Is It Hot In Here? 2/3

[soncnica]

Title: Is It Hot In Here? 2/3
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
Word count: cca. 3.300
Summary: Dean's got a poisonous thorn stuck somewhere in his body… Sam will have to heat up the knife.
Warnings: Umm none? Maybe some blood?
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is not mine! NOT MINE!
A/N: My notes can be found in the story.

Hehe, apparently my mind took erm a mind of its own and it started working in its own crazy ways so… this story is like… chapter 1: define the problem, chapter 2: locate the problem, chapter 3: destroy the problem. And THAT WAS NOT my initial plan… this story was supposed to be a one shot! *headdesk* So, one more chapter to go!

And you will find all kinds of grammar and spelling mistakes in this chapter… I'm blaming the holidays for that!

Enjoy…

Dean sits down; he more or less collapses down on the bed and loses his ass in the soft mattress that had been giving his back problems for the last three days that they've been stuck in this no name town in this no name motel room; just one of many, he thinks when the urge to puke everything he ate in the last few hours comes to him again.

The motel room that just, argh, sucks ass, man. Green-yellow-gray-blue, blue for crying out loud, walls and carpet and curtains and widows that have seen better days, soft mattresses, soft pillows, water that looks like coffee when you first open the pipe, television that only gets three channels if you're lucky and the wind blows in the right direction.

Just one of many motel rooms… come to think about it… they had worse.

He sighs and lets his head fall between his shoulders, almost hitting his chin on his chest that came out of nowhere so fast, but a sharp pain in the back of his neck stops the collision. He feels a thick drop of sweat rolling down his nose and sees it fall onto the third yellow triangle from his left foot.

He wiggles his toes and the carpet swallows up the drop of sweat.

"Okay, this isn't gonna work," comes Sam's voice from somewhere very, very close to him and then he sees Sam's boots crush the third and forth yellow triangle a little to the left of his right foot and wants to cheer Sam on – kill the fuckers, kill them all – but stays silent, because he doesn't want Sam to know that he's kinda maybe in the process of losing his freakin' mind.

But he has to say something otherwise Sam will bitch and bitch and bitch, so he says the only word that, to his melting brain, seems appropriate: "Whaaaath?"

He feels hot… he feels so hot he's sure he's starting to liquefy for sure now; he's melting and his skin is gonna start to run down his bones any minute now and that is gonna be so awesome, because yeah… just awesome. And then maybe Sam will have mercy on his pride and clean him up from the carpet, or just leave him for the maid to find a puddle on the carpet and…

"Okay, stand up," he's interrupted by his brother's voice, just as he's starting to imagine the maid cleaning up the weird puddle on the carpet and muttering to herself about crazy drunken people leaving crap everywhere. He raises his head up and looks first at Sam's chest and then looks a little bit more up and sees Sam's face that's really serious and very calm.

Get up? He just got down, for crying out loud, and the mattress is already starting to become hot underneath his ass and oh hell yeah, he needs to get up before he gets blisters on his behind and then how will he be able to drive his baby and sit in diners and eat cheap, crappy, too fat food and he'd really go for a burger right about now.

He shakes his head trying to clear his mind, says silently to the room to fuckingstopspinningbitch, and gets up from the bed; feeling like an old man needing a cane to support his aching back… screw the mattresses in this room. Screw them. And screw that witch and screw that thorn and screw his hormones for getting it on with the damned witch. But it was good sex… mmmmh. It was really good, man she knew this trick with her tongue that totally made him…

Sam's fingers wrapped around his biceps… burn.

"Don't touch me, man!"
He says, screams, yells... whatever, as long as the fingers will go 'way, he'll be the happiest man on the planet. Okay, when the thorn will be out of him, then he'll be the luckiest man on the planet, but let's not be picky.

"Dean, you're not burning up," Sam says calmly, making Dean wanna punch his kid brother on the nose again, because hellyeahImburningup, "Your skin is like… icy cold, man. Okay?"

Dean raises his eyebrows: "No 's not okay, man. Just… shut up, Sam and help me."

The eye roll Sam gives him… well, Dean's just happy that his brother's eyes didn't stay rolled back into the back of his head, because then he'd be screwed to heaven and hell, because he's pretty damn sure, he wouldn't be able to find the thorn on his own. He's athletic, but he's not a freakin' gymnast, he can't bend that far if by any chance the witch thorn-ed him in his ass.

But then again if the witch thorn-ed him somewhere erm… more private, he'll have to get rid of his kid brother and do some quick and highly tactical and strategic escape maneuvers aka running to the bathroom and trying not to stumble his toe, otherwise he'll never hear the end of it.

God…

"'m trying to."

"You're not trying hard enough, dude." He half smiles half groans that sentence out, because the room is spinning and Sam is way to close to him and the carpet is burning his feet and the thought of a thorn being stuck in his dick, is just… crazy, 's what it is. But then again, the witch was crazy too.

Oh dear God.

"Dude, you're not exactly helping here." Sam's all serious now and goddamn his kid brother for jumping from calm to serious to smiling to amused to serious in point one second… it's distracting and it's making his head hurt. Or maybe it's the freakin' heat that's totally messing with his ability to think.

And oh God, now it's spreading, traveling… it's going up his spine again, up to the back of his neck and he swears that he can feel the sweat there actually evaporating into thin air, his skin burning there so badly, he has to touch it… rub it, maybe that will help… but his hand is gripped tight half way up to his nape and fuckinghell…

"What?" he knows he has tears in his eyes, he can feel them clutching at the tips of his eyelashes, but he's just so hot and frustrated and Sam's touching him and his arm feels like it's gonna turn into ash any moment now.

Sam's eyes widen and he releases the hold he has on Dean's arm: "Okay, okay, sorry, I forgot."

He can't breathe. That small touch made the waves of heat travel down to his lungs and his lungs are burning. They are burning and he can't breathe and he can't put the fire in his lungs out, he can't pour water… maybe if he drowns himself… he can't breathe, air is what feeds fire, he can't allow air into his lungs, the fire will spread, will consume him. He has to stop breathing, has to not let air in, has to get water… water… water…

"Dean!"

His eyes are open, that much he knows, because he can see Sam, can see his brother's lips moving, forming his name, can see his eyes go up and down, left and right… can see Sam's arms moving his way…

"Dean, breathe!"

He blinks. Blinks the sweat from his eyes, or tears, or whatever, he blinks and feels his lungs stop burning.

"Water…" he rasps out, holding his right hand over his throat, feeling his Adam apple go up and down so fast he's actually scared for a moment it'll get a mind of its own and jump out of his mouth just to escape his dry throat, because that surely can't be a great place to live in.

And then Sam's gone, the room is spinning, he can breathe, sweet, sweet hot air… but the heat he feels inside his body is just… so intense that he can't even say that it hurts. Heh, it's true what they say; sometimes the pain is so intense, you can't even feel it no more.

It's just there.

"Drink."

He grips the cool glass of water with both hands, feeling like he's three and can't handle to hold a big boy's glass by himself yet.

He gives the empty glass back to his brother and breathes in, enjoying the coolness the water left when it went down his throat.

"Okay, Dean…," fingers snap before his eyes and yup, he wants to punch his brother again for being that annoying, "hey man, focus here."

He tries to focus, but the room is all kinds of blurry and hot and he sees Sam like there's this white, thin mist all around his kid brother.

Just ignore it, maybe it'll go away and focus on Sam.

Focus.

Focus.

And the mist does go away and the heat gets a bit more comfortable inside of him and yeah… he can do this.

"Dean, just… tell me where she touched you, okay."

Dean squirms. Where she touched me? Erm… he licks his lips: "Everywhere, man."

Sam raises his eyebrows up to his hairline.

"Everywhere?"

Dean blushes. Why? He has no idea.

"Everywhere, man as in everywhere." He nudges his head a little to the left and runs his hand across his nape, feeling embarrassed and not really knowing why. 's not like they haven't ever talked about sex before, hell he was the one to give Sam the whole birds and the bees talk, except there were no birds and no bees in that talk. Maybe he scarred the kid for life with that talk, but meh, who cares, because this is not the time, nor the place to think about that.

It must be the thorn screwing with his brain.

"Oh," pause, "oh!"

When Sam's brain finally processes what 'everywhere' means… it's like something snaps inside his brother and he starts to laugh. Out loud. Very, very much… laugh. Dimples and lips stretching to his ears kinda laugh. Tears in his eyes kinda laugh.

"Sam, shut up."

Sam can't stop laughing: "Couldn't keep it in your pants, could ya?"

"Sam, 's not funny, man. 'm freaking boiling here."

"Okay," Sam wheezes in a breath, "okay, yeah…" he wipes a tear from his eye, "'m sorry."

Dean groans; he knew this would happen. Sam will just tease and tease and tease - because well, he learned from the best after all, and Dean would totally tap himself on his shoulder, but that would hurt like hell at the moment - and then he'll not be able to let it go.

He groans again and starts to feel his legs burn and his feet feel like they are already burned to a crisp, but when he looks down, lets Sam laugh it out, he sees his feet a-okay, sees his legs a-okay too. Huh, maybe Sam is right when he says that he's not actually burning up.

But then he sees the blood drops decorating the carpet - and when did that happen - and everything starts to spin and blur and he can't breathe again… it's stuffy in the room… not enough oxygen, not enough cold, too much heat, it's too oppressive, too tight… it feels like the room's trying to squeeze him out of it, the walls closing in, Sam too close to him, the promise of Sam's touch when he'll find the thorn – and he will find it – 's all making Dean choke.

"Dean, hey, hey, hey, come on now. Stop it, alright?"

"Sam," he hisses and bends down, gripping his knees with his sweaty palms, seeing drops of blood forming on the carpet, seemingly out of nowhere, but he knows damn well where they are coming from, "God Jesus help me." He whispers and nearly swallows his amulet when it swings to his open mouth, licking a drop of blood off of his upper lip when he licks his lips.

"Dean, okay, 's gonna be okay. Listen to me. Dean?"

Dean closes his eyes and putts every ounce of trust he possesses into Sam. Every last bit of trust he can find in his body that isn't already totally Sam's, he putts in his brother, because if anyone, his brother will solve this, he'll help him, he'll find that thorn. He will.

"Yeah." He rasps out keeping his eyes closed, because he doesn't wanna see those blood drops multiplying.

"Okay, look, take a step forward, okay. Good, 'm gonna look at your back, alright. Not gonna touch you, okay."

Dean nods and breathes. The room isn't spinning so much if he has his eyes closed, but his head starts to hurt and the heat inside of him starts to feel more alive… more present… more hot.

His mouth's dry. So dry.. so, so dry.

-:-

Sam looks at Dean's back. Close. Every scar, every mole, every pimple, noticing every shudder, every sweat drop that rolls down Dean's spine and gets lost in the waistband of Dean's jeans. Everywhere… he looks everywhere.

There's nothing there... just smooth, sweat covered skin and muscles.

"Sam, is it there?" Dean whispers in hope that the thorn will just jump out to Sam screaming 'here I am!'.

Sam swallows down the answer. No. No, Dean, there's nothing here.

"Turn around." He whispers, hoping that his tone of voice will make Dean less… jumpy, because his brother being jumpy is bad, bad, bad. Dean jumpy is Dean panicky and Dean panicky is… a bitch to deal with.

Dean spins around, slowly… like every move he makes hurts him. It probably does.

He doesn't look up at his brother's face, just bends down to start at Dean's throat, moving his eyes across Dean's pecs, around his nipples, down his chest, around his belly button, to the sides, across his ribs…

"Sam, find it... come on."

He doesn't… there is nothing there. Nothing that screams ''m the awesome thorn screwing with your brother, mwha ha ha'.

"Take off your jeans."

Dean starts fighting with his boots, that are too stubborn to get off, then his socks have mercy on him and come off peacefully. He unzips and unbuttons his jeans, his fingers slippery from sweat and trembling when he pulls them down to his ankles.

Its awkward standing in the middle of the yellow-green room, with his toes loosing themselves in the yellow triangles on the green carpet decorated with his blood… in only his wet boxers.

Fun times.

"This is fun…"

"Yeah, fun times." Sam says softly and crouches down to start looking at Dean's feet.

-:-

This is so awkward, so awkward, so awkward… and the room is spinning, but thank God the bleeding stopped, but the sweat running down his face is ticklish, and he's starting to see everything – the walls, the pictures, the chairs, the curtain, the window, the trashcan, hell even the coffee maker – as if it's moving. Getting closer to him; they'll get him, they'll crush him, make a purée of human skin, flesh and bones out of him. And won't that be fun for the maid to clean up.

He blinks sweat from his eyes. It's burning him. Everything is burning him, even Sam's eyes so close to his body, Sam's breath hitting his skin when his brother looks at something more closely… everything makes him feel as if wherever Sam looks, heat just… erupts from out of there like a mini volcano.

Everything's alive, coming closer to him, trying to suffocate him, trying to set him on fire; the room's trying to kill him, that's what this is. The room is an assassin who'll kill him, burn him so that no one will recognize him, not even by his teeth, because the heat will be so strong... 's it, isn't it? The room's working for the witch and they'll both murder him, burn him, like his mom burned, like he burned his father… burn, burn, burn.

Fucking thorn.

-:-

"Turn around."

Sam says softly, grabbing Dean's biceps for a split second, just enough to help his brother turn around. He looks over every inch of Dean's body... calves, the back of his knees, thighs, back, nape, scalp... nothing.

Oh wait…

"Dean?"

"You found it?"

Sam looks more closely at something near Dean's ninth rib.

"Just a mole or something, sorry."

Dean wants to collapse.

"Okay, turn back around."

"Sam, you gotta find it. I don't... 's to hot in here."

"We'll find it, I swear. Okay? Just think... Arctica."

"What?"

"Think about cold places."

"Oh god."

But Dean thinks about the time when his Dad helped him make his first snowman... before Sam was born, before everything.

The snow falling, how his dad rolled the little snowballs into big snowballs, how they used a stick for its nose and arms and…

"Found it."

"Where?"

Dean really wants to just collapse and fall asleep… the relief that washes over him with Sam's words nearly makes him lose his footing. Because a) Sam found the thorn and now things will be okey dokey pretty soon and b) thank you very much witch for not putting that thing into Little Dean.

He looks down and sees Sam's finger pointing to a spot on his back. He twists around, trying to see more clearly, but yeah he isn't a freaking gymnast, can't really see all the way down and well, he can't see all that much really, just that Sam is pointing to a spot a little bit away from his spine, on the more meaty part of his back, near the waistband of his boxers.

"Get it out, Sam... just get the little bitch out."

"Okay, okay go lay down on the bed... on your stomach."

"This is gonna suck, huh?" Dean whines.

CHAPTER 1 _II_ CHAPTER 3

Comments

[tracys-dream.livejournal.com]

Loved it and it made me giggle a little, poor Dean.

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

ahahah.... yeah poor Dean and he's only gonna get poorer! :) thank you!!!

S.