Wisdom
Wisdom
Summary: Sam gets his wisdom teeth out and there's teasing.
A/N: Just a quick thing I bashed out in, like, ten minutes. I got two of my wisdom teeth out yesterday and I thought Sam should share my pain. At least I don't have a smart ass older brother to put up with...
XXX
“So, did you faint when you saw the needle?”
Sam punches his shoulder half-heartedly. “No, jerk.”
Dean grins, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of Stairway to Heaven. “I'm just saying, bitch, you've always been scared of the dentist.”
“When I was five, Dean,” Sam retorts, cradling his jaw with one hand, his words vaguely muffled by anaesthetic-numb lips.
“No, you were scared all through high school too. Don't try to make things up, I was there, holding your hand so you wouldn't bolt.”
“Sure you aren't thinking of yourself?” Sam asks, “'cause if I remember right-”
“Hey, shut up. I've never been scared of the dentist. I've just never needed to go. These pearly whites are perfect.” He flashes Sam a brilliant smile for emphasis. “Unlike your crooked excuse of a smile.”
Sam scowls, or tries to anyway. His top lip is kind of paralysed and the end effect has Dean smothering a laugh with a fake cough. “It was only the wisdom teeth growing crooked. And you know, I'm pretty sure I remember you needing a filling...”
“Lies. I've never had a filling.”
Sam frowns out the windscreen, his thinking frown, Dean notes with a feeling of dread. Maybe he should have held back on the teasing.
“No, I'm sure... did Dad have to drag you there himself?” There's a lopsided smile forming on Sam's face now. Damn it. He was hoping Sam was young enough not to remember that. “You cried!”
“I did not cry!”
“So you did get a filling.” Sam goes to smile but winces instead, rubbing his jaw. Serves him right for being a bitch.
“Fine, I got one filling.”
“And you cried,” Sam says victoriously. “Poor widdle Dean, scared of the big, bad dentist.”
“Dude, I don't care if you just had oral surgery. I will kick you out of this car.”
“You can't. You have to look after me. Dentist said I shouldn't move for the rest of the day and to allow a week for recovery.”
“A week?” Dean says incredulously. “You had a couple of teeth taken out, that doesn't need a week for recovery.”
“Yes, it does. Look, I got this bit of paper that says so.”
Dean glances over at it, halving his attention between the sheet of paper and the road. No eating or drinking for two hours post-surgery, no smoking, no drinking alcohol, only soft food...
Oh. Ha! He raises an eyebrow at Sam. “Have you read that?”
“Yeah,” Sam looks confused.
“What about the part that says you should avoid talking?”
Sam narrows his eyes at the paper, like he can change it's words by will alone. “It doesn't say don't talk at all.”
“Well, Sammy, these are pretty important instructions. I think we'd better go the whole nine yards. Wouldn't want you to get an infection or an abscess or something.”
“Dean, you can't expect me to-”
Dean turns the volume up. “Sorry, Sammy, can't hear you. Better shut up if you want me looking after you like an invalid for a whole week.”
He's pretty sure Sam makes a disgruntled noise but he can't hear it over the music and when he looks over, Sam has his arms folded over his chest and his mouth shut.
He grins to himself. This could be a lot of fun.
END