Title: A Situation
Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean's ass gets stuck in a window. Hilarity ensues.
"Just let me try."
"I got it Sam."
"Come on, just move over."
Sam nervously glanced back over his shoulder at the empty shop lined street behind them. It was early morning and devoid of anything besides a few street lamps and the pleasant median that ran down the roads center. Thoughtfully planted with an overabundance of red geraniums it looked more like a garden than a city block. The tourist towns always had a few lanes like this. Artfully made charming with manufactured historical flare and filled with antique stores, craft shops and little cafes.
And vintage jewelry dealers.
A car passed down the way on the nearby cross road. This was taking too long, you couldn't spend a whole lot of time standing in front of the door you were trying to pick before someone noticed you.
It was right then that he heard the lock shift and click as the metal tumblers were turned. His brother was in the door before he could open it all the way, Sam close behind like a shadow.
There was no other security for the place. It had a few marginally expensive items but this was no major gem market. This was for the old and curious pieces one would find more value in the act of collection and wear. Sam paused in the dark, slipping out his flash light and training it carefully on the floor so it wouldn't be seen through the front show window. It smelled closed in but pleasant. Wood oil from the floors and vaguely of coffee from a maker he spotted sitting empty behind the cash register.
Dean briefly swung his own flash light across the few glass display cases in the small shop and then did a cursory duck behind the counter.
"Not here." He said.
Sam looked around. "Over there."
It was door that either lead to a closet or down into a basement.
They took the steps they discovered straight down into a damp old space that the shop keeper used as storage. More glass cases, these slightly more dusty than the ones upstairs. Within moments Dean made a small sound of victory upon finding exactly what they had come for.
One less little piece of danger that could slip onto some unsuspecting tourist's finger. One less item that could travel from store to shop, from state to state, invisible in its malevolence.
"Let's avoid that street, shall we?" Dean nodded to the narrow cellar windows that lined the basement right up by the ceiling. He climbed up on a crate, crouching level with the opening. After quickly unlatching it, he began to haul himself up through it.
Sam clicked off his light and pocketed it, getting ready to follow. Dean was almost half way out, when he paused. Sam froze, wondering if someone had spotted him from the outside. His brother was silent. He started to move again but then suddenly stopped again.
"Dean?" Sam whispered tersely. "Come on let's go!"
Dean made to move again but once again inexplicably stopped.
His brother sagged down to his knees on the crate and appeared to try to move back inside. Sam heard Dean from the other side of the cellar wall.
"We have an ... issue." Dean said in a reasonably level voice.
Sam blinked. "What?"
Dean growled, and then suddenly and somewhat desperately, tried to displace himself from the narrow window frame once more.
Sam's concern shifted and cracked into laughter before he could help himself.
"Yes, it's hilarious, now get me outta here before the cops show up!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Sam shook his head and got closer to examine the situation. "Maybe you're just caught on something..."
Sam got up on the crate, silently grateful he hadn't been the one that went first, and felt around Dean's waist where he was stuck. Nothing caught. He tried grabbing the back of his brother's jean's just above the belt loops and decided just to yank him back in.
"What are you doin-HEY-GOD--DAMNIT--"
Even after a dozen determined attempts with subsequent louder protests from his brother, Sam couldn't get him to budge. He tried one more time as hard as he could before giving up on that route.
Dean was swearing incoherently somewhere on the other side.
Sam decided to try to shove him out the other way. Maybe it would be easier to dislodge him out the way he was already headed.
"This might hurt." Sam warned as he got a good grip on the only thing available, his brother's ass, and prepared to push as hard as he could.
Dean's tone grew serious.
"Sam, whatever you are thinking about doing, just don't do it--"
The hardest Sam could push as it turned out, was pretty hard.
"FortheloveofPETEStopSTOPstop--" Dean hissed back at him.
No dice. Man, Dean was really wedged in there.
Sam considered the problem.
"Maybe we should take your jeans off, cuz all you need is just a little bit more clearance here and then you could slide--"
"If you so much as touch my pants I'll kick you in the mouth." Dean panted.
Sam ducked out of the way when it seemed his brother was going to attempt to do just that.
But instead, in a burst of frustration, Dean once again tried to violently free himself but to no avail. His breathless flailing eventually weakened and stopped, and he sagged limply with a groan.
Sam sighed. Maybe they were going about this the wrong way.
"Ok." He patted Dean reassuringly on the backside. "I'll be right back."
The cellar stairs creaked under him as took them three at a time, the shop dark and quiet as he passed through it and out the door. Quick check of the street and it was all clear for now. He rounded the building and jogged several yards before he found what he was looking for. The other and very agitated half of his brother.
Dean had his chin resting in one hand and was drumming his fingers of his other on the pavement.
Sam lost it, he couldn't stop it if he tried.
"Yeah yeah, get it all out." Dean mumbled.
Sam calmed himself long enough to squat down and take a good look of the window frame in the dim lamplight. It seemed to be cheap aluminum that would bend fairly easily with the right tools.
"I have an idea." He declared.
If he went and got the crowbar he could get that less than a good inch he needed. That and a little brute strength and Dean would be out of there in no time flat. Sam stood up, still deeply unable to kill the smile on his face.
"Stay right here."
Dean murmured something unkind under his breath while briefly struggling with the sharp raised edge of the window under his stomach again.
Thankful that the window his brother had chosen was set far back into the alley shadows, Sam moved quickly to the car that was parked just around the corner. He grabbed the bar and with a flash of forethought and another grin, a bottle of motor oil just in case. Spotting a cop car circling the block, he ducked down another side street before they could get sight of him. Avoiding the heat, his round trip journey to the trunk and back took a little longer than he expected.
When he finally returned, he moved quickly back down the alley searching down along the rows of windows.
The one Dean had been in was now empty. He looked around in confusion. This was the exact place, he was positive.
"Dean?" He whispered hesitantly in the dark.
Just as the name left his lips he caught the tell tale flash of cruiser lights passing out on the street. Looked like someone had noticed them or their conspicuous ride after all. Leaning down low, he peered briefly with the flashlight into the cellar to see if he could make out anything. Empty.
No time to figure it out now. Sam made to get out of there but the swing and stutter strobe of returning police lights on the bricked walls halted him in his tracks. Voices. Hiss and crackle of hand held radios. He reversed his direction. He'd circumvent the fuzz and hit up the car from other side. He just had to be quick about it.
Heading the opposite way to the parallel street that lay on the alley end, he broke out of the narrow clutter of dumpsters and garbage cans and back onto asphalt. In his haste he almost ran right into the Impala as she rumbled to a stop right in his path.
Dean gestured impatiently for him to hurry it along.
Sam breathed a smile of relief and got in. He hadn't even gotten his door closed before they were already speeding down and away around the corner, headlights dark and tires squealing.
"That was pretty close." Sam remarked.
"Yup." Dean agreed.
Sam looked over at his brother sitting grimly behind the wheel.
"Losing the jeans worked huh?"
He looked down at Dean's boxer shorts and socks.
Sam cleared his throat. "Well, at least we--"
Dean cut him off with a sharp look that meant Sam should shut his trap if he didn't want to be pushed out of the car out on the highway at 90 mph.
Sam was glad he still had the crowbar.
Just in case.
Okay, Charlie actually asked for an air vent but I couldn't work that out in my head... ha ha!