Plungapalooza
Title: Plungapalooza
Pairing: Sam &or/ Dean
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1333
Summary: Post 7x18 'Party On, Garth' Sam convinces Dean to take the plunge. It's not what you think.
A/N: dancetomato gave me the prompt 'plunger'. I doubt this is what the prompter meant, but it's what happened with it.
“Remember when we used to do stuff between jobs?” Sam's voice cut through the dark hotel room.
“Like sleep?” Dean muttered as he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.
“Like rock concerts or baseball games.”
When Dean didn't respond, Sam tossed a pillow across the room in the general vicinity of his head. “Road side attractions that contain a slice of Americana.”
“We just visited a brewery.” Dean said into his pillow.
Sam shook his head, sat up and turned on the light. “Doesn't count.”
Dean lifted his head and peered across the room at Sam, eyes squinting at the light. “Aren't you working on a sleep deficit?”
“Dean, that was weeks ago. Besides, I slept in the car today.”
“Well I didn't, lemme sleep.”
“Dean...”
“Fine. Pick something and tell me about it in the morning.”
“Really?”
A sarcastic quip was on the tip of his tongue, but Sam's voice sounded so...Sam...that Dean had to look away. He sounded like old-Sam. And by old-Sam he meant young-Sam of the 'old-take-on-the-world-days', not old-Sam of the 'recent-beaten-down-days'.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Dean talked into the pillow again, smiling slightly “...bitch.”
“Jerk.”
In the morning, Dean emerged from the shower to a cheerful Sam who was being helpful. He was packing bags and doing stuff he usually grumbled about. He'd even ventured out into the cold to get coffee from the Dunkin' Donuts across the street, complete with a box of munchkins. He's already had a couple because there was powdered sugar on his lip.
Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam acting so normal, so un-haunted, so comfortable in his own skin without the devil on his back. So Dean stared a bit longer than he normally would, just watching Sam without looking for anything, without diagnosing. And that's when he noticed it. When Sam put the laptop back in his bag, he had a mischievous look on his face like the time he super-glued Dean's hand to.... oh crap.
“You didn't put itching powder in my shorts, did you?
“What?” Sam honestly looked so confused that Dean decided his shorts were probably safe. Still, he inspected his clothing before getting dressed.
“First, some ground rules...” Dean began as they locked up the hotel room.
“Oh no. You didn't say anything about rules. You said pick something. So I did.” He swore he could actually see Sam's brain digging in his heels when he said that.
“You think I'm just going to let you drag me off to some museum or art gallery or something, you're crazy.”
"Would I do something like that to you?"
"Yes."
"No. You'd do something like that to me."
"I would never drag you off to an art gallery," Dean was indignant, "unless it was a job or something."
Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean unlocked the door to the crap car of the week. "If there's not beer involved, I'm not going."
“Yes you are, you promised we would. Head East on I-70.”
Dean knew very well he promised no such thing and he knew that Sam knew it, too. Not that it would have mattered, Dean usually let Sam have his way in these sorts of things. There hadn't been these sorts of things since Dean couldn't remember when. And the way he was acting, it was like Sam was a petulant teenager all over again - which was all sorts of annoying and awesome at the same time. “Are you even going to tell me where we're doing?”
“Sandy Point Beach. It's only a couple hours away.”
“The beach. In January. It's the cold-ass crack of dawn in January and you want to go to the beach?”
Sam just smiled and turned to look out the window. His fingers tapped in time with the song on the radio, a woman singing something about dreams and growing old and summer days. Dean hummed along and decided the beach sounded like a mighty fine idea. He didn't even care why they were going, just that Sam seemed pleased with whatever he was cooking up. That was enough.
Traffic thickened as the drew near the beach. A skinny kid wearing a bright orange vest was waving flags with enough boredom that he'd probably been there all morning. He directed them to a line of cars parked on an open field. Dean pulled into a spot, killed the engine and looked at Sam.
“So. This it?”
Sam smiled and got out of the car. “Looks like it.” His face was excited as he reached into the back seat for his back-pack. “Let's hope we haven't missed the late registrations.”
“Registration for what?” Dean asked as they made their way through the crowd. He stared at a gaggle of college girls wearing bikinis. “Nice.”
Dean narrowly avoided collision with man wearing bermuda shorts and a hat that looked like it came from Doctor Seuss when Sam pulled him into a line and gave him a brochure. “Here, fill this out.”
Dean began reading the brochure.
16th Annual Polar Bear Plunge**
- No change will be given at registration. Please have exact change only.
- Plungers MUST Plunge inside the designated Plunge Zone. Only registered Plunge participants will be granted to the secure Plunge Zone.
- Absolutely NO DIVING allowed.
- Plunge attire is swimsuit and/or athletic gear (shorts, t-shirts, etc.). Wetsuits, however, are strictly prohibited.
“No,” he slapped the brochure on Sam's chest and turned to walk off, “just.... no. You're crazier now than you were last month.”
“There's a beer garden.”
“Not worth it.”
“It'll be fun.”
“No.”
“Invigorating.”
“Not happening.”
“Dean, please. You said...”
Against his better judgement, Dean turned around and looked at Sam. “Why? Just... tell me why.”
Sam shrugged. “Because I've never done it before.”
Of course Dean caved. How could he not? Forty minutes later, he was wearing a pair of shorts Sam pulled out of his back pack and his old Led Zeppelin t-shirt, worrying about what sort of shrinkage he could expect. A bull horn sounded and the crowd raced towards the water, sweeping Dean and Sam up in their wake.
The water was cold, but not as cold as Dean had expected. The crowd didn't really swim in it, apparently the point was to splash around a bit and then get out. It still sounded like buckets of lame crazy until he saw Sam smiling at him. A big smile, with dimples and all. Not that Dean would admit that Sam had been right, but it had totally been worth it.
Donning their Official Plunger Participant sweatshirts - and dry pants - Sam and Dean wandered around the vendors area. The Polar Bear Plunge was sort of a big deal in these parts, and the festival that came along with it was like a county fair.
There was even a band and, as Sam had promised, a beer garden. Dean couldn't decide between the pit beef and the Italian sausage, so he ordered both. Sam even ordered something fried and there wasn't a single vegetable in sight.
The band wasn't half bad, and the beer was cold. Well, to be fair, most everything was cold. It was January after all. Crazy. Dean figured there there was just enough daylight left to get a few hours in on the road.
“You ready to hit the road?”
Sam was consulting the festival brochure. “Yeah, I just want to stop at one more thing.”
“Something more exciting than the sand castle contest?”
“Says the man who drove half a day to see the world's largest ball of twine.” Sam replied, not missing a beat. He stood and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “I think it's this way.”
“What are we looking for?”
Sam walked past the pit beef vendor, past the curry stand, past the funnel cakes and finally found it. Miss Suzie's Pie Shack, offering six varieties of homemade pie.
“You didn't think I'd make you jump in freezing cold water for nothing, did you?”
I tag wolfling with the prompt 'treasure hunt'.
((P.S. I posted with an AO3 link and it went into moderation queue. I don't think that's supposed to happen, so I'm posting directly to the comm sans the AO3 link which apparently can be edited in after you post, how bizarre. I hope I'm not double-posting into the mod queue.... /derp))
Pairing: Sam &or/ Dean
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1333
Summary: Post 7x18 'Party On, Garth' Sam convinces Dean to take the plunge. It's not what you think.
A/N: dancetomato gave me the prompt 'plunger'. I doubt this is what the prompter meant, but it's what happened with it.
“Remember when we used to do stuff between jobs?” Sam's voice cut through the dark hotel room.
“Like sleep?” Dean muttered as he rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.
“Like rock concerts or baseball games.”
When Dean didn't respond, Sam tossed a pillow across the room in the general vicinity of his head. “Road side attractions that contain a slice of Americana.”
“We just visited a brewery.” Dean said into his pillow.
Sam shook his head, sat up and turned on the light. “Doesn't count.”
Dean lifted his head and peered across the room at Sam, eyes squinting at the light. “Aren't you working on a sleep deficit?”
“Dean, that was weeks ago. Besides, I slept in the car today.”
“Well I didn't, lemme sleep.”
“Dean...”
“Fine. Pick something and tell me about it in the morning.”
“Really?”
A sarcastic quip was on the tip of his tongue, but Sam's voice sounded so...Sam...that Dean had to look away. He sounded like old-Sam. And by old-Sam he meant young-Sam of the 'old-take-on-the-world-days', not old-Sam of the 'recent-beaten-down-days'.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Dean talked into the pillow again, smiling slightly “...bitch.”
“Jerk.”
In the morning, Dean emerged from the shower to a cheerful Sam who was being helpful. He was packing bags and doing stuff he usually grumbled about. He'd even ventured out into the cold to get coffee from the Dunkin' Donuts across the street, complete with a box of munchkins. He's already had a couple because there was powdered sugar on his lip.
Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam acting so normal, so un-haunted, so comfortable in his own skin without the devil on his back. So Dean stared a bit longer than he normally would, just watching Sam without looking for anything, without diagnosing. And that's when he noticed it. When Sam put the laptop back in his bag, he had a mischievous look on his face like the time he super-glued Dean's hand to.... oh crap.
“You didn't put itching powder in my shorts, did you?
“What?” Sam honestly looked so confused that Dean decided his shorts were probably safe. Still, he inspected his clothing before getting dressed.
“First, some ground rules...” Dean began as they locked up the hotel room.
“Oh no. You didn't say anything about rules. You said pick something. So I did.” He swore he could actually see Sam's brain digging in his heels when he said that.
“You think I'm just going to let you drag me off to some museum or art gallery or something, you're crazy.”
"Would I do something like that to you?"
"Yes."
"No. You'd do something like that to me."
"I would never drag you off to an art gallery," Dean was indignant, "unless it was a job or something."
Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean unlocked the door to the crap car of the week. "If there's not beer involved, I'm not going."
“Yes you are, you promised we would. Head East on I-70.”
Dean knew very well he promised no such thing and he knew that Sam knew it, too. Not that it would have mattered, Dean usually let Sam have his way in these sorts of things. There hadn't been these sorts of things since Dean couldn't remember when. And the way he was acting, it was like Sam was a petulant teenager all over again - which was all sorts of annoying and awesome at the same time. “Are you even going to tell me where we're doing?”
“Sandy Point Beach. It's only a couple hours away.”
“The beach. In January. It's the cold-ass crack of dawn in January and you want to go to the beach?”
Sam just smiled and turned to look out the window. His fingers tapped in time with the song on the radio, a woman singing something about dreams and growing old and summer days. Dean hummed along and decided the beach sounded like a mighty fine idea. He didn't even care why they were going, just that Sam seemed pleased with whatever he was cooking up. That was enough.
Traffic thickened as the drew near the beach. A skinny kid wearing a bright orange vest was waving flags with enough boredom that he'd probably been there all morning. He directed them to a line of cars parked on an open field. Dean pulled into a spot, killed the engine and looked at Sam.
“So. This it?”
Sam smiled and got out of the car. “Looks like it.” His face was excited as he reached into the back seat for his back-pack. “Let's hope we haven't missed the late registrations.”
“Registration for what?” Dean asked as they made their way through the crowd. He stared at a gaggle of college girls wearing bikinis. “Nice.”
Dean narrowly avoided collision with man wearing bermuda shorts and a hat that looked like it came from Doctor Seuss when Sam pulled him into a line and gave him a brochure. “Here, fill this out.”
Dean began reading the brochure.
16th Annual Polar Bear Plunge**
- No change will be given at registration. Please have exact change only.
- Plungers MUST Plunge inside the designated Plunge Zone. Only registered Plunge participants will be granted to the secure Plunge Zone.
- Absolutely NO DIVING allowed.
- Plunge attire is swimsuit and/or athletic gear (shorts, t-shirts, etc.). Wetsuits, however, are strictly prohibited.
“No,” he slapped the brochure on Sam's chest and turned to walk off, “just.... no. You're crazier now than you were last month.”
“There's a beer garden.”
“Not worth it.”
“It'll be fun.”
“No.”
“Invigorating.”
“Not happening.”
“Dean, please. You said...”
Against his better judgement, Dean turned around and looked at Sam. “Why? Just... tell me why.”
Sam shrugged. “Because I've never done it before.”
Of course Dean caved. How could he not? Forty minutes later, he was wearing a pair of shorts Sam pulled out of his back pack and his old Led Zeppelin t-shirt, worrying about what sort of shrinkage he could expect. A bull horn sounded and the crowd raced towards the water, sweeping Dean and Sam up in their wake.
The water was cold, but not as cold as Dean had expected. The crowd didn't really swim in it, apparently the point was to splash around a bit and then get out. It still sounded like buckets of lame crazy until he saw Sam smiling at him. A big smile, with dimples and all. Not that Dean would admit that Sam had been right, but it had totally been worth it.
Donning their Official Plunger Participant sweatshirts - and dry pants - Sam and Dean wandered around the vendors area. The Polar Bear Plunge was sort of a big deal in these parts, and the festival that came along with it was like a county fair.
There was even a band and, as Sam had promised, a beer garden. Dean couldn't decide between the pit beef and the Italian sausage, so he ordered both. Sam even ordered something fried and there wasn't a single vegetable in sight.
The band wasn't half bad, and the beer was cold. Well, to be fair, most everything was cold. It was January after all. Crazy. Dean figured there there was just enough daylight left to get a few hours in on the road.
“You ready to hit the road?”
Sam was consulting the festival brochure. “Yeah, I just want to stop at one more thing.”
“Something more exciting than the sand castle contest?”
“Says the man who drove half a day to see the world's largest ball of twine.” Sam replied, not missing a beat. He stood and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “I think it's this way.”
“What are we looking for?”
Sam walked past the pit beef vendor, past the curry stand, past the funnel cakes and finally found it. Miss Suzie's Pie Shack, offering six varieties of homemade pie.
“You didn't think I'd make you jump in freezing cold water for nothing, did you?”
I tag wolfling with the prompt 'treasure hunt'.
((P.S. I posted with an AO3 link and it went into moderation queue. I don't think that's supposed to happen, so I'm posting directly to the comm sans the AO3 link which apparently can be edited in after you post, how bizarre. I hope I'm not double-posting into the mod queue.... /derp))