SPN Fanfic: Laundry Day 1/8
Title:Laundry Day - 1/8
Characters: Sam, Dean
Classification: Humour, multi-part, gen
Rating: PG13? K+? Nothing that couldn't have been televised.
Warnings: None. Smatterings of spoilers for Season 1 episodes up to and including "Nightmare"
Word Count: 1079 words
Disclaimer: Strictly for fun, not for profit.
Timeline: Set between the Season 1 episodes "Nightmare" and "Benders"
Summary: The Winchester boys do their laundry. Sounds boring, doesn't it... Sam and Dean can only wish it was.
**-Translation available: RUSSIAN (Cyrillic text file download linked on page), Translated by Pusha/mwtiz
Originally posted May 15, 2006 at fanfiction.net
(Now also available as a compiled, printable, PDF file)
Laundry Day - Part 1
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"It's 'coz of your stupid oatmeal."
"Just drop it, okay?"
"No, you and your stupid oatmeal delayed my coffee. What the hell were you thinking, Sam?"
Sam sighed, pulling his wet clothes from the laudromat washer and stuffing them into one of the last two available dryers. "I thought it would be more like real food for a change."
"Oatmeal made in a coffee machine?"
"Oatmeal made with a coffee machine," Sam said, closing the dryer and feeding in four quarters. "There's a difference. It's a student res thing. You boil the water in the coffee pot, pour it on the oatmeal..."
"I don't care, Martha Stewart!" Dean's washer spun to a stop, door lock clicking open. He pulled out a mangle of grey t-shirts and white boxers and pitched them into the lower dryer, landing with a wet 'splack'. "The bottom line is you took over the motel room coffee machine to make oatmeal, and I haven't had any coffee yet!"
"Neither have I!'
"But you've had oatmeal!"
"You said you didn't want any!"
"I didn't, I hate oatmeal. Healthy crap, who needs it!" Dean shoved the last of his clothes into the bottom dryer and shut the door.
"You know, if you hadn't been so busy tearing my head off about oatmeal for the past twenty minutes, one of us could have gone and gotten coffee."
"That's not the point."
"Really." Sam grinned, sensing a logical flaw. "So what is the point?"
Dean glanced over at his brother, then back at the dryer, feeding quarters into the slot. "Just want to get back on the road. Get in and out of Minnesota before the snow flies."
"Dean, it's May."
"Yeah, well, it'll be December by the time you get your ass in gear, Grandma," Dean stood. "I'm gonna go gas up." He grabbed keys and wallet from his almost-empty duffel bag and headed for the exit. "All I'm saying is next time, make the damn coffee first, or better yet, just make coffee, and pour that on your friggin' oatmeal." The laundromat door coasted shut behind him.
Dean gone, Sam noticed the patrons of the busy laundromat had been watching the brothers with varying degrees of alarm and amusement. He grimaced and shrugged apologetically at them, then sat to wait while his laundry cavorted in the dryer.
- - -
When Dean returned with two coffees and a bag of gas station donuts, the last of the morning rush had left and the laundromat was empty except for Sam and a dejected looking attendant pushing a mop around. Sam had his laundry out on a table, sorting his socks and looked up as Dean came around the bank of washing machines. "What took you so long, I thought you were in a rush or something?"
"All set to go." Dean set a coffee next to Sam and put the other cup and the bag of donuts at the other end. "Gassed up, cleaned out, fluids checked, even fixed that loose wire on the headlight." Dean crouched and opened the bottom dryer door.
Sam folded another pair of socks to the sound of the attendant's mop in the far corner.
"Hey... Sam...?" Dean's voice was low and challenging.
"What?"
Dean stood up, expression inscrutable, holding a pair of boxer shorts,
Sam snorted and grinned widely. "Ooo. Very nice. Love the color. Cherry blossom pink is it?"
"Dude, seriously," said Dean, dropping the tinted underwear on the sorting table and hauling the rest of the load out of the dryer, "if you want to start a prank war, you should start smaller, 'coz it'll only get nasty from here."
"I keep telling you I'm not twelve, Dean. You think I'd deliberately do something like that?"
"...maybe," he said, sorting through the pile.
Sam grinned again. "I mean, not that it isn't funny as hell... but it wasn't me. You must've got something red mixed in."
" I don't have anything red, except maybe this," Dean plucked at the collar of the rust-brown shirt he was wearing. "Besides, looks like it's not the whole load, just my damn drawers."
"Well, that's good then, at least it's not something you have to worry about people seeing."
"You're thinking of your underwear, Sammy. Trust me, my underwear has a very select and appreciative audience."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Spare me."
Dean pulled a grey t-shirt out of the pile and scrutinized it for hints of offending pinkness. "Look, if this is about me ragging your damn oatmeal..."
"Would you just shut up about the oatmeal already? I didn't touch your laundry."
Dean stared intently at Sam for a moment.
"What?"
"Nothing." Dean went back to rooting through his clothes. "I woulda swore nothing was pink when it went in the dryer."
"You probably couldn't tell on most of your clothes." Sam stuffed the last of his clothes into his duffel bag. "Ninety percent of your stuff is dark grey, brown and-"
"-Aw, no!" Dean said in dismay holding up a black tour t-shirt from some rock band.
"-and that looks like melted crayon," said Sam, grinning again.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean glared at the offending brightly coloured lines of waxy goop.
"There must've been kids in here earlier, they left crayons in the dryer, you didn't check it because you were in a hurry, and there you are." Sam gestured at the pile of clothes. "Pink underwear and a wrecked t-shirt."
"But nothing else is wrecked. Crayon would've been all over everything. It's only on one side of this one shirt," he said, shaking the article in question at Sam. "It's either you or the damned fabric softener bear," his voice dropped to a mutter, "and I'm pretty sure I shot that furry little bitch."
"What?"
"Nothing, never mind. It has to have been you."
"How could it be me?" Sam said, starting to get annoyed at the way Dean kept waving the shirt like it was a bullfighter's flag. Then he frowned and squinted at the shirt for a second.
"I don't know , maybe you-"
"-Hold on." Sam grabbed the shirt from Dean and laid it on the sorting table, pulling and folding to match up the crayon lines, streak to streak, color to color, and took a step back from the table to examine the result.
The melted crayon on the shirt clearly spelled out, in big childish block capital letters, "HELP ME"
Barely audible over the squishing of the attendant's mop on the other side of the laundromat, a quiet sob came from the machine, easily mistaken for a dryer gusting to a halt, but none of the machines were running.
Dean looked from his laundry to the empty lower dryer. "You have got to be frigging kidding me..."
- - -
(INDEX) (Part 2)
Characters: Sam, Dean
Classification: Humour, multi-part, gen
Rating: PG13? K+? Nothing that couldn't have been televised.
Warnings: None. Smatterings of spoilers for Season 1 episodes up to and including "Nightmare"
Word Count: 1079 words
Disclaimer: Strictly for fun, not for profit.
Timeline: Set between the Season 1 episodes "Nightmare" and "Benders"
Summary: The Winchester boys do their laundry. Sounds boring, doesn't it... Sam and Dean can only wish it was.
**-Translation available: RUSSIAN (Cyrillic text file download linked on page), Translated by Pusha/mwtiz
Originally posted May 15, 2006 at fanfiction.net
(Now also available as a compiled, printable, PDF file)
Laundry Day - Part 1
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"It's 'coz of your stupid oatmeal."
"Just drop it, okay?"
"No, you and your stupid oatmeal delayed my coffee. What the hell were you thinking, Sam?"
Sam sighed, pulling his wet clothes from the laudromat washer and stuffing them into one of the last two available dryers. "I thought it would be more like real food for a change."
"Oatmeal made in a coffee machine?"
"Oatmeal made with a coffee machine," Sam said, closing the dryer and feeding in four quarters. "There's a difference. It's a student res thing. You boil the water in the coffee pot, pour it on the oatmeal..."
"I don't care, Martha Stewart!" Dean's washer spun to a stop, door lock clicking open. He pulled out a mangle of grey t-shirts and white boxers and pitched them into the lower dryer, landing with a wet 'splack'. "The bottom line is you took over the motel room coffee machine to make oatmeal, and I haven't had any coffee yet!"
"Neither have I!'
"But you've had oatmeal!"
"You said you didn't want any!"
"I didn't, I hate oatmeal. Healthy crap, who needs it!" Dean shoved the last of his clothes into the bottom dryer and shut the door.
"You know, if you hadn't been so busy tearing my head off about oatmeal for the past twenty minutes, one of us could have gone and gotten coffee."
"That's not the point."
"Really." Sam grinned, sensing a logical flaw. "So what is the point?"
Dean glanced over at his brother, then back at the dryer, feeding quarters into the slot. "Just want to get back on the road. Get in and out of Minnesota before the snow flies."
"Dean, it's May."
"Yeah, well, it'll be December by the time you get your ass in gear, Grandma," Dean stood. "I'm gonna go gas up." He grabbed keys and wallet from his almost-empty duffel bag and headed for the exit. "All I'm saying is next time, make the damn coffee first, or better yet, just make coffee, and pour that on your friggin' oatmeal." The laundromat door coasted shut behind him.
Dean gone, Sam noticed the patrons of the busy laundromat had been watching the brothers with varying degrees of alarm and amusement. He grimaced and shrugged apologetically at them, then sat to wait while his laundry cavorted in the dryer.
- - -
When Dean returned with two coffees and a bag of gas station donuts, the last of the morning rush had left and the laundromat was empty except for Sam and a dejected looking attendant pushing a mop around. Sam had his laundry out on a table, sorting his socks and looked up as Dean came around the bank of washing machines. "What took you so long, I thought you were in a rush or something?"
"All set to go." Dean set a coffee next to Sam and put the other cup and the bag of donuts at the other end. "Gassed up, cleaned out, fluids checked, even fixed that loose wire on the headlight." Dean crouched and opened the bottom dryer door.
Sam folded another pair of socks to the sound of the attendant's mop in the far corner.
"Hey... Sam...?" Dean's voice was low and challenging.
"What?"
Dean stood up, expression inscrutable, holding a pair of boxer shorts,
Sam snorted and grinned widely. "Ooo. Very nice. Love the color. Cherry blossom pink is it?"
"Dude, seriously," said Dean, dropping the tinted underwear on the sorting table and hauling the rest of the load out of the dryer, "if you want to start a prank war, you should start smaller, 'coz it'll only get nasty from here."
"I keep telling you I'm not twelve, Dean. You think I'd deliberately do something like that?"
"...maybe," he said, sorting through the pile.
Sam grinned again. "I mean, not that it isn't funny as hell... but it wasn't me. You must've got something red mixed in."
" I don't have anything red, except maybe this," Dean plucked at the collar of the rust-brown shirt he was wearing. "Besides, looks like it's not the whole load, just my damn drawers."
"Well, that's good then, at least it's not something you have to worry about people seeing."
"You're thinking of your underwear, Sammy. Trust me, my underwear has a very select and appreciative audience."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Spare me."
Dean pulled a grey t-shirt out of the pile and scrutinized it for hints of offending pinkness. "Look, if this is about me ragging your damn oatmeal..."
"Would you just shut up about the oatmeal already? I didn't touch your laundry."
Dean stared intently at Sam for a moment.
"What?"
"Nothing." Dean went back to rooting through his clothes. "I woulda swore nothing was pink when it went in the dryer."
"You probably couldn't tell on most of your clothes." Sam stuffed the last of his clothes into his duffel bag. "Ninety percent of your stuff is dark grey, brown and-"
"-Aw, no!" Dean said in dismay holding up a black tour t-shirt from some rock band.
"-and that looks like melted crayon," said Sam, grinning again.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean glared at the offending brightly coloured lines of waxy goop.
"There must've been kids in here earlier, they left crayons in the dryer, you didn't check it because you were in a hurry, and there you are." Sam gestured at the pile of clothes. "Pink underwear and a wrecked t-shirt."
"But nothing else is wrecked. Crayon would've been all over everything. It's only on one side of this one shirt," he said, shaking the article in question at Sam. "It's either you or the damned fabric softener bear," his voice dropped to a mutter, "and I'm pretty sure I shot that furry little bitch."
"What?"
"Nothing, never mind. It has to have been you."
"How could it be me?" Sam said, starting to get annoyed at the way Dean kept waving the shirt like it was a bullfighter's flag. Then he frowned and squinted at the shirt for a second.
"I don't know , maybe you-"
"-Hold on." Sam grabbed the shirt from Dean and laid it on the sorting table, pulling and folding to match up the crayon lines, streak to streak, color to color, and took a step back from the table to examine the result.
The melted crayon on the shirt clearly spelled out, in big childish block capital letters, "HELP ME"
Barely audible over the squishing of the attendant's mop on the other side of the laundromat, a quiet sob came from the machine, easily mistaken for a dryer gusting to a halt, but none of the machines were running.
Dean looked from his laundry to the empty lower dryer. "You have got to be frigging kidding me..."
- - -
(INDEX) (Part 2)