Enjoy The Ride 6/6

[soncnica]

Title: Enjoy The Ride 6/6
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Sam, Dean, gen
Wordcount: cca. 2.000 words (this part)
Summary: Dean gets cursed, because he can't keep his paws to himself, when Sam says so. But Sam finds a cure, one which Dean will definitely not enjoy the ride on. So Sam has to play dirty.
Warnings: gross, icky, disgusting imagery (the usual from me, LOL), season 2,  language and if you suffer from Chaetophobia, please do not read this!
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
A/N: I can't apologize enough for how darn long it took me to get this story finished. So sorry. But in the time from my last update, I wrote my very first spn-j2-bigbang! YAY! Wooohoo! Anywho … so sorry for keeping everyone waiting, 'm not even sure if anyone is even interested in this story anymore, but now it's complete and 'm ready for new adventures. LOL

EPILOGUE:

How strange the silence was, how strange the weariness in one's body was, how strange the lack of action was, when things settled down.

How strange it was to watch your brother finally, finally snuggle into a yellow-stained pillow and a blanket and rest. Sleep. After one whole day and half of a night of puking out centuries – thank God the warlock only took a few girls every few years – worth of hair, to finally have dust descent onto the floor, silence fill the room and give you some time to shake the adrenaline off your hands. And take a breath.

Sam had nowhere to sit, since Dean destroyed the only chair in the room so he sat on the table and tried to not look at Dean sleep; 'cause that would just be creepy. But he couldn't go at the floor with an axe, because that would wake up his brother, who needed sleep more than anything. He did carry out the pan filled with the hair and dumped it on the carpet that he dragged on the middle of the road. So that was good, and it had him occupied for all of half an hour.

But after doing that, he couldn't do anything else that wouldn't wake up Dean, but sit on the table and look at a wall.

And the spider web.

Maybe the spider would come back soon, because there was a fly that had gotten caught in the sticky web and was now making buzzing sounds trying to save itself. Dinner.

He was hungry, but the only thing there was, were some crackers God knew how old in the trunk. If they even were crackers, because that car held all kinda magical crap that needed to be concealed in everyday stuff. Just in case.

He was bored and the stink of the place made him open the cabin's door - with a salt line between the doorframes, of course – to let in some fresh, woodsy air.

They made it. Dean made it. Case closed, maybe not in Sam's head, because he liked to linger on things and talk about them, but in Dean's head, the case was closed, sealed and stamped 'Top Secret' in big red letters.

He looked at Dean – just to make sure the guy was still breathing – just when Dean's lips started to twitch and part on a: "Ugh …"

He didn't jump off the table and ran to Dean, because he knew his brother needed some space after all the not-space he had during the last hours. And truthfully, he needed some space himself too.

"You okay?"

"Uhhhhh…"

"I'll take that as a maybe. You need anything?"

"Wa't'r."

Sam could do that, he could give Dean some more water. It was a purpose, an action, something to do to make himself useful.

He handed Dean the cup filled with bottled - just in case - water and frowned at how Dean's hand shook when it reached for the cup.

But his brother was a stubborn mule if nothing else and he took the cup, spilled half of the water all over his chin, getting only a few drops to actually go into his mouth and down his parched throat.

"I'll get you some more and we'll try this again."

Trying it again meant Sam holding Dean's head up and all but pouring the water down Dean's throat. But it worked, got the job done and with some more water and some actual food to fill his brother's belly, Dean would get back on his feet in no time. Dehydration was Sam's biggest concern, but he could fix that.

But in the meantime …

"Get some more rest, all right?"

Dean was back to sleep, before Sam could lower his head back down to the suspicious pillow.

They wouldn't be going anywhere for a few more hours, maybe a day tops. Knowing Dean, he'd be up and at 'em really soon.

Sam looked at Dean's palms, where they were lying upturned on the sheet and saw how the cuts from the stick were gone. Vanished just like that. Huh. One more thing to write in their Dad's journal.

Dad.

He didn't want to go there, not when Dean was out like a light and needed someone to watch his back. Forest's hide many things, not all peaceful, furry animals.

Maybe he should get some sleep, but just as he was about to go close the door and place the hatch in its spot, Dean grumbled something that sounded like his brother was gurgling nails.

"Dean?"

"D'zzy…"

Two steps, it took Sam two steps – long legs coming in handy – to be by the cot's side where Dean was just placing his legs on the floor.

"Okay, hey, hey, don't get up if you're dizzy, man."

He gripped Dean by his biceps and tried to keep him seated, wincing at how Dean's eyes were shut closed, his Adam apple working like crazy and his jaw clenched so tight not even a crowbar would be able to open it.

"Dean, it'll pass, all right? You gonna puke?"

Dean moaned a no and then fell forward forehead hitting Sam's chest so hard, it made Sam take a step back, just to keep himself from falling on his ass.

Dean was a strong son of a bitch that was for sure.

"Whoa, okay, all right, let's get you back to laying, come on, on your side."

He pushed Dean back to the cot and arranged heavy limbs to a somewhat comfortable position.

"Dean, just take it easy for a while, we have nowhere to be, okay."

He didn't know if Dean heard him or not, but after a few seconds Dean nodded and shuddered.

"Okay, just get some more sleep."

"S-saw 'em all, Sam."

He leaned closer, because the words were a slurred whisper, too soft for him to hear.

"What?"

"The g'ls, s-ssaw 'em all."

Well, fuck then.

"They're at peace now, right, its over."

"mmmhhmmm…"

"All right then, get some more rest and then we'll hack out the floor boards and have a bonfire out on the road, how's that sound?"

"'a-aaw'sm."

"Thought so."

There was something to be said about wriggling your big brother, your very heavy, sleepy, not very helpful brother into something warmer to wear. Sure, the hoodie was kinda stretched out, too many years and too many washes, but still … it took guts, time and stubbornness.

But Sam did it, because he couldn't watch Dean shake so bad, his teeth chattered. In the middle of the summer. Well, late summer, but still.

"Need anything?"

"Piss…"

"Uhh…"

Well, fuck then.

And something needed to be said about shuffling your heavy, muscles turned to jell-o big brother to the door and three more steps to the side to help him piss.

Sam wanted to eat those crackers, maybe they were something to bleach his brain with.

Yeah, something needed to be said about both those things, but fuck Sam if he knew what.

"Ugh, 'm I dead?"

The question came around three in the afternoon the following day and it made Sam chuckle: "Yeah, no."

"Feel like it."

"You look like it too. Want some more water, something to eat?"

"Have 'nythin'?"

"Some crackers."

"Gimme."

He caved in and ate a cracker earlier - when he couldn't ignore his stomach grumble anymore - which surprisingly was a real cracker and nothing to be used in a spell. And it didn't bleach his brain, which was both great and not so great.

After they ate the crackers and listened to birds making a ruckus outside the front door, that were open – protected, of course – so that the sunlight could brighten up the inside, Sam cleaned his lap of crumbs and stood up.

There was work to be done.

"How you feeling? Dizzy? You hurtin' anywhere? You gonna puke?"

"'m kinda shaky, but okay, I think."

"Good, so how about those floor boards?"

Dean's grin told Sam that everything was picture perfect.

The crackle of wood burning was echoing through the night, summer in full swing, warm breeze and a cool beer.

The smell of burning hair would quite possibly be stuck forever in their nostrils, but … well … it really couldn't be avoided. They had to burn it, lay everything to rest. All those girls deserved it.

"If you ever do that again, man..."

Dean's voice was hoarse, words croaked out like a frog, and he probably wouldn't be speaking normally for a few days at least, which gave Sam something to be happy about. 'cause Dean not being able to talk much and for too long, meant that his brother wouldn't be able to shout at him for doing all of this to him.

Sam took a sip of his beer and smacked his lips in glee: "Saved your life, you idiot. Next time I say don't touch, you don't touch."

"Next time you put something in my coffee without telling me, I'll end you."

Sam snorted: "Dude, knowing you, you'd never allow me to give you the cure. You'd rather suffer."

"Damn fuckin' right, I would. Dude, I just upchucked years' worth of girls hair. Years. Girls. Hair."

They both gagged at the memory of it all and downed their beers like their life depended on it. Sam could still feel the slimy, gooey substance on his fingers and Dean could damn well still feel the – hair – tickle his tongue and lips, scraping its way up his throat.

"Dude, I can't even look at your hairy mug right now, 's just … just … cut your damn hair man."

Sam snorted and shook his head: "Dude, I had to touch that crap. Had to pull it out of your mouth then roll it up in the carpet and bring it all out here. Okay?"

Dean looked up at the sky, rolled his eyes and sighed: "Man, 'm gonna need something stronger than this beer."

"I used the Whiskey to start the fire."

"We all out?"

"Could be some in the trunk. I'll go look."

"Dude, you're not going anywhere near my drinks ever again! Sit your ass down and stay down. Watch the fire, those floor boards were weird, I don't want to set fire to the entire forest."

"Fine."

"Good."

He was three steps away from Sam and the fire when he turned around and saw the hunched form of his little brother, his broad back and strong shoulders – and all that hair - just sitting there, by the fire, waiting for something to drown the images of last night with.

"Hey Sammy?"

When his brother turned around and the fire hit his face just so, illuminating it red and orange, he saw his little brother. The little brother who saw him at his worst and was still his little brother. The little brother who would do anything for him. Stanford hadn't erased that.

"Yeah?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and smirked: "I promise I won't put anything girly or flowery or dead animal-y in the Whiskey."

"Bite me."

Dean's laughter scared an owl into spreading its wings and flying from a tree branch.

Kill his little brother? He'd off himself first. Dad might've been Dad, but if the man thought he'd one day kill Sam …

He zipped up the hoodie he woke up with a while ago and slid his hand over his baby's hood: "We're gonna keep Sammy safe, aren't we girl?"

He coughed and spat on the ground, knowing, just damn knowing that the feeling of ... hair... in his mouth would haunt him for some time. He was still finding it between his teeth and in his own hair. He even found some stuck to his chest.

He hunched his shoulders, hid his neck and hands in the soft hoodie and went to hunt down some booze.

Maybe that would help.

And after all of this, maybe he'd tell Sam about what their Dad told him.

Maybe.

The End