Strange Brew 2/10
Title: Strange Brew
Author: safiyabat
Artist: stormbrite
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Dean Winchester
Word count: 51,698 (fic) / 5,407 (chapter)
Summary: The Winchesters discover that they aren't looking for a vengeful spirit after all. Sam goes to the library.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Frank discussion of bodily functions
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No, really.
Sam took to his training with vigor for the next week and a half. His father had told Dean that he would be allowed to go to the library program, but that didn’t mean that permission wouldn’t be rescinded the moment that he made himself too inconvenient or the second that he did something to prove to his father that he was too disobedient to be allowed out in public. He couldn’t summon anything that resembled enthusiasm for training, but he showed up and didn’t try to avoid the workouts even when they left him with bruises that covered his arm or with half of his body numb in the mud.
He didn’t think it had any effect on his father’s opinion of him. John complained about his slowness - “How do you think you’re going to back us up and watch your brother’s back if you can’t even keep up with him on the simplest run, boy?” - and he complained about his weakness -“You call that a punch? I’ve had girls slap me harder than that!” If anything, he pushed Sam further. Instead of five-mile runs every morning he demanded ten. Instead of an hour of strength training he wanted an hour and a half. It wasn’t enough for Sam to spar with Dean, Sam had to spar with John too, and John didn’t go easy on him.
Shooting practice still had to happen, too, and they had to take even more time with it than normal. “After all, it’s not like you can hit even a stationary target with a bow, never mind a moving target.”
Sam bit back on the obvious retort - the bow had a heavier pull than he was, he shouldn’t even be able to draw it never mind be able to shoot straight. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he knew he had something to lose by it. He took his required shots and he fired the guns his father demanded the required number of times, and when he was done he stood off to the side and didn’t move a muscle while his brother and his father had their fun.
“What kind of a freak doesn’t want to shoot guns at ten years old?” John sneered.
“Maybe he’s just a late bloomer, Dad,” Dean tried, glancing at Sam.
“No room for late bloomers in this army, boy,” John snapped.
Sam supposed that he should be happy. At least John was talking about him like he was part of “his Army” again, instead of like some useless piece of luggage.
John still went out most nights, although not all. He didn’t stumble back home every night, though. Some nights he seemed to be sober, coming in grim-faced and filthy to stare at his sons by flashlight. Dean never woke when their father came home. Sam pretended to be asleep.
Finally, the first Tuesday of the summer break came. John drove Sam to the town library, an ancient stone building right in the center of Tully with windows so warped that they might have been original to the building. “Hope you remembered the way, boy,” John grumbled from behind sunglasses, despite the overcast day. “Your brother and I have too much work to do to come pick your spoiled ass up from the damn library.”
“Of course, sir. Bye, Dean.” He closed the door behind him and raced up the steps to the front entrance.
The summer program was meeting in the children’s section, of course. Sam found himself slowing as he approached the brightly painted room. What was he thinking? He didn’t belong here. He was already too much of a freak for something like this. On a day like today - sunny, and already about eighty-five at nine o’clock in the morning - he had to wear a long-sleeved flannel to cover up the bruising on his arms and it wasn’t even like he owned shorts. Not shorts that he could wear outside, anyway. The other kids were going to laugh at him, standing there in clothes that hadn’t been new when they’d belonged to Dean.
He stuck his head into the room. There were maybe nine other kids in there, six girls and three boys, and he wasn’t the only one in obvious hand-me-downs. Two women - probably late teens or early twenties, he thought - stood at opposite sides of the room; both of them turned to look at him now. One of them, with golden hair and green eyes, he even recognized as the girl from the grocery store. She gave him a welcoming smile. “Hey, now, I’ve seen you before. Your family just moved to town, right?”
Sam nodded, uncomfortable with so many eyes on him. No matter how often he went through the New Kid Ritual, he never got comfortable with it.
“Well, welcome to Tully. I’m Star, this is Chantal, and we’re the counselors here at Camp Library.” Some of the kids tittered. “Hey, it’s got a better sound to it than ‘Rural Onondaga County Library Enrichment Program.” Sam had to admit that she had a point. “What’s your name?”
“Sam,” he admitted.
“Okay, Sam. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? We’re going to hang out for a little while and then at ten we’re going to head down into one of the conference rooms to watch Star Wars.”
“What should I do?” the boy murmured, looking around.
“Just grab a book or a magazine or whatever. If you’re interested in crafts or whatever we can talk about that after lunch, okay?” Chantal beamed at him.
Sam cast about for a place to sit. The three boys had a table to themselves, but they had a distinctly unwelcoming look to them, the kind that came with being larger than Sam and knowing it. It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t handle himself, it was that he knew how it would go for him if he did. He found a seat to himself over in a corner, near the section marked “YA.” He’d find something in the more serious history section the next time.
It didn’t take long for someone to slide into the seat next to him. He tensed and looked up, but the girl didn’t seem to be poised to attack. She grinned at him and held out a freckled hand. “Hi,” she greeted. “My name’s Susan.”
“Sam,” he introduced, shaking the hand. The girl’s hand had an impressive array of calluses he hadn’t found on many girls, not since Lancaster County anyway. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Same here,” she told him, tossing a red braid behind her head. “We don’t get a lot of people moving to Tully.”
He squirmed. “I guess my dad got a job here or something. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying. It seems nice enough though. Pretty.”
“Oh, there isn’t anyplace in the world as pretty as Central New York,” she told him with the certainty of religious conviction. “Everyone knows that. Where did you come here from?”
“Uh, West Virginia. We move around a lot though. I think I’ve lived in thirty-six of the lower forty-eight states, and I’m only ten.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” she said with a low whistle. “Do you have a favorite?”
“It’s hard to say,” he had to confess. “There’s good things and bad things about all of them, but we don’t really go to any of them for fun and there are some of them that I don’t remember at all. I think I was probably born in Kansas, but I don’t remember it. I don’t remember much about Colorado or Nebraska either. South Dakota is supposed to be nice, but everything I remember is pretty scary and the guy we stayed with owns a junkyard so we didn’t exactly get to see the ‘pretty’ parts.” He made himself smile a little bit. Maybe if he didn’t remember the thing with the truck driver, or with Silas, he wouldn’t remember Bobby Singer’s place the way he did. “I like Minnesota, but that’s because we’ve got someone there who lets me read as much as I want. I don’t really notice if the area is pretty or not.”
Susan laughed at him. “So I guess the library is kind of your natural environment?”
“I guess. What about you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure, I like to read, but I’m not, like, a bookworm. My sister’s Star and our moms decided that the best way to keep me out of trouble on the farm was to send me with her to the library thing while she worked. I’d rather be playing outside. I like to run and climb trees, get into stuff. Explore, you know?”
He nodded. “That stuff’s okay. My dad’s really into that stuff, so getting to come here and read is kind of like a treat for me.” He paused. “You’ve got two moms?”
She laughed again. “More like five. We all live together on the farm. But Star and I have the same mom, like, from birth too. It’s a nice way to live. Someone’s always got the time to talk to you or play with you.”
Sam took a second to wonder what it might be like to have five or six dads, to always have someone with the time to devote attention to him and his shortcomings. “How do you live with that?”
He knew he’d made a mistake when she tilted her head at him. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he backtracked. “It’s nothing. Is the library well furnished?”
She hesitated for a moment. It was clear that she wanted to say something, but she followed his lead. “Um. Well, they don’t have a lot of girly things, but I think that they have plenty of grown-up things in that section. My moms always seem to find what they like.”
“What do they usually like to read?” Somehow Sam didn’t think he’d have much interest in “girly stuff” from the kids’ section, although he certainly wasn’t above reading a princess book if that was what he could get his hands on.
“Hey, Suze,” Star interrupted, ruffling her little sister’s hair. “I see you’re making a new friend. Sam, how’re you holding up?”
“I’m doing okay,” he admitted. “Um. What if we want to read something that’s not in the children’s section?”
She blinked. “I’m sure that would be okay. It’s not like library cards have age restrictions on them.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, um. I’m not sure we’re going to be around long enough to get a library card. My dad’s job - we move around a lot.” He looked down.
She didn’t miss a beat. She didn’t even look like she felt sorry for him. “Okay. Well, I’m pretty sure we can put a book on hold for you. That shouldn’t be a problem, if you need to. After lunch you can go ahead and look around in the stacks for a while. Just check in every half hour or so, okay?” Perfect teeth flashed from behind pink lips.
Why couldn’t Dean get crushes on a woman like this?
“Thanks, Miss Star,” he blushed.
“It’s just Star, Sam. This isn’t school. It’s supposed to be fun for all of us, okay?” She glanced at the time. “I don’t think we’re likely to get anyone else today. What do you say we start talking about the movie?” She stood up.
Sam pulled out a notebook and got ready to take notes. “What are you doing?” Susan hissed.
“Trying to learn something?” he hissed back.
“It’s summer! It’s not for learning anything,” she marveled.
“Okay, everyone. Today we’re going to be watching Star Wars. It’s the first of three movies in a series - a trilogy. Has anyone ever seen any of these movies before?” A couple of the boys had, but most of the other kids hadn’t. Sam hadn’t either, although he knew his father and brother both had. They talked about it all the time.
Between Star and Chantal, they talked about what to expect from the movie. Then they all got marched downstairs to sit and watch the classic on a pull-down screen. Sam had to admit he was entranced. Poor Luke had been just going about his business when literally everyone he’d ever loved had been killed. All he had left was this old man - who struck Sam as being kind of creepy, to be honest - and a couple of robots. Also the poor guy got stuck with supernatural powers, and anything like that made you a monster. Dad said so, Dean said so, and Luke was lucky that they didn’t have hunters in his world because if they did the poor kid would have to dodge hunters as well as the empire.
He also had to go run around with Han Solo, and Han Solo reminded Sam of Dean but without being an actual big brother.
He tried to take notes without writing anything incriminating down. The wookie, Chewbacca, might have been his favorite character. Well, maybe the wookie. Maybe Princess Leia. She wasn’t any kind of fairy tale princess. She looked danger in the eye, she stood up for herself and her people, and she grabbed a gun and fought for herself. She didn’t just sit there and wave her arms around helplessly the way TV and movie writers made girls do so much of the time. He’d never met a girl who did that kind of stuff in real life, the helpless flailing, but TV writers seemed to be pretty sure about it.
After the movie they had lunch. Sam didn’t expect that he’d be hungry, he wasn’t usually very good at food, but when Star put that grilled chicken salad in front of him his mouth started watering. “These are for us?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yeah, some stupid do-gooder gave the town a grant to serve ‘healthy’ lunches,” sulked one of the boys. Sam thought he’d heard someone call him Donny. “Now whenever we do a program like this we have to eat salads and celery instead of burgers and chips and it sucks.”
Sam couldn’t summon up the slightest bit of sympathy. He just opened up his container and dove right in. When Donny saw him cleaning out the plastic shell, his eyes widened and he passed his half-eaten salad over to Sam. “Here. I hate lettuce.”
Sam knew that he should say no, that charity was something that Winchesters should be above, but this wasn’t charity. This was normal, a boy who hated something giving his surplus to someone who loved it. A redistribution of the lettuce, so to speak. He accepted it with gusto, passing his milk on to the boy beside him.
They talked about the movie as they ate. Chantal got the conversation off to a start by asking that they go around and say who their favorite character was. Most people declared either for Luke or for Han, which was unsurprising. One girl declared for R2D2, and another for Darth Vader. When they got to Sam, Sam admitted that his was Princess Leia. This got him roundly mocked, by girls as well as boys, but Star silenced them all and asked Sam to explain himself.
“She’s not intimidated by anyone,” he told them. “Even when she was scared, she didn’t let them intimidate her. She didn’t let them break her. She grabbed a gun and fought too, she didn’t let Han Solo push her around. She told them when they were being stupid and even though she was young she was part of planning the assault on the Death Star. That means that she was considered smart, that her intelligence was valued. She was just as important, just as key to winning those fights, as the guys were. Without her they never would have gotten out of the Death Star alive.”
One corner of Star’s mouth quirked up. “That’s a good point, Sam. Leia’s contribution to the fight gets overlooked, but she was just as important as Luke or Han. And she got to be the clever one while she did it. Out of everyone on that ship somehow it’s the teenaged girl who figures out that they’re too short to be stormtroopers?” The other kids laughed, and they moved around to questions about the movie.
One of the boys wanted to know how lightsabers worked. He found himself directed to the science section, to look up lasers and how a laser could be used to cut. The other boy wanted to know about robots, as did a couple of the girls. They found themselves encouraged to go study robotics. Two other girls had questions about the cultures on Tattooine, the Sand People and the Jawas, so they got sent off to look up different desert-dwelling cultures. The other girls were fascinated by the hovercraft; they had to know how to make one for themselves. Sam privately thought that might be more of a challenge than a couple of days’ research in a rural public library could provide, but they got sent into the stacks nevertheless.
Sam’s question was a little harder. “So,” he asked, alone with the counselors. “Luke had abilities, right? I mean, powers, senses, beyond what normal humans could do.”
Chantal winced at his grammar, but she nodded. “Go on.”
He resolved to do better but pressed on with his question. “Was Luke human?”
Both of the teens startled at the question. “Was he human?” Star repeated. “What do you mean, was he human?”
“Well, I mean, my dad says that any kind of powers or anything like that, anything beyond what a normal person can do, that would have to come from the devil, right?” He was fudging here. Dad didn’t necessarily believe in the devil, but he did believe in evil and in Hell.
“Your father must be very religious,” Chantal told him as Star took his hand.
“Look, Sam,” the green-eyed girl said, getting closer to his height so she could meet his eyes. “If an athlete - say, a baseball player - got a higher batting average than anyone else, would that be from the devil?”
“Not necessarily. I mean, it could be just from practice. Anyone can practice really hard and get really good.” Sam paused.
“Not everyone,” she corrected him. “Some people just have a natural talent that others don’t. Joe DiMaggio just had a natural talent. So did Reggie Jackson. No one else could reach what they’d done, and they were definitely human.”
“Okay, but most people can still hit a ball. Maybe not as well, but they can still hit a ball. Most people can’t hit a ball with their mind.” Sam forced a grin. “I mean, I know it’s not real, it’s just a movie.”
“But it’s important to remember that everyone’s got different talents, and everyone’s got different beliefs. Not all abilities and talents and beliefs that come from a different framework than the one we grew up with necessarily come from the Devil.” She offered him a smile, although her eyes still seemed troubled.
“Okay,” he lied.
“You had a specific subject you wanted to research when you came in here, am I right?” Chantal prodded.
“Not really. I guess I just wanted to know more about the area.” He shrugged.
“How about if you go look up some books about local connections to the Underground Railroad?” Star suggested. “Central New York had a lot of connections with the Underground Railroad; I’m pretty sure you’ll find something you’ll like. I’ll make sure we hold it for you.”
Sam found a book almost immediately, tracing routes through Onondaga County right through the end of the Civil War. The book absorbed him completely and he took careful, detailed notes as he read, right up until the day came to a close.
By the time five o’clock rolled around Star seemed to have forgotten her distress at his question, and she took his book and marked his place and gave it to the counter staff to hold for “the summer program.” That would satisfy Dad’s requirement that there be no official record of his attendance, Sam thought happily. All in all it had been a good day and he had a spring in his step throughout the long walk back out to the trailer.
Dad and Dean were waiting for him when he got home. “Took you long enough,” Dad snarled. “Your brother and I were waiting on you! Where have you been? That thing was supposed to be over at five!”
“It was over at five, sir,” Sam replied. “The library is six miles away.”
“You couldn’t have run?” the patriarch spat. “You couldn’t have put a little bit of effort into getting home to your family? There’s been another death and your brother and I’ve been sitting here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for you when we could have been out looking for the cause of death, or looking for the killer! One hundred knuckle push-ups, now!”
Sam sighed and got down onto the ground to obey. He could object; he shouldn’t be punished for taking the time to walk home when there had been no other option given. It wasn’t as though he should have known to run home, after all. Objections floated to the tip of his tongue, but one look at his brother’s face and they all floated away. He could hold back, he could do it for Dean. Dean had gotten him permission to go to the library in the first place, after all.
His arms trembled by the end of the exercise, and his cheeks burned with humiliation, but he kept his mouth shut and stood to attention at the end. His father looked him in the eye at the end of it. “You be here when we need you to be here. Do you understand me, boy?”
Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Dean stepped on his foot. “Sir,” he said instead.
“The only thing for you is this family. Everything else is a distraction. If the distractions are too much for you - if we can’t trust you to be where we need you when we need you - then we’ll have to cut out the distractions,” John continued, stepping into Sam’s space.
The boy clenched his hands into fists. Dean intervened. “So, Dad. About that body?”
John shook himself out of his rage. “Right. Let’s go see what we can find out. Get in the car, Dean.”
“What about Sammy, sir?” Dean jerked his head at his brother. “Do you want to bring him along?”
John rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can trust him not to take off. At the same time, something’s out there killing people and I don’t trust him by himself. He’d better come along.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He’d rather stay in the trailer, safely behind salt lines, than go out into a world where ghosts took aim at the living. Still, he made no complaint as he clambered into the backseat and slouched down.
The victim had been killed in Preble, a small town just a little way down Route 81 from Tully. It wasn’t much of a town, Sam thought, and as the Impala wound its way toward the death site he couldn’t help but think that this probably wasn’t much of a case. He didn’t have a lot of faith in his father’s ability to tease out the wheat from the chaff when it came to the supernatural. Sure he found cases, real cases of the supernatural. He found plenty of cases where people had simply died of natural causes, too, or just succumbed to plain old generic murder. Not every death had to come from some hell-driven source; sometimes people just sucked, or sometimes life did.
When they got to the site, which had been cleared by the police as natural causes already, Sam figured that this would be just another case of the latter. The guy had died at an ice cream shop, one foot in his pickup truck and one foot out. The woman behind the counter hadn’t seen anything like it in all her years, she didn’t mind telling them. Bees had just swarmed up from out of nowhere, thousands of the little bastards, and stung him like there was no tomorrow. He’d screamed a few times, but no one could get near him. “On account of the bees, see,” she pointed out, utterly unperturbed by the fact that a man had died. When life was extinguished they’d flown away again, scattered to the four winds.
Authorities hadn’t gotten around to towing the truck yet. As Dad talked to the ice cream woman Sam elbowed Dean and beckoned to him, bringing him over to the truck. Maybe he’d brought a bee’s nest over in his truck or something? He’d heard sometimes wasps built nests in people’s side mirrors or something; maybe he could find some sign of it in the undercarriage. “Keep a lookout for me,” he urged his brother, and got down onto the ground.
“Oh my God, Sammy, that’s just gross, this is a public parking lot!” Dean skeeved. “People probably peed there!”
Sam scanned the underbelly of the large, hefty pickup truck. “I don’t see a bee’s nest. And who seriously just pees in the middle of a parking lot, Dean? That’s gross. You’re gross.”
“Sometimes you’ve just got to go, Sammy, especially if you’ve been in the car for a really long time. Come on, man, get up. Dad’s going to see!” All Sam could see of his brother were his feet, but he seemed to be hopping from foot to foot.
Sam took another look and spotted something small out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a little bag, maybe made out of flannel or something. “I found something, Dean, but it doesn’t seem to have much to do with bees. Get me something to pick it up with.”
Dean’s face appeared next to his, concerns about parking lot hygiene lost. “What is it, Sammy?”
Sam pointed. “That.”
Dean paled. “That? Don’t touch that. But the good news is that Dad’s definitely going to want to see it.”
Their father did want to see it. When he saw it, he picked it up with a piece of grimy silk that he had in his pocket. “I’m not exactly thrilled about you going off on your own, boy, and we’ll talk about that later, but it’s good that your brother stopped you from touching it.”
“What is it?” Sam ignored the implied criticism. He knew they’d “talk about it” later. He knew that no matter what he’d done, what he’d found, he’d be found at fault somehow.
John glared at the perceived disrespect. “It’s a hex bag. This is no vengeful spirit, boys. We’re dealing with witches.”
Dean sprang back. “Witches?” he hissed, just barely remembering to keep his voice down. “Aw, man! I hate witches!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t know anything about witches, dumbass.”
“I know I don’t like ‘em, bitch!”
“Jerk!”
“Stow it, boys,” John rumbled. “I’ve got to go buy you some ice cream so this wacky old broad doesn’t realize anything’s up.”
Sam frowned after his father. Somehow “wacky old broad” didn’t seem like a great way to talk about someone, especially when they’d been so helpful with the information, but he hadn’t started puberty yet and he was a “late bloomer” or whatever so maybe he would understand that someday. Dean didn’t seem to be at all troubled by it, and they both got ice cream so Sam kept his mouth shut.
John went out that night. Sam wasn’t surprised. He lay on his bedroll on the floor, stomach cramping, and turned to his brother as soon as he heard the Impala speed away. “Hey Dean?”
“What is it, Sammy?”
“What do you know about witches?”
The elder Winchester sighed. “What do you want to know about witches for, Sammy? You thinking of kissing one?”
He screwed up his face, not that Dean could see. He couldn’t imagine ever kissing a girl, even if it was just for luck like Leia had kissed Luke in the movie. “Well, if we’re supposed to be fighting witches I think that I should know what they’re like, don’t you?”
Dean groaned. “Geez, you’re toxic tonight. If Dad wants you to know he’ll tell you, okay?”
“But what if I find a witch and I don’t know it?” He hissed out a long, slow breath as his stomach gave an exceptionally painful objection to something he’d eaten. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Sammy, it’s not like I know a lot either, okay? I mean, Dad doesn’t tell me until I need to know either, you know? And I doubt that you’re ever going to be on your own for this case. I mean, Dad’s probably not even going to let me come out with him on this. Witches are dangerous things, Sammy.” Dean sighed. “I could totally take one, of course. It’s just that Dad won’t let me. He makes me stay here and take care of you.”
“I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself just fine.”
“Sure you can, Sam. Can’t even shoot a bow straight.”
“I could if it were a bow sized for me. They make those, you know.” He rolled over, hoping that the cramping would abate if his position changed. It didn’t. “What about the witches, Dean? Come on. I need to know.”
Dean sighed. “We need to open a window in here.”
“Can’t. It would break the salt lines,” Sam retorted. “What do they look like?”
“They look like people, I guess. I mean they can probably do some kind of spell to make themselves look like anything, but for the most part they just look like people. They all say that they do ‘natural’ magic, just dancin’ with the moon and crap, but they’re full of shit. They’re getting their power by making deals with dark forces, Sammy, and don’t you forget it.”
He thought about Luke Skywalker. “Like the Jedi?”
“What? No, dude. The Jedi are awesome. They’re the good guys.” Dean squirmed on the couch. “But the Jedi aren’t real. Nobody just has powers that are good and even some of the Jedi went bad. Look at Darth Vader.”
Sam sat up. Nausea shot through him and he regretted it. “What?”
“Oh. Whoops. I can’t believe we haven’t made you sit down and watch the rest of those movies.” Dean chuckled. “Well, sorry about that.”
“We’re going to watch Empire next week,” the younger brother grumped, flopping back down.
“But yeah, think about it like that. Ultimately it all comes from evil, and we can’t take the chance that anyone with any kind of magic or powers isn’t going to go Vader on us at some point. They’re still supernatural, Sammy, and if it’s supernatural, we kill it. Witches especially, because they made an unholy deal.”
The boy scoffed. “Like you’d know from holy. You dumped vodka into the holy water at Pastor Jim’s the last time we were there.”
“I thought it was a harmless prank, Sammy.” Sam couldn’t see his brother, but he could hear the affected innocence in his tone. He could just imagine the angelic pose the teen was adopting, even now. “How was I supposed to know that the priest had no sense of humor?”
“He hosts AA meetings there, Dean!” Sam squawked. “Anyway, what’s so bad about witches? Do they all get power from evil deals?”
“Pretty much. We can’t take the chance that this one or that one didn’t. Like I said, they’ll go darkside eventually. Besides, they’re just… they’re gross, alright?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Dean squirmed again. “I mean, a lot of their spells need, like, stuff.”
“Stuff?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Eye of newt, stuff like that?”
“Sometimes. And, like, uh…” He dropped his voice. “Bodily fluids.”
“Oh.” Sam inched further away from his brother. “Gross!”
“I’m telling you, Sammy. They’re downright unsanitary, leaving their specimens all over the place like that.”
Sam reserved comment. He knew that Dean could be fairly unsanitary himself - after all, Sam did the laundry more often than not. He didn’t think it would increase brotherly harmony to point this out, though. Instead, he rolled over again. “Good night, Dean.”
“Good night, Sammy.”
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