a click, as various strings and wires went slack and then Sam was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap; half of his head covering the bathroom wall in a mushy grey mess. Dean couldn’t stop laughing.
Sam on the other hand, couldn’t see the funny side.
“Oh come on, dude. It was just a joke, get over it,” Dean said a few days later, when the sulking hadn’t subsided.
Sam shook his head, “Fuck you, Dean. You fucking killed me, twice!”
Dean laughed, “Yeah, but wasn’t the shotgun trick awesome though? I mean, man, that was some serious effort to get the wires to work like - what?” Sam was staring at him with a look that said it all. I fucking LOATHE you, fucker. He almost had it down to a fine art, he did it so often.
Dean shook his head and stepped into the car, turning to Sam. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I am. But dude, you can’t die! Don’t you feel totally fucking awesome?”
Sam stared at him with a look of pure contempt. “It. Still. Fucking. Hurts. You dick.”
Dean shook his head, starting up the car. “Stop being such a fucking baby,” he smiled, pushing his foot down onto the accelerator. “If it were me I’d let you kill me all the time, just for the entertainment value.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t you.”
Dean glanced down at his watch, which drew Sam’s attention, and he sat up in his seat in an instant, looking nervously around the car. “Okay, what did you do?”
“Huh? Nothing.”
“Dude, you’re planning something. What is it?”
“Sam, nothing’s going on, I swear,” Dean answered quickly, staring at something in the road straight ahead.
Sam traced his line of sight, his eyes widening as he noticed what he was looking at.
“Stop the car, Dean.”
“Sam, what the fuck…”
“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!”
And in what seemed like a second, Dean had leapt from the car, sending it swerving right onto the railway tracks that were embedded deep in the road before them. There was a huge “honk” sound as the 10:11 came roaring into view.
“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, not even bothering to undo his seatbelt.
~~
After the train accident, Sam really was in the foulest mood Dean had ever seen him in.
“Hey, how about me and you go someplace?” the older of the brothers asked.
“No.”
“You can pick?”
Another “No.”
Dean had one last trick up his sleeve that he knew Sam couldn’t refuse. “How about the Zoo?”
“I’m so there,” Sam muttered, grabbing his jacket and running from the motel.
After they’d had dinner at the shitty zoo McDonalds, Sam was adamant that he wanted to see the ponies, and Dean, ever the big brother, was only too happy to oblige.
“I want one,” Sam muttered, as he ran his hand through the streak of shock black pony hair in front of him.
Dean rolled his eyes; ever since Sammy was little he’d wanted a pony. Dean, on the other hand, already had a hard time looking after one - Sam. “How many times Sam, you can’t have a pony. You can, however, go into the pony cage and get a little closer.”
Sam shook his head, stopped stroking the pony and turned towards Dean with a knowing grin. “Oh yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Send me in there and scare the shit out of it until it fucking stomps me to death!?”
Dean feigned looking hurt, “Me? Never.”
Sam shook his head again and turned away from the ponies. “I want to see an animal that couldn’t maul me to death,” he smiled to the zoo keeper, who looked more than a little confused. But he nodded, and beckoned for the two of them to follow him.
“Monkeys?” Dean asked, turning his nose up at the little creatures swinging and screaming in the enclosure before them. “Rats with arms?”
Sam laughed at that, remembering that Dean was shit scared of rats. Monkeys, it seemed, didn’t fare much higher.
“This is great,” Sam smiled, poking his finger through the cage. “Hey,” he asked the zookeeper, “is there any chance I can get in there and feed them?” Dean looked horrified, but the keeper thought it was a good idea. After all, they were only monkeys. What could they possibly do?
As soon as Sam was in the cage, Dean couldn’t help but laugh as one of the monkeys picked up a small nut and threw it at Sam’s head, who recoiled in pain. There was a roar of laughter from the monkeys, who seemed to think this was a good idea. One by one, they began to throw mass amounts of nuts at Sam, who stood there, shielding himself from the tiny amounts of food showering him.
Then, one particularly bright monkey decided it would be funny to throw an incredibly large rock at Sam’s head and that was that, he was dead again, bright spurts of blood squirting from his broken skull.
Dean was in hysterics, while the zookeeper decided to flee the scene.
~~
Since the monkey fiasco, Sam hadn’t spoken to Dean for two days.
“Aw, come on dude. When you are you gonna start speaking to me again?” Dean asked, getting on his knees in front of Sam, who was staring at the laptop in false concentration. He didn’t answer. “Come on, you have to admit, it was pretty funny. And no one forced you into the monkey pen.”
Sam finally looked up at him, and spat “If it wasn’t the damn monkeys, you’d have thought of something else!”
Dean couldn’t stop laughing, pushing himself up on Sam’s knees until he was face to face with his brother. He smirked a little, the kind of smirk that made Sam just melt and… yep, he couldn’t help it. Their lips met, tongues powerful with experience duelling for some sort of twisted ownership.
Dean won as usual, placing himself in the drivers seat. He gripped the back of Sam’s head tightly and pushed himself deeper and deeper into those amazing lips. Sam pulled away after a few seconds, breathing heavily.
“Dean, you’re not gonna kill me again are you?” he asked seriously.
“Not unless you want me to,” Dean grinned, pushing his lips back into Sam’s, who pushed away yet again.
“Seriously, I’m not doing this if God’s getting a front row seat.”
Dean shook his head, “I promise.” And he meant it, at least for now. He took Sam by the hand and led him to the small bed, pushing him back onto the duvet and standing up straight. “I think I owe you a little something, you know, for killing you. Thrice.”
Sam nodded, eyes bright with anticipation.
Dean stepped back, bowing his head. His fingers strayed towards his belt buckle and he opened it quickly, with experienced fingers (which is weird, Sam thought, how many belts has he opened?) shedding his jeans quickly, and kicking them at Sam who practically dived out of the way.
Next off came the t-shirt, and Dean did this sort of grind as he pulled the clingy material from his body, throwing that at Sam too, who decided to catch that one. So there was his big brother, standing in nothing but his boxers and greying socks. If Sam was honest, it wasn’t all that sexy. The socks boxers were killing it.
And then, Dean started to dance. Seriously, stood there in his boxers and socks, dancing. And not the sexy kind of dancing either; the kind of dancing that your uncle does at someone’s wedding. The drunken “I think I’m sexy” dance, except Dean wasn’t drunk. And this certainly wasn’t sexy.
Hilarious maybe, but not sexy. Sam couldn’t stop laughing.
Dean turned away from him, shaking his butt, which made Sam laugh even more. He turned back towards him, looking slightly hurt, a slight pout evident on his pursed lips.
“What?”
“Dude, you’re laughing at my sexy dance.”
Sam just gaped at him, “Seriously, that’s your sexy dance?”
Dean nodded, arms folded across his chest.
Sam burst into another fit of giggles, rolling around on the bed. “Oh my god, that is the most stupid thing I’ve ever seen!” he screamed, pounding the mattress with his fists.
Dean shook his head, “You dick, it’s always worked in the past. What was wrong with it?”
Sam sat up straight, the laughter disappearing in an instant. He opened his eyes and mouth wide and said calmly, “Um, everything?” Then he fell back into a fit of giggles.
Dean was severely upset, “Well fuck you, Sammy,” he started, stomping over towards his jeans and pulling his t-shirt sharply from Sam’s grip. “I happen to be one hot fucker, and you’re lucky to have me,” he finished, pulling his t-shirt back on.
Sam could see how upset his big brother was. “Um, Dean. I was just kidding.”
“Whatever” Dean muttered, turning towards the table and setting himself down.
Sam got up from the bed, walking quickly towards Dean and getting on his knees at his feet. “Seriously, Dean, I loved it. More than loved it, in fact, I am so hot for you right now.” So hot for you right now? WTF?
It seemed to work though; Dean sat up straighter and looked down at Sam with a slight, proud, grin. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sam smiled, tracing Dean’s thigh with his fingers. “I was laughing because I was so turned on.”
Dean grinned again, “Well… if you’re so turned on, why isn’t my dick in your mouth right now?”
Sam burst into a fresh fit of giggles at the way Dean had phrased it. Why isn’t my dick in your mouth right now? Ooh, butch.
Luckily, Dean didn’t go into a sulk this time. He simply bit the edge of his lip and looked patiently down at Sam.
“Oh, right,” Sam muttered, with a smile, snaking his hand up Dean’s thigh again and gripping the rock hard cock beneath his boxers.
~~
“Dude, I think I’m gonna take a bath,” Sam sighed, getting up from the bed and stretching with a quick yawn.
“Great idea, I’ll join you,” Dean muttered, jumping up from the bed and walking towards Sam.
Sam shook his head, “Alone,” he smiled, placing a soft hand on Dean’s bare chest and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, which caught Dean off guard.
“What was that for?” he asked, although it had been pleasant enough.
Sam shrugged, “Dunno,” he answered, “just wanted to.”
Dean nodded, “Well, I’m not moaning,” he smiled, slapping Sam on the butt as he walked towards the bathroom, “Damn Sammy, you letting yourself go a bit?”
“Fuck you,” Sam laughed, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Dean jumped back onto the bed, picking up the TV remote and clicking the box into life. There was a show on called “Ghost hunters” which he thought was pretty funny considering.
Experts believe this is the ghost of Mary Goose, who was electrocuted when her pet cat, Blinky, knocked her curling tongues into the bath - with her in it.
It was as if a light switch had been pressed inside Dean’s head, and he smiled evilly to himself as he got up and crept towards the bathroom. He pressed his ear against the wood, listening for the familiar sound of tinny music from Sam’s headphones. Yep, he could hear it. Bracing himself, he pushed the bathroom door open slowly, noiselessly, and crept past Sam, who was in the bath, eyes closed, his head moving in tune with the music in his ears.
Dean spotted the hairdryer on the cabinet next to the bath, and reached for it, clicking it on.
Sam heard it and opened his eyes, screaming as Dean threw it into the bath.
~~
A few hours later, Sam opened his eyes, nearly vomiting as the smell of burning flesh flooded his nostrils. The bathroom was filled with misty grey smoke, and he looked down at his body expecting to see a burnt mess.
Luckily, he’d already healed. His hair, though, was stuck out at awkward angles from his head, the ends severely singed. He grit his teeth as he stood up from the murky water, pushing angrily into the main room.
Dean was lying in bed, half naked, the TV blaring. He was giggling madly at something on screen before he noticed Sam standing there, looking like Frankenstein’s fucking Bride!
“Jesus, Sammy, it took you long enough this time,” he muttered, pointing towards the table. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
Sam shook his head, silently raging on the spot. “The… killing I can live with. But the hair? How could you?”
Dean burst into a fit of laughter, “Oh my god, dude, you look like one of those emu kids!”
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” Sam screamed, lunging towards Dean, who rolled from the bed, sending Sam face first into a pack of cheesy Doritos.
“Okay, Sam,” Dean breathed, holding up his hands, “let’s just calm down.”
Sam shook his head, jumping up from the bed. He grabbed Dean in a headlock, squeezing him tightly.
“Fuck, gah!” Dean choked, as Sam just held tighter. He smelt like a fucking Doritos factory.
And before Sam even had a chance to collect his thought and realise what he was doing, Dean was dead.
Sam just stood there, numb. He’d killed his only brother, his only family. And sure, Dean had killed him, over and over, but he always came back. But Dean wasn’t coming back. Sam knelt to check Dean’s pulse, not really realising what he’d just done. There was no heartbeat. Dean was truly dead.
Sam turned away, burying his face into his hands. Jesus, what the fuck am I going to do?
There was a cough beside him, and he turned quickly, watching in fascination as Dean got up from the floor, clicking his neck. “Dude, what the fuck?” he asked, noticing Sam’s hair again and bursting into laughter.
“Oh, it’s on,” Sam muttered, with an evil grin, a million thoughts of painful death’s for Dean buzzing through his still buzzing brain.