Live By the Motto
I forgot to post this (unlock this) back when I wrote it last year. So, here it is.
Title: Live By the Motto
Author: tcs1121
Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: humor
Disclaimer: These characters were created by Eric Kripke and do not belong to me. No money exchanges hands. All for fun.
A/N: Written last year for a Dean-Focused Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic Meme sponsored by hoodietime
Summary: From a prompt offered by 4422shini:
Dean sleepwalks or does other activities while sleeping (like eating or cleaning the knives). Sam thinks it's hilarious until Dean ends up hurting himself somehow
~~*~~*~~
It doesn’t happen a lot…maybe once every three or four months…but when it does, it always happens between 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning, and it always starts with a chuckle. Sam, the Boy Scout Wannabe, always has the things he needs put aside; he likes to be prepared.
For years, Dean had trouble getting to sleep, staying asleep and waking from sleep. Sam always figured that Dean’s brain had a hard time shutting down all the way, but when it finally did, Dean was a bear to rouse. An ugly, bitchy, mean, bear with bad breath.
Until one night, over a decade ago, when, in a drunken teen-age stupor from mixing too much Natural Light beer with way too much Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, Dean rose from the roll-out, sauntered over to the small motel sink and washed the water glasses, plastic forks and spoons and plucked the soda cans and cardboard coffee cups out of the trash and washed them off, too. Inside and out. With a tooth brush. When finished, Dean had given a contented sigh, climbed back under the covers and woke in the morning with a smile on his face.
Sam chalked it up to bad booze brain damage. It didn’t take long for Sam to discover that in this twilight alpha sleep state, Dean was easily directed.
Sometimes Sam set up photo opportunities, like the time he handed Dean a Teddy Bear he’d won that night sharpshooting at the local carnival and a hair brush- just to see what Dean would do with them. It turned into pure Polaroid gold.
Sometimes he was more practical and gave Dean a needle and thread and three pairs of holey underwear and five toe-less socks. And there was that time where Sam placed a spoon, a bowl, two gallons of milk and three family-sized boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios on the table.
Sam only did that once.
Tonight, as Sam slept with his arm curled over Dean’s chest, he heard the familiar low giggle that always heralded these episodes. He looked up and saw Dean leaning against the headboard with a dreamy expression on his face, and drool dripping down the right side of his neck.
Sam smiled, crawled out of bed, and tugged on his jeans. It’s show time.
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly blinking but never fully opening his eyes when Sam turned on the bedside lamp. Sam grasped Dean’s wrist lightly and tugged. Dean snickered softly and stood swaying; staring at a point somewhere over Sam’s left shoulder. Taking Dean’s hand in his, Sam led his very naked brother into the bathroom where a full roll of paper towels and a large bottle of Windex were stored under the sink.
Once again, Sam gave thanks for the Boy Scout motto he lived by.
Sam took his implements of instruction and tore several sheets of paper towels, scrunched them into a wad and handed them, and the window cleaner, over to his brother.
They were staying in a small efficiency apartment and in this one, the bathroom had glass doors rather than shower curtains. Dean went to work. The doors, the mirror, the little window in the shower, and the porcelain sink were Windexxed to within an inch of their Harvest Gold lives. Sam watched in prideful awe as his big brother tore off sheet after sheet, and squirted generous amounts of blue fluid onto them, attacking any reflective surface he could find. While in the process, soaking his hands, arms, chest and, oddly, his knees with the crystalline alcohol-based solvent.
Dean moved out from the bathroom to the kitchenette, cleaning the sink, the faucets, the counters, the top of the little gas range.
A little gas range that had a lit pilot light.
Sam watched in slow motion as Smiling Dean emptied the rest of the Windex onto a large triple handful of paper toweling, raised the burners to clean under them and saw the whole mess burst into flames when Dean brushed it past the ancient, unshielded pilot light.
“Shit, Dean, no!” Sam bolted across the small space, grabbed Dean by the shoulders and turned the water on at the kitchen sink.
Dean shook his head, waking at the sound, and looked down in disbelief as his hands were being consumed by flames.
“Sam? Shit! Fuck! Sam?”
The first casualty was the arm hair. Up in smoke from knuckles to elbow with a snap, crackle and a pop. Not a follicle remained to tell the tale.
“Put your hands under the water!” Sam shouted, bending Dean over the sink.
“Why am I on fire, Sam?” Dean lowered his head down to look into the burning rubble of paper towels and forearm hair and, whoosh, there went the eyelashes and eyebrows.
“Goddammit, Dean! The water! Put your head in the water and put your goddamn fire out!”
Sam yanked the sprayer from the sink and squirted Dean’s arms, hands and face.
In retrospect, Sam realized that it may not have been the smartest of moves as the cold water startled Dean into rearing backwards. And now, all of Dean’s chest hair-sparse though it was-twinkled away to ash and crumbled to the ground.
Dean wobbled side to side to regain his balance and stared down in horror. Sam’s eyes followed where his brother’s were pointing. Oh shit.
“Oh, shit.”
“Sammy?”
Dean’s treasure trail had ignited, and tiny dots of flame were moving inexorably downward at an alarming rate.
“Oh, no way! Not on my watch!” Sam shouted. He body slammed Dean against the Avocado Green counter, taking them both to the floor, turning it into in a drop and roll a deux.
It was 4:30 AM before Sam got his brother settled in bed with some burn cream and pain killers. Dean wasn’t asleep, and each inhale caused him to wince. The damage left by the burning Windex was mostly cosmetic. Alcohol burns in a flash, and it just took Dean’s window cleaner soaked hair along for the ride. His skin was pink and healthy except for two blistered fingers and the palm of his right hand where he held the burning paper towel a little too long. However, they were both going to have to get used to seeing an eyebrow-less Dean for a while.
Sam’s method of fire extinguishing did indeed preserve his brother’s pubic hair and potential ability to procreate, but the body move to the Avocado Green countertop had done its damage. Two cracked ribs and a broken left pinkie toe.
To be fair, those ribs had just finally healed so they couldn’t have been all that strong.
Sam stroked his fingers along Dean’s hairless chest and stomach. “How you doing?”
“M’okay.” Dean scooted up in the bed while Sam’s fingers wandered lower. “Mmm. Really okay.”
“You know, Dean, I could get used to this new look, you know?”
“Aw, Sam. You know you’d miss the stubble.”
“Yeah, maybe, but still…” Sam’s hand headed on its downward voyage.
“So, tell me again,” Dean gasped as Sam’s fingers continued their journey through the hairless terrain. “Why you never mentioned me sleepwalking.”
“It’s never been a problem, Dean. You usually just got up, took a few steps and lay back down. Almost like readjusting your position in bed.”
“Huh.” Dean nodded to himself. “You’d let me know if I ever did anything embarrassing, right?”
“You know I would.”
Dean wrinkled his forehead where just a few hours ago there used to be eyebrows, and cocked his head to the side.
“Really, Dean, I would.” Sam raised three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor
~~FIN~~
Title: Live By the Motto
Author: tcs1121
Characters: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: humor
Disclaimer: These characters were created by Eric Kripke and do not belong to me. No money exchanges hands. All for fun.
A/N: Written last year for a Dean-Focused Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic Meme sponsored by hoodietime
Summary: From a prompt offered by 4422shini:
Dean sleepwalks or does other activities while sleeping (like eating or cleaning the knives). Sam thinks it's hilarious until Dean ends up hurting himself somehow
~~*~~*~~
It doesn’t happen a lot…maybe once every three or four months…but when it does, it always happens between 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning, and it always starts with a chuckle. Sam, the Boy Scout Wannabe, always has the things he needs put aside; he likes to be prepared.
For years, Dean had trouble getting to sleep, staying asleep and waking from sleep. Sam always figured that Dean’s brain had a hard time shutting down all the way, but when it finally did, Dean was a bear to rouse. An ugly, bitchy, mean, bear with bad breath.
Until one night, over a decade ago, when, in a drunken teen-age stupor from mixing too much Natural Light beer with way too much Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, Dean rose from the roll-out, sauntered over to the small motel sink and washed the water glasses, plastic forks and spoons and plucked the soda cans and cardboard coffee cups out of the trash and washed them off, too. Inside and out. With a tooth brush. When finished, Dean had given a contented sigh, climbed back under the covers and woke in the morning with a smile on his face.
Sam chalked it up to bad booze brain damage. It didn’t take long for Sam to discover that in this twilight alpha sleep state, Dean was easily directed.
Sometimes Sam set up photo opportunities, like the time he handed Dean a Teddy Bear he’d won that night sharpshooting at the local carnival and a hair brush- just to see what Dean would do with them. It turned into pure Polaroid gold.
Sometimes he was more practical and gave Dean a needle and thread and three pairs of holey underwear and five toe-less socks. And there was that time where Sam placed a spoon, a bowl, two gallons of milk and three family-sized boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios on the table.
Sam only did that once.
Tonight, as Sam slept with his arm curled over Dean’s chest, he heard the familiar low giggle that always heralded these episodes. He looked up and saw Dean leaning against the headboard with a dreamy expression on his face, and drool dripping down the right side of his neck.
Sam smiled, crawled out of bed, and tugged on his jeans. It’s show time.
Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, slowly blinking but never fully opening his eyes when Sam turned on the bedside lamp. Sam grasped Dean’s wrist lightly and tugged. Dean snickered softly and stood swaying; staring at a point somewhere over Sam’s left shoulder. Taking Dean’s hand in his, Sam led his very naked brother into the bathroom where a full roll of paper towels and a large bottle of Windex were stored under the sink.
Once again, Sam gave thanks for the Boy Scout motto he lived by.
Sam took his implements of instruction and tore several sheets of paper towels, scrunched them into a wad and handed them, and the window cleaner, over to his brother.
They were staying in a small efficiency apartment and in this one, the bathroom had glass doors rather than shower curtains. Dean went to work. The doors, the mirror, the little window in the shower, and the porcelain sink were Windexxed to within an inch of their Harvest Gold lives. Sam watched in prideful awe as his big brother tore off sheet after sheet, and squirted generous amounts of blue fluid onto them, attacking any reflective surface he could find. While in the process, soaking his hands, arms, chest and, oddly, his knees with the crystalline alcohol-based solvent.
Dean moved out from the bathroom to the kitchenette, cleaning the sink, the faucets, the counters, the top of the little gas range.
A little gas range that had a lit pilot light.
Sam watched in slow motion as Smiling Dean emptied the rest of the Windex onto a large triple handful of paper toweling, raised the burners to clean under them and saw the whole mess burst into flames when Dean brushed it past the ancient, unshielded pilot light.
“Shit, Dean, no!” Sam bolted across the small space, grabbed Dean by the shoulders and turned the water on at the kitchen sink.
Dean shook his head, waking at the sound, and looked down in disbelief as his hands were being consumed by flames.
“Sam? Shit! Fuck! Sam?”
The first casualty was the arm hair. Up in smoke from knuckles to elbow with a snap, crackle and a pop. Not a follicle remained to tell the tale.
“Put your hands under the water!” Sam shouted, bending Dean over the sink.
“Why am I on fire, Sam?” Dean lowered his head down to look into the burning rubble of paper towels and forearm hair and, whoosh, there went the eyelashes and eyebrows.
“Goddammit, Dean! The water! Put your head in the water and put your goddamn fire out!”
Sam yanked the sprayer from the sink and squirted Dean’s arms, hands and face.
In retrospect, Sam realized that it may not have been the smartest of moves as the cold water startled Dean into rearing backwards. And now, all of Dean’s chest hair-sparse though it was-twinkled away to ash and crumbled to the ground.
Dean wobbled side to side to regain his balance and stared down in horror. Sam’s eyes followed where his brother’s were pointing. Oh shit.
“Oh, shit.”
“Sammy?”
Dean’s treasure trail had ignited, and tiny dots of flame were moving inexorably downward at an alarming rate.
“Oh, no way! Not on my watch!” Sam shouted. He body slammed Dean against the Avocado Green counter, taking them both to the floor, turning it into in a drop and roll a deux.
It was 4:30 AM before Sam got his brother settled in bed with some burn cream and pain killers. Dean wasn’t asleep, and each inhale caused him to wince. The damage left by the burning Windex was mostly cosmetic. Alcohol burns in a flash, and it just took Dean’s window cleaner soaked hair along for the ride. His skin was pink and healthy except for two blistered fingers and the palm of his right hand where he held the burning paper towel a little too long. However, they were both going to have to get used to seeing an eyebrow-less Dean for a while.
Sam’s method of fire extinguishing did indeed preserve his brother’s pubic hair and potential ability to procreate, but the body move to the Avocado Green countertop had done its damage. Two cracked ribs and a broken left pinkie toe.
To be fair, those ribs had just finally healed so they couldn’t have been all that strong.
Sam stroked his fingers along Dean’s hairless chest and stomach. “How you doing?”
“M’okay.” Dean scooted up in the bed while Sam’s fingers wandered lower. “Mmm. Really okay.”
“You know, Dean, I could get used to this new look, you know?”
“Aw, Sam. You know you’d miss the stubble.”
“Yeah, maybe, but still…” Sam’s hand headed on its downward voyage.
“So, tell me again,” Dean gasped as Sam’s fingers continued their journey through the hairless terrain. “Why you never mentioned me sleepwalking.”
“It’s never been a problem, Dean. You usually just got up, took a few steps and lay back down. Almost like readjusting your position in bed.”
“Huh.” Dean nodded to himself. “You’d let me know if I ever did anything embarrassing, right?”
“You know I would.”
Dean wrinkled his forehead where just a few hours ago there used to be eyebrows, and cocked his head to the side.
“Really, Dean, I would.” Sam raised three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor
~~FIN~~