Title: No Chick Flick Moments

Author: tarotgal
Rating: G (Gen)
Disclaimer: Not my boys! No money made!

Spoilers: Set during the pilot (I recently re-watched the first episode and this popped into my head)
Summary: Dean gets all wet and muddy.


No Chick Flick Moments


Hoisting himself up from the bridge support, Sam looked down into the darkness below. “Dean!” he spotted his brother inching out of the river and onto the stony banks. “Hey, are you all right?”


With great effort, Dean flipped over, angling himself in Sam’s general direction. “I’m super,” he said, raising a hand to gesture that he was a-okay. Or as okay as one could be after falling from a bridge into freezing cold water and being covered in mud while dragging one’s self out.


Sam checked the car, but whatever ghost had driven it looked to be gone now. When Dean made it back, he did a more thorough survey of his baby. Apart from succeeding to piss off Dean even more, no damage had been done.


“So where does the job go from here, genius?” Sam sat against the hood of the car, beside Dean. Dean threw his arms up in sort of a muddy, dripping shrug. And Sam, turning his head, flaring his nostrils told him, “You smell like a toilet.”


Dean gritted his teeth. “Gee, I can’t imagine wh-why. Hep’uuffffff!” He sneezed, half restrained, spraying into the cool night air. He pulled a blue bandanna out of his pocket and rubbed at his nose. Then he wiped his face, neck, hands.


“Sure you’re all right?”


Dean nodded.


They got back into the car, Dean wincing as his muddy, soaking self eased behind the wheel at the driver’s seat. Sam knew he liked getting the car dirty even more than actually being dirty. Sam cranked up the heat to help Dean dry out a little faster. Even so, he sneezed five more times on the way to the first crappy motel they could find in town.


“Want me to check out Dad’s room while you take a shower?” Sam asked, grabbing his bag out of the back of the car.


“Nah.” Dean hovered in front of the door as casually as possible. He rubbed a finger under his nose to keep from sneezing and drawing more attention to them while Sam picked the lock to room 10. Just like riding a bike, Sam managed it faster than expected, then hauled Dean inside with a quick grab to the collar of his jacket.


If Sam hadn’t grown up with a father like John Winchester, he would have marked this as the room of a crazy man. It was covered in photos, news clippings, computer printouts of articles. Images about demons and devils and ghosts, along with lines of salt and shells to keep those very things out filled the space. It was obsessive and dark. And suddenly Sam felt right at home for the first time since he’d left Stanford. He pointed to photo of the woman in white’s husband, standing by that very bridge the day after she died. “If I were Dad, though, I’d go ask her husband. If he’s still alive.”


“All right. Why don’t you see if you can find an address. I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” Dean turned, heading toward the bathroom.


This was the time to say it, to apologize for what he’d said about their parents when they’d been up on the bridge.


“No chick flick moments,” Dean declared, holding up a hand, cutting Sam off.


“All right, jerk.”


“Bitch.” He made it to the doorway of the bathroom before snapping forward at the waist with a wet, “huhh-Chschhhhh!” Then he slithered out of his jacket, which fell heavy and damp to the floor.


A photo tucked into the frame of the mirror caught Sam’s eye. Dad. Dean. And him. He didn’t look particularly happy in it, but the three of them were in it together. And that was exactly how Sam remembered it. Whether he’d liked it or not, at least they’d all been together.




Sam glanced over at the bathroom. “You sure you’re all right?”


 “Shut up. I’m fine!” The water from the shower started, only partially masking a soft series of coughs and sniffles.


Sam dug around in his bag, pulling out a box of cold pills, half still in their blister packs. “You sure? ‘Cause I’ve got—”


Dean threw the door open. A towel held around his waist and clump of toilet tissue in his hand, he used his free hand to snatch the box out of Sam’s grip. He looked it over, nodded thanks, and then closed the bathroom door. Sam heard the sound of the blister pack rattling in the box, the running of a faucet, and Dean blowing his nose.


Sam shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed with a pile of Dad’s notes.