Sam Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Title: Sam Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Author: sizijee
Rating: PG (for language, I guess)
Warning(s): an animal dies a horrible death!!
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1,213
Challenge: siriuslyyellow, Sam, flaming squirrel, vibrator, mocha frappuccino, "Wait. What?"
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. No profit is being made from this fanfiction.
Beta Acknowledgment: itnol
Summary: Sam's had it with Dean's immaturity. Dean thinks Sam has PMS.
A/N: I'm actually shocked that this came out as long as it did. Bitchface!Sam is so fun, though. Also, the thing with the flaming squirrel came from an actual newspaper article I found on Google. I couldn't not use it, of course.
The pillow was buzzing. Sam's eyes snapped open, and he yelped, leaped out of bed in a tangle of sheets around his legs, arms flailing in half-dreaming jabs and right-hooks at his invisible assailant. Something foul and evil and terrible had been trying to drill its way into his brain while he slept, but it was no match for the fierce Boy King!
It was a roar of laughter that snapped Sam out of his waking hallucinations, and he found that he was half-kneeling in his bed with sheets knotted around his thighs and his big hands poised dangerously at a happily vibrating pillow. Dean was rolling on the other bed, hiccuping with laughter.
"Dude! Your face!" Dean's voice cracked out between gasps for air. Sam scowled at him and sat down, then very unhappily found the present Dean had left under Sam's pillow.
"Dean." Sam held up the little buzzing vibrator with a classic expression of not-amused and WTF. "Where'd you get this?"
Dean grinned happily. "Found it. Under the bed."
The vibrator bounced on the carpet and rolled, humming, into the center of the floor. Sam heard Dean choking on fits of laughter behind him as he marched to the bathroom and shut himself firmly inside. Such was the beginning of a perfectly charming day.
@@@@@@@
"Mocha Frakkawha?" Dean was leaning over the passenger seat and staring, horrified, into the plastic bag Sam had brought back from the corner store.
Sam grabbed the bag and set it in the footwell, his jaw set firmly. He'd decided that he wouldn't throw a tantrum over the vibrator incident, so was settling for the good old bitchface treatment. "Mocha frappuccino," Sam said sharply, leveling his eyes on a telephone pole across the parking lot, and he pointedly popped the cap on one of the little glass bottles. He knew Dean was watching him with that same, wide-eyed expression, and chose to add it to his List of Reasons to Kill Dean Later.
"Dude." Dean was honestly disgusted, now, and he started the car. "Just keep that shit away from the beer. And don't drink it in front of me, Freak."
"It's hot, Dean, and this was the only cold coffee they had." When the car began to move, Sam took to glaring at the dashboard -- anything to keep from looking at Dean's face, because he knew if he did, he'd break his brother's nose.
"You got ice for the cooler, didn't you? Just use that!" Dean said pointedly, his eyes still wild and almost scared for Sam's safety every time Sam took a swallow.
Sam finally did glare directly at Dean, and it must've been a scary glint that caught Dean's attention, because Dean shut up after that -- but still kept his beer as far away as possible from the remaining five bottles in the cooler.
@@@@@@@
Sam sat on the curb in the library parking lot, sipping his third frappaccino and squinting at the glass doors of the library, behind which Dean was busy scoring a college co-ed's phone number. Their research had been a complete waste of time -- nothing but a tabloid alien abduction and an old woman hallucinating about bloodsucking bunnies -- the locals kept scowling at them funny, and the whole town reeked of manure. There hadn't been an actual hunt for weeks, and they couldn't afford the gas to get out of here because the local station only took cash and the only pool hall attracted maybe two customers every three hours. They were stuck, it was hot as Hell, and there was nothing to do but tip cows and watch squirrels chew on electricity wires.
This was exactly what Sam was doing, once he grew much too pissed-off to watch Dean any longer. He sipped his frappuccino and stared rather bemusedly at a little squirrel that was currently nibbling on a wire high above him. He took another sip, peeled the back of his shirt away from his skin (only to have it stick again even more wetly than before), checked on Dean (who was giving a pair of boobs the biggest grin in the history of Dean), and fell to watching the kamikaze squirrel again -- just in time to see the white-hot spark.
A sharp *pop* announced the spark of electricity, and Sam watched blankly as a little, furry fireball toppled from the wire, rolled down the windshield of the Impala, and disappeared into the engine.
Sam took another sip.
Smoke trickled out from under the Impala's hood.
Though it was amusing to watch Dean's first love going up in flames, this was their only means of getting the hell out of this damn town. Sam slowly got up, propped the hood open, and, with a mournful crease between his eyes and a lack of better ideas, poured what was left of his mocha frappaccino down the engine cavity. It hissed and bubbled and chocolate-motor-oil-scented steam wafted into his face.
"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean was running full-tilt and pissed-off toward Sam, snarling just as the last of the drink dripped onto the engine casing. The girl he'd been flirting with all day was left forgotten and confused in the doorway.
Sam's face hardened as he was shoved into the driver's side door, and Dean bent rigidly under the hood. Sam still said nothing, only glared at the back of his brother's head and cradled the empty bottle in his fingers.
"You poured your fuckin' yuppie shit drink down my engine!" Dean squeaked, white with rage. "Dude, I know you get pissy, but this is too far --"
"Your car was about to combust, Dean," Sam growled. "A flaming squirrel just fell into the engine compartment, and I wasted my frappuccino on putting out the fire."
Dean continued to shake angrily for a moment, then suddenly seemed to register that Sam was not, as it happened, lying. "Wait. What?"
Sam sighed, looked around him a moment, then found two long sticks in the grass by the curb and pushed Dean aside. After a couple minutes, he'd fished what was left of the squirrel out and onto the pavement.
Dean's face twisted in disgust as he shifted away, staring at the deformed little blackened thing that looked like a hockey puck.
Sam shut the hood of the car and flopped into the passenger seat, so ready to rip Dean a new one if there was any more talk about it. Thankfully, Dean just got into the driver's seat, a little shocked and confused, and started the engine. It smelled like burnt coffee.
"You're cleaning this shit up when we get back to the motel," Dean growled. Sam just pressed his head against the window and his fingers against his teeth as he watched the cow pastures go by, and tried not to throw his empty bottle at Dean's head. He'd at least have to wait til Dean wasn't driving.
@@@@@@@
Dean awoke with a start and fell out of bed and onto the floor, wrapped in blankets and clinging to the edge of the bed with wide eyes. His hand immediately went for the knife under his pillow, but instead his fingers closed around a little, vibrating plastic egg.
Sam never laughed harder.
Author: sizijee
Rating: PG (for language, I guess)
Warning(s): an animal dies a horrible death!!
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1,213
Challenge: siriuslyyellow, Sam, flaming squirrel, vibrator, mocha frappuccino, "Wait. What?"
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. No profit is being made from this fanfiction.
Beta Acknowledgment: itnol
Summary: Sam's had it with Dean's immaturity. Dean thinks Sam has PMS.
A/N: I'm actually shocked that this came out as long as it did. Bitchface!Sam is so fun, though. Also, the thing with the flaming squirrel came from an actual newspaper article I found on Google. I couldn't not use it, of course.
The pillow was buzzing. Sam's eyes snapped open, and he yelped, leaped out of bed in a tangle of sheets around his legs, arms flailing in half-dreaming jabs and right-hooks at his invisible assailant. Something foul and evil and terrible had been trying to drill its way into his brain while he slept, but it was no match for the fierce Boy King!
It was a roar of laughter that snapped Sam out of his waking hallucinations, and he found that he was half-kneeling in his bed with sheets knotted around his thighs and his big hands poised dangerously at a happily vibrating pillow. Dean was rolling on the other bed, hiccuping with laughter.
"Dude! Your face!" Dean's voice cracked out between gasps for air. Sam scowled at him and sat down, then very unhappily found the present Dean had left under Sam's pillow.
"Dean." Sam held up the little buzzing vibrator with a classic expression of not-amused and WTF. "Where'd you get this?"
Dean grinned happily. "Found it. Under the bed."
The vibrator bounced on the carpet and rolled, humming, into the center of the floor. Sam heard Dean choking on fits of laughter behind him as he marched to the bathroom and shut himself firmly inside. Such was the beginning of a perfectly charming day.
@@@@@@@
"Mocha Frakkawha?" Dean was leaning over the passenger seat and staring, horrified, into the plastic bag Sam had brought back from the corner store.
Sam grabbed the bag and set it in the footwell, his jaw set firmly. He'd decided that he wouldn't throw a tantrum over the vibrator incident, so was settling for the good old bitchface treatment. "Mocha frappuccino," Sam said sharply, leveling his eyes on a telephone pole across the parking lot, and he pointedly popped the cap on one of the little glass bottles. He knew Dean was watching him with that same, wide-eyed expression, and chose to add it to his List of Reasons to Kill Dean Later.
"Dude." Dean was honestly disgusted, now, and he started the car. "Just keep that shit away from the beer. And don't drink it in front of me, Freak."
"It's hot, Dean, and this was the only cold coffee they had." When the car began to move, Sam took to glaring at the dashboard -- anything to keep from looking at Dean's face, because he knew if he did, he'd break his brother's nose.
"You got ice for the cooler, didn't you? Just use that!" Dean said pointedly, his eyes still wild and almost scared for Sam's safety every time Sam took a swallow.
Sam finally did glare directly at Dean, and it must've been a scary glint that caught Dean's attention, because Dean shut up after that -- but still kept his beer as far away as possible from the remaining five bottles in the cooler.
@@@@@@@
Sam sat on the curb in the library parking lot, sipping his third frappaccino and squinting at the glass doors of the library, behind which Dean was busy scoring a college co-ed's phone number. Their research had been a complete waste of time -- nothing but a tabloid alien abduction and an old woman hallucinating about bloodsucking bunnies -- the locals kept scowling at them funny, and the whole town reeked of manure. There hadn't been an actual hunt for weeks, and they couldn't afford the gas to get out of here because the local station only took cash and the only pool hall attracted maybe two customers every three hours. They were stuck, it was hot as Hell, and there was nothing to do but tip cows and watch squirrels chew on electricity wires.
This was exactly what Sam was doing, once he grew much too pissed-off to watch Dean any longer. He sipped his frappuccino and stared rather bemusedly at a little squirrel that was currently nibbling on a wire high above him. He took another sip, peeled the back of his shirt away from his skin (only to have it stick again even more wetly than before), checked on Dean (who was giving a pair of boobs the biggest grin in the history of Dean), and fell to watching the kamikaze squirrel again -- just in time to see the white-hot spark.
A sharp *pop* announced the spark of electricity, and Sam watched blankly as a little, furry fireball toppled from the wire, rolled down the windshield of the Impala, and disappeared into the engine.
Sam took another sip.
Smoke trickled out from under the Impala's hood.
Though it was amusing to watch Dean's first love going up in flames, this was their only means of getting the hell out of this damn town. Sam slowly got up, propped the hood open, and, with a mournful crease between his eyes and a lack of better ideas, poured what was left of his mocha frappaccino down the engine cavity. It hissed and bubbled and chocolate-motor-oil-scented steam wafted into his face.
"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean was running full-tilt and pissed-off toward Sam, snarling just as the last of the drink dripped onto the engine casing. The girl he'd been flirting with all day was left forgotten and confused in the doorway.
Sam's face hardened as he was shoved into the driver's side door, and Dean bent rigidly under the hood. Sam still said nothing, only glared at the back of his brother's head and cradled the empty bottle in his fingers.
"You poured your fuckin' yuppie shit drink down my engine!" Dean squeaked, white with rage. "Dude, I know you get pissy, but this is too far --"
"Your car was about to combust, Dean," Sam growled. "A flaming squirrel just fell into the engine compartment, and I wasted my frappuccino on putting out the fire."
Dean continued to shake angrily for a moment, then suddenly seemed to register that Sam was not, as it happened, lying. "Wait. What?"
Sam sighed, looked around him a moment, then found two long sticks in the grass by the curb and pushed Dean aside. After a couple minutes, he'd fished what was left of the squirrel out and onto the pavement.
Dean's face twisted in disgust as he shifted away, staring at the deformed little blackened thing that looked like a hockey puck.
Sam shut the hood of the car and flopped into the passenger seat, so ready to rip Dean a new one if there was any more talk about it. Thankfully, Dean just got into the driver's seat, a little shocked and confused, and started the engine. It smelled like burnt coffee.
"You're cleaning this shit up when we get back to the motel," Dean growled. Sam just pressed his head against the window and his fingers against his teeth as he watched the cow pastures go by, and tried not to throw his empty bottle at Dean's head. He'd at least have to wait til Dean wasn't driving.
@@@@@@@
Dean awoke with a start and fell out of bed and onto the floor, wrapped in blankets and clinging to the edge of the bed with wide eyes. His hand immediately went for the knife under his pillow, but instead his fingers closed around a little, vibrating plastic egg.
Sam never laughed harder.