Fic: Tough Guy
Jul. 6th, 2014 02:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cowboyguyTough Guy
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for a couple of swear words
Summary: Originally posted as a fill for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lauehime's commentfic meme. Prompt was: Sick!Dean with his head in Sam's lap while Sam's driving the Impala. Schmoopy as you want :)
The first clue is Dean’s sudden inability to drive properly. After he nearly swerves the Impala into oncoming traffic for the third time in twenty miles, Sam demands the keys. Dean bitches and complains about it, but parks at the next gas station, anyway. He mutters angrily about control freak little brothers under his breath as he climbs out of the car and storms around to the passenger side, slapping the keys into Sam’s outstretched palm as they pass each other.
That’s the second clue. Dean doesn’t normally give up driving that easily.
While Sam disappears into the convenience store, Dean slouches down in the passenger seat, jacket wrapped tightly around himself as he scowls at everyone who walks past the car. Sam comes out of the store a couple of minutes later, with a white plastic bag that he tosses into the backseat before folding his body into the driver’s seat and pulling back onto the two-lane highway.
Dean stays silent in the passenger seat, nodding absently along with the music, and Sam doesn’t say a word, because he knows he just has to wait it out. So they continue down the highway without saying a word, with just the static-filled radio and the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine to break the silence. Dean’s got his head leaning against the window, nodding a little with the motion of the car but otherwise zoning out completely.
Sam passes the time by trying to count the number of barns they drive by, the flat land of Nebraska covered in a patchwork of neatly planted crops and fields of tall grass. After about an hour Dean stirs, and Sam figures he’s probably going to adjust the radio station or the air conditioning. Instead, Dean very quietly leans over to one side, pulls his knees up with his legs jammed against the door, and lies down with his head resting on Sam’s thigh.
“Dude, what—“ Sam starts to say, and then stops short because he honestly can’t think of any more words.
“Window’s too hot,” Dean mutters, which may be the Dean Winchester explanation for why he’s got his head in his little brother’s lap, but Sam knows it’s not the real reason.
Once he gets over his immediate surprise, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”
Dean scowls up at him and grunts an incoherent sound.
“Come on, tell me,” Sam insists. He’s been waiting to have this conversation since yesterday, and he’s not going to let Dean get away with his stupid little lies about how he’s really feeling.
Dean sighs and then finally admits, “…Dizzy. Head hurts.”
And there it is. The proof that Sam’s been waiting for. “Maybe it’s because of that ear infection you’ve got going,” he replies, glancing down to catch his brother’s reaction.
Dean looks offended. “What? No, I don’t.”
Sam huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, you forget that I’ve pretty much been looking at that side of your face for the past two days. Your ear is definitely a hell of a lot redder than it normally is. Face it, Dean. You have an ear infection.”
“I do not, Sam,” Dean insists. “Grown men don’t get ear infections.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, and I’m guessing grown men don’t get dizzy and feverish and whine like five-year-olds either, huh?”
“…You’re a five-year-old,” Dean shoots back lamely.
“Smooth, Dean.”
“…shut up.” Dean doesn’t look up, just stays curled up against Sam and stares at the dashboard in front of him.
Sam sighs and doesn’t respond. If Dean’s just gonna be stubborn about it, he feels a whole lot less inclined to be helpful and sympathetic. So they go back to the silent treatment, until they hit a bumpy section of the road a couple miles down.
It’s not really a road so much as patched-together pieces of asphalt that have probably never been repaved. Sam does his best to avoid the potholes, but it’s a narrow highway, and there are some he just can’t avoid. When they hit a particularly bad spot, Sam hisses with car-sympathy (“Sorry, baby.”) while Dean lets out a tiny, pathetic-sounding whimper. Sam glances down to see his brother laying there with his eyes closed, one hand rubbing at his forehead just above the bridge of his nose. So the headache’s getting worse, then.
“There’s Tylenol in the backseat,” Sam offers. “Heating packs and ice packs, too.”
Dean shoots an annoyed look up at Sam, but eventually responds, “…Ice pack is good. Too fuckin’ hot already…”
Sam reaches back into the backseat to grab the convenience store bag, swinging it over the top of the bench seat and rummaging through it until he grabs the ice pack. He digs it out of the box one-handed, squeezing and shaking it to activate the chemicals inside, and then gently places it against Dean’s inflamed right ear. Dean flinches a little and then relaxes, bringing a hand up to hold it against the side of his head and breathes out an almost inaudible, “…thanks.”
“No problem,” Sam responds, and silently starts to look for signs of the closest town with a motel.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for a couple of swear words
Summary: Originally posted as a fill for
lauehime's commentfic meme. Prompt was: Sick!Dean with his head in Sam's lap while Sam's driving the Impala. Schmoopy as you want :)The first clue is Dean’s sudden inability to drive properly. After he nearly swerves the Impala into oncoming traffic for the third time in twenty miles, Sam demands the keys. Dean bitches and complains about it, but parks at the next gas station, anyway. He mutters angrily about control freak little brothers under his breath as he climbs out of the car and storms around to the passenger side, slapping the keys into Sam’s outstretched palm as they pass each other.
That’s the second clue. Dean doesn’t normally give up driving that easily.
While Sam disappears into the convenience store, Dean slouches down in the passenger seat, jacket wrapped tightly around himself as he scowls at everyone who walks past the car. Sam comes out of the store a couple of minutes later, with a white plastic bag that he tosses into the backseat before folding his body into the driver’s seat and pulling back onto the two-lane highway.
Dean stays silent in the passenger seat, nodding absently along with the music, and Sam doesn’t say a word, because he knows he just has to wait it out. So they continue down the highway without saying a word, with just the static-filled radio and the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine to break the silence. Dean’s got his head leaning against the window, nodding a little with the motion of the car but otherwise zoning out completely.
Sam passes the time by trying to count the number of barns they drive by, the flat land of Nebraska covered in a patchwork of neatly planted crops and fields of tall grass. After about an hour Dean stirs, and Sam figures he’s probably going to adjust the radio station or the air conditioning. Instead, Dean very quietly leans over to one side, pulls his knees up with his legs jammed against the door, and lies down with his head resting on Sam’s thigh.
“Dude, what—“ Sam starts to say, and then stops short because he honestly can’t think of any more words.
“Window’s too hot,” Dean mutters, which may be the Dean Winchester explanation for why he’s got his head in his little brother’s lap, but Sam knows it’s not the real reason.
Once he gets over his immediate surprise, he asks, “How’re you feeling?”
Dean scowls up at him and grunts an incoherent sound.
“Come on, tell me,” Sam insists. He’s been waiting to have this conversation since yesterday, and he’s not going to let Dean get away with his stupid little lies about how he’s really feeling.
Dean sighs and then finally admits, “…Dizzy. Head hurts.”
And there it is. The proof that Sam’s been waiting for. “Maybe it’s because of that ear infection you’ve got going,” he replies, glancing down to catch his brother’s reaction.
Dean looks offended. “What? No, I don’t.”
Sam huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, you forget that I’ve pretty much been looking at that side of your face for the past two days. Your ear is definitely a hell of a lot redder than it normally is. Face it, Dean. You have an ear infection.”
“I do not, Sam,” Dean insists. “Grown men don’t get ear infections.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, and I’m guessing grown men don’t get dizzy and feverish and whine like five-year-olds either, huh?”
“…You’re a five-year-old,” Dean shoots back lamely.
“Smooth, Dean.”
“…shut up.” Dean doesn’t look up, just stays curled up against Sam and stares at the dashboard in front of him.
Sam sighs and doesn’t respond. If Dean’s just gonna be stubborn about it, he feels a whole lot less inclined to be helpful and sympathetic. So they go back to the silent treatment, until they hit a bumpy section of the road a couple miles down.
It’s not really a road so much as patched-together pieces of asphalt that have probably never been repaved. Sam does his best to avoid the potholes, but it’s a narrow highway, and there are some he just can’t avoid. When they hit a particularly bad spot, Sam hisses with car-sympathy (“Sorry, baby.”) while Dean lets out a tiny, pathetic-sounding whimper. Sam glances down to see his brother laying there with his eyes closed, one hand rubbing at his forehead just above the bridge of his nose. So the headache’s getting worse, then.
“There’s Tylenol in the backseat,” Sam offers. “Heating packs and ice packs, too.”
Dean shoots an annoyed look up at Sam, but eventually responds, “…Ice pack is good. Too fuckin’ hot already…”
Sam reaches back into the backseat to grab the convenience store bag, swinging it over the top of the bench seat and rummaging through it until he grabs the ice pack. He digs it out of the box one-handed, squeezing and shaking it to activate the chemicals inside, and then gently places it against Dean’s inflamed right ear. Dean flinches a little and then relaxes, bringing a hand up to hold it against the side of his head and breathes out an almost inaudible, “…thanks.”
“No problem,” Sam responds, and silently starts to look for signs of the closest town with a motel.
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no subject
Date: 2014-07-21 06:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-21 12:24 pm (UTC)(I was kind of worried no one liked it, but it probably had something to do with the fact that I posted the fill to the meme in the middle of the night...)
I think this is one of the shorter things that I've written, so it was really fun trying to get all of that characterization into a fic where essentially, they drive and Dean is in pain. So you saying that you could see it happening -- that's awesome. :D
no subject
Date: 2014-09-26 06:28 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2014-09-27 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-27 02:57 pm (UTC)