Rating: PG - wee!Chesters - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Sammy drinks 100 metric tons of kool aid at 3AM & Dean considers euthanasia.
“Are you sleepin’?”
The words whipped him right out of the bright vivid swirl of dreams that he had when he couldn’t sink down into any real rest. Dean kept his eyes closed, groaning at the maddening itch of the shag carpet under his cheek. He’d dropped off lying on his side, pinning one arm underneath his body and the other tossed over his head. Moving around made his trapped limb tingle hot and numb at the same time. It had gotten cold too. He shifted in his thin T-shirt and wished he’d kept a flannel on. Finding all incoming sensations unpleasant, he curled into a ball and willed his mind to shut back off. Fade to black. Fall back into that sluggish landscape of technicolor chaos.
“Hello?” Sammy tried again.
His brother always assumed a faultless position whenever purposely disturbing any slumber being enjoyed without him. Dean wasn’t sure where the kid had learned how to make his demands seem like questions. It wasn’t as if it was fooling anybody. There wasn't anyone around to trick besides him anyway and Dean had the drill book memorized. The wood planks under the rug thudded as Sam dropped down onto the floor. Dean wondered when his six-year-old brother had started to constantly smell like a strangely agreeable mixture of fruit rollups and play dough.
The direct shout into his face made Dean give up and open his eyes.
Sam was kneeling a few inches away with his forehead resting on the floor to observe Dean upside down. Complete with a red dyed moustache and an unassuming air of feigned surprise, his brother quickly explained the violation of airspace.
“Thought you were sleepin’.”
Dean rolled over onto his back and looked groggily at the television. He remembered trying to stay awake long enough to watch the news but some old guy was taking forever with the boring parts. The endless drone about money and unpronounceable countries couldn’t hold his attention no matter how hard he stared. Judging from the late night talk show that was now playing instead, he had missed all the nightly local broadcasts. The arm that had fallen asleep really started to really prickle and burn.
Sitting up slowly, he glanced over at the table he’d left his brother sitting at. A loaf of bread was open along with a half a jar of peanut butter and the jelly jar scraped clean. A banana peel sat like a sloppy bookmark in an old activity book that Sam liked to do over and over again. The pencil marks had been erased so many times that the print was as worn through as the paper. A spilled glass of toxic red juice explained why the motel room smelled like the Kool-Aid Man had exploded within its confines. The mess reminded Dean uncomfortably of a staged Hollywood crime scene. The sickening coy scent of sweetened food dye made him want nothing but a clear cup of plain water.
Dean got to his feet and stretched hard enough to get dizzy.
“Are you up now?” Sam asked hopefully.
Pouring from the electric kettle, he settled for the mineral deposits clouding the cooled boiled stuff than the rusty crap that came out of the sink. Gulping it down he ran through the checklist of things that would require his immediate consideration. Sam had fed himself so he wasn’t hungry. It was pretty late but he obviously wasn't tired enough to be in bed. The channel was still tuned to the network where Dean had left it so that eliminated the possibility of Sammy having had freaked himself out with a stupid cable show. For some reason the only movie channel they could get had been running crazy World War II flicks all week.
Now that he was assuredly conscious, Sam was giving him some leeway. Kind of. He was hovering by Dean’s elbow at the counter and waiting for all the slow water drinking to get over with.
Dean’s gaze wandered back over to the noisy television. Sam could watch fake blood fly all night but that creepy stuff about the Nazis got him all strung out. All Dean knew about those horror movies was the fact that they were actually real but he had a feeling that sharing that detail wouldn't do much to put the brakes on all the tearful waterworks. He wasn’t big on cutting his brother off from the best babysitter in the universe but desperate times called for whatever. Dean refilled his cup and picked up a half chewed peanut butter sandwich that was sitting safely outside the nuclear puddle on the table.
“Wanna play a game?” Sam asked.
“Wanna play 'Operation'?”
“It got batteries in it!”
Every time those tiny pliers hit the closed circuit buzzer in the organ shaped slots it gave Dean a fucking heart attack. He bit into the gooey sandwich and immediately regretted it.
“Lea’ ma alone.” He had to drink some more water to unglue his mouth. “Go ta ‘ed.”
“Wanna play Checkers?”
“Chinese Checkers?” Sam amended.
Dean looked doubtfully at the pile of board games they owned. Unless they had magically multiplied while he had been passed out on the floor then there were only three options and they all sucked.
Sam wasn't tapped for ideas quite yet.
“Wanna go to the pool?”
The mention of the coveted diversion caused all scattered thoughts to refocus. Sam hadn’t ever shown any prior interest for the pastime but Dean figured it was because he couldn’t handle a cue stick without accidentally pole-vaulting. As soon as Dean’s legs had gotten long enough he’d played whenever the halls would let him in or neglected to kick him out. He had figured out that the waitresses didn’t mind as much when he came in the daytime and no one was around. He glanced at his watch. It was almost 2AM. Even if they were somehow miraculously granted access to a bar all the tables would be taken.
“It’s too late.” Dean heard the disappointment in his own voice. “But we could go tomorrow? I’ll show you how to break—“
“No.” Sam helpfully pointed out the window. “The pool.”
The over-chlorinated hole in the ground that seconded as a trash bin for all the loose garbage that blew over the parking lot was the motel’s only source of entertainment. That and the soda machine next to it that always spit back a dollar’s worth of change no matter what you put in it. However, Sam’s amusement for mild chemicals burns and the lamest slot machine of all time had died a quick death within the first 24 hours of their stay. Besides it wasn’t exactly a great month of year to go swimming. Especially not in the middle of the night when it was cold enough to start turning the rain into sleet. Dean suddenly spotted the bag of sugar sitting on the counter by the plundered canister of Kool-Aid.
“Aw, geeze.” He tipped the nearly depleted bag over. “How much of this stuff did you drink?”
Sam hopped up and down a few times in agitation. “Wanna play cards?”
Dean fell back into the room’s only comfortable chair and watched Sam anxiously measure the beats of silence that weren’t filled with any negatives. Before Dean decided to change his mind, Sam breathlessly scrambled for the pack of playing cards that they kept in the drawer along side Gideon’s bible.
“I’ll shuffle!” Sam told him.
Dean frowned when his brother spread the cards out on the floor and started pushing them around.
“That’s the girl way.” He shook his head. “If we’re playin’ cards you’re gonna learn how to shuffle for real.”
Eager to get to the game and humming like a livewire, Sam wasn’t interested in slowing down to learn jack shit at the moment.
“Fine.” Dean said. “Then I’m hittin' the sack—“
His brother hurriedly started shoving the messy pile back into the stack like it should be.
“I get to call wild.” Sam mumbled over the tedious task of getting all the cards together in the same direction. “Two wilds!”
There was no necessity to ask what those might happen to be. Sammy had a consistent weird thing for queens and the number 9. His brother carefully split the deck and impatiently waited for Dean to stop cracking his knuckles and perform a demonstration. Sam sobered up a little from his sugar high when he saw the blurred procedure of the two stacks sizzling neatly together. When the tidy shuffled pack was grabbed for an enthusiastic attempt at the same results, Dean got ready to duck any rogue flying cards.
Over the years he’d found there were a few things he could do just fine even if he was only half awake. Some he had to struggle through to provide his undivided attention, however some jobs were as simple as eating a piece of cake.
Dean yawned and rubbed at his eyes.
If they actually got around to it, letting his brother think he won a few poker games would hardly require any effort at all.