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hoodie_timeTitle Dean Winchester and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Author![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mayhsgirl93
Genre/Pairing gen
Rating PG-13
Spoilers Takes place in Season three, so spoilers there, I guess
Warnings Foul language
Wordcount 1,736
Summary So after an incredibly horrible day of my own, I decided to inflict some pain on the Winchesters
Mwa ha ha ha
A/N Don't own the lovely Winchesters, or the book "Alexander and the terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," this was a totally spur-of-the-moment fic, and quite random. Hope you enjoy!!
Dean’s incredibly horrible day starts when the alarm goes off bright and early at the ass-crack of dawn. Eyes still half-closed, he rolls out of bed and stumbles toward the bathroom to take a leak. He feels his feet go out from under him as he trips over Sam’s duffle bag, which is lying in the middle of the room.
“Damn it, Sam…” Dean grumbles.
Sam just grins at him and slips into the bathroom, slamming the door. Dean flips him off behind his back and pushes himself to his feet, kicking the duffle to the far end of the room.
He can already tell what an amazing day it’s going to be.
After fifteen agonizing minutes of listening to the shower run and thirty threats to piss on his brother’s duffle bag, Sam finally lets Dean into the bathroom. He does his business and steps into the shower, turning on the tap and getting hit with the coldest water he’s ever felt.
“ARRGGGHHHHSHITTTTT!” He shouts, jumping away from the spray of water and slipping on the wet floor. He lands painfully on his back.
“Oh, did I use all the hot water again?” Sam asks mockingly through the closed door. “Sorry.”
Dean lays there staring at the water-stained ceiling, wishing he could crawl back under the covers.
On the way to their newest gig, Dean’s caffeine headache makes the brothers stop at the closest diner for breakfast. The hostess leads them to a small table and hands them some menus. Dean pushes up the sleeves of the too-big shirt he had to borrow from Sam because his last clean one fell into the sink while he was brushing his teeth.
Dean realizes how starving he is, and quickly orders a short stack of chocolate-chip pancakes. Sam takes forever to make up his mind, and can’t seem to decide between scrambled or poached eggs.
“For Christ’s sake,” Dean grumbles. “They’re eggs. Pick one already!”
After all the painful deliberation, Sam finally settles on getting oatmeal.
Oatmeal. Of all the things to get in a diner, Sam picks the nerdiest food ever. Dean can’t believe the two of them are even related.
The waitress brings out their meals, and Dean immediately notices something wrong with his pancakes.
“Excuse me,” he calls out. “I ordered chocolate chips, not blueberries. I’m allergic.”
The waitress apologizes and takes it away, promising to bring him a new one.
In the mean time, he’s left watching Sam eat his repulsive porridge.
“Want some?” Sam asks, offering his spoonful to Dean.
Dean wrinkles his nose and declines with some excuse about not eating shit.
When the waitress finally brings out the right food, Dean’s practically ravenous. Reaching out, he pulls the platter toward him but somehow, the whole plate manages to fall onto his lap.
“Shit!” He cries out, grabbing a handful of napkins and trying to clean his pants from the sticky syrup. He ends up making an even bigger mess, and by the time the two leave the restaurant, Dean’s jeans have dark blotches down the front with pieces of paper stuck to them.
After several hours of driving, they arrive in Boston. They check into a motel and immediately head out to do research. Dean heads to an office building that’s the site of several “accidents,” while Sam takes the Impala to visit one of the victims. Dean’s got money riding on the possibility of a vengeful spirit.
After breaking into the personnel room, Dean calls Sam on his phone to read him an interesting file.
“What did you find?” Sam asks.
“Well, I was right about the vengeful spirit,” Dean says smugly. “You owe me five bucks.”
“Stop gloating and just tell me what the file says, dumbass.”
“Ahh, so feisty. Well, a ‘disgruntled worker’ blew his brains out in his office after being denied a promotion, and now people on the same floor are being thrown down the stairs or locked in a janitor’s closet overnight, stuff like that.” Dean sums up the file.
“So,” Sam replies. “We just find the body and salt and burn it. Huh. Pretty boring.”
The older man chuckles. “Well, boring isn’t too bad…it will take our minds off things.”
An awkward silence falls over the phone line as Dean indirectly refers to his Deal that is due in less than three months. They still haven’t found any clues to get him out of his contract, and things are a bit tense.
Dean finally breaks the quiet. “Well, anyways, go find out where this worker was buried and I’ll meet you back at the motel at about nine. Bring food.” He snaps his phone shut and is just about to leave the file room, when suddenly he’s face-to-face with a rather hefty security guard. “Oh…shit.” He whispers. Could this day get any worse?
Dean finally smooth-talks his way out of being arrested by Mr. Rent-a-cop, and manages to make it to the motel without further incident. He told the security officer he had just come out of a really bad break-up and was trying to find some dirt on his ex, to get some payback. The guard seemed less than convinced, but when Dean slipped him a twenty, he was willing to look the other way.
He opens the motel door to find Sam sitting on a chair, watching TV and eating a burger. Dean flops facedown on one of the bed and groans. His back hurts from where he fell earlier, and he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming in the back of his skull.
He can hear Sam get up and start rummaging through their stuff, taking out guns and other weapons they might need tonight.
“Are you gonna start cleaning the guns?” Sam asks hesitantly. He’s not trying to push the work onto Dean; it’s just always been Dean’s thing.
Dean grunts and curls into a ball, wrapping his arms around a pillow that reeks of smoke and sex.
“Listen, if you’re too tired, we can do the hunt tomorrow.” Sam teases. “It’s not like this guy is hurting anyone or something.”
Dean starts to roll over to tell Sam where he can shove his sarcasm, but he misjudges how far away the edge of the bed really is and rolls off with a thud. He feels the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. Shit. He’s bitten his tongue.
“Shit, ya’lright?” Sam asks, guffawing loudly. But Dean’s too busy imagining all the ways he could kill himself to answer.
Around midnight, Dean parks the car a few blocks away from Cedars Cemetery and he and Sam walk the rest of the way. The gate is locked, so they have to climb over the incredibly high fence. Sam, who’s practically the same height as the fence, hops over in one smooth motion. Dean, however, is not as graceful. He gets caught on one of the decorative stakes and can hear an audible rip as the pointy tip tears through the front of his jeans.
“Damn it…” he whines. “That’s the second pair today.”
Sam smiles slightly, but laughs out a muffled apology. “Wow, it’s just not your day today. I’m surprised you haven’t been struck by lightning yet.”
“Did I ask for a narrative?” Dean barks irritably. He is not in the mood for Sam’s obnoxious comments. Sam helps him down from the post and examines and damage done to his jeans: it’s a small tear, but it’s in an awkward spot and he can see more than just his boxers peeking through the torn fabric. “Damn it…” he repeats. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They find the body with relative ease, and the corpse is dug up and ablaze in a matter of minutes. It’s not until they’re back at the car that Dean’s bad luck strikes again. Dean opens the trunk and Sam props up the secret weapon compartment with a rifle. They’re busy rearranging everything, chatting about frivolous things, when Sam’s elbow hits the rifle and causes it to dislodge from its spot. The weapons compartment and the trunk hood come crashing down…right onto Dean’s hand.
Dean doesn’t really feel pain for the first few seconds, either from shock or adrenaline, but once Sam yanks open the trunk, it hurts. It motherfuckingdamnfucksonofabitchfuckfuckFUCK hurts, and everything goes black.
This is definitely a day for the record books.
The sun is just coming back up when they stagger into their hotel room after spending the night in a local ER. Dean’s sporting a cool blue cast that covers his middle, ring and pinky fingers and goes till his forearm. Still wobbly from pain meds, he lets Sam help him change and lay down on the bed. Dean mutters a shitty attempt at a thank-you as Sam props a bunch of pillows under his mangled hand. He closes his eyes and rubs at his temples with his good hand. He’s exhausted.
“The doctor said it was a clean break,” Sam reminds him, trying to comfort him. “You got lucky.”
Poor choice of words. Dean can’t hold back his frustration and can feel tears welling up in his eyes.
Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“This day sucked.” Dean cries out, hating how dumb and vulnerable he sounds.
“It happens, man. Remember when I lost that dumb rabbit’s foot? That was pretty bad, too.”
Dean lets out something between a chuckle and a sob.
Sam continues. “But eventually we burned the stupid thing and I was cured. Everyone has bad days, but they go away eventually. Trust me. Tomorrow will be better. Let’s go to bed.” He gives Dean’s shoulder a comforting squeeze and gets up from the bed, pulling the covers over his vulnerable brother.
Sam changes into sweatpants and lies down in his own bed. He’s just about to fall asleep when he hears from the other bed, “Thanks, Sammy. You’re the best.”
When Dean opens his eyes in the morning, he finds Sam sitting on the bed next to him with a coffee in hand. Dean takes a sip carefully. It tastes like Heaven. Sam hands his brother a takeout box of chocolate chip pancakes, made perfectly. Dean eats it all and doesn’t spill a single drop of syrup.
Hmm. Maybe this day isn’t all that bad.THE END
Author
mayhsgirl93 Genre/Pairing gen
Rating PG-13
Spoilers Takes place in Season three, so spoilers there, I guess
Warnings Foul language
Wordcount 1,736
Summary So after an incredibly horrible day of my own, I decided to inflict some pain on the Winchesters
Mwa ha ha ha
A/N Don't own the lovely Winchesters, or the book "Alexander and the terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day," this was a totally spur-of-the-moment fic, and quite random. Hope you enjoy!!
Dean’s incredibly horrible day starts when the alarm goes off bright and early at the ass-crack of dawn. Eyes still half-closed, he rolls out of bed and stumbles toward the bathroom to take a leak. He feels his feet go out from under him as he trips over Sam’s duffle bag, which is lying in the middle of the room.
“Damn it, Sam…” Dean grumbles.
Sam just grins at him and slips into the bathroom, slamming the door. Dean flips him off behind his back and pushes himself to his feet, kicking the duffle to the far end of the room.
He can already tell what an amazing day it’s going to be.
After fifteen agonizing minutes of listening to the shower run and thirty threats to piss on his brother’s duffle bag, Sam finally lets Dean into the bathroom. He does his business and steps into the shower, turning on the tap and getting hit with the coldest water he’s ever felt.
“ARRGGGHHHHSHITTTTT!” He shouts, jumping away from the spray of water and slipping on the wet floor. He lands painfully on his back.
“Oh, did I use all the hot water again?” Sam asks mockingly through the closed door. “Sorry.”
Dean lays there staring at the water-stained ceiling, wishing he could crawl back under the covers.
On the way to their newest gig, Dean’s caffeine headache makes the brothers stop at the closest diner for breakfast. The hostess leads them to a small table and hands them some menus. Dean pushes up the sleeves of the too-big shirt he had to borrow from Sam because his last clean one fell into the sink while he was brushing his teeth.
Dean realizes how starving he is, and quickly orders a short stack of chocolate-chip pancakes. Sam takes forever to make up his mind, and can’t seem to decide between scrambled or poached eggs.
“For Christ’s sake,” Dean grumbles. “They’re eggs. Pick one already!”
After all the painful deliberation, Sam finally settles on getting oatmeal.
Oatmeal. Of all the things to get in a diner, Sam picks the nerdiest food ever. Dean can’t believe the two of them are even related.
The waitress brings out their meals, and Dean immediately notices something wrong with his pancakes.
“Excuse me,” he calls out. “I ordered chocolate chips, not blueberries. I’m allergic.”
The waitress apologizes and takes it away, promising to bring him a new one.
In the mean time, he’s left watching Sam eat his repulsive porridge.
“Want some?” Sam asks, offering his spoonful to Dean.
Dean wrinkles his nose and declines with some excuse about not eating shit.
When the waitress finally brings out the right food, Dean’s practically ravenous. Reaching out, he pulls the platter toward him but somehow, the whole plate manages to fall onto his lap.
“Shit!” He cries out, grabbing a handful of napkins and trying to clean his pants from the sticky syrup. He ends up making an even bigger mess, and by the time the two leave the restaurant, Dean’s jeans have dark blotches down the front with pieces of paper stuck to them.
Oh, yeah. This day is fucking fantastic.
After several hours of driving, they arrive in Boston. They check into a motel and immediately head out to do research. Dean heads to an office building that’s the site of several “accidents,” while Sam takes the Impala to visit one of the victims. Dean’s got money riding on the possibility of a vengeful spirit.
After breaking into the personnel room, Dean calls Sam on his phone to read him an interesting file.
“What did you find?” Sam asks.
“Well, I was right about the vengeful spirit,” Dean says smugly. “You owe me five bucks.”
“Stop gloating and just tell me what the file says, dumbass.”
“Ahh, so feisty. Well, a ‘disgruntled worker’ blew his brains out in his office after being denied a promotion, and now people on the same floor are being thrown down the stairs or locked in a janitor’s closet overnight, stuff like that.” Dean sums up the file.
“So,” Sam replies. “We just find the body and salt and burn it. Huh. Pretty boring.”
The older man chuckles. “Well, boring isn’t too bad…it will take our minds off things.”
An awkward silence falls over the phone line as Dean indirectly refers to his Deal that is due in less than three months. They still haven’t found any clues to get him out of his contract, and things are a bit tense.
Dean finally breaks the quiet. “Well, anyways, go find out where this worker was buried and I’ll meet you back at the motel at about nine. Bring food.” He snaps his phone shut and is just about to leave the file room, when suddenly he’s face-to-face with a rather hefty security guard. “Oh…shit.” He whispers. Could this day get any worse?
Dean finally smooth-talks his way out of being arrested by Mr. Rent-a-cop, and manages to make it to the motel without further incident. He told the security officer he had just come out of a really bad break-up and was trying to find some dirt on his ex, to get some payback. The guard seemed less than convinced, but when Dean slipped him a twenty, he was willing to look the other way.
He opens the motel door to find Sam sitting on a chair, watching TV and eating a burger. Dean flops facedown on one of the bed and groans. His back hurts from where he fell earlier, and he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming in the back of his skull.
He can hear Sam get up and start rummaging through their stuff, taking out guns and other weapons they might need tonight.
“Are you gonna start cleaning the guns?” Sam asks hesitantly. He’s not trying to push the work onto Dean; it’s just always been Dean’s thing.
Dean grunts and curls into a ball, wrapping his arms around a pillow that reeks of smoke and sex.
“Listen, if you’re too tired, we can do the hunt tomorrow.” Sam teases. “It’s not like this guy is hurting anyone or something.”
Dean starts to roll over to tell Sam where he can shove his sarcasm, but he misjudges how far away the edge of the bed really is and rolls off with a thud. He feels the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. Shit. He’s bitten his tongue.
“Shit, ya’lright?” Sam asks, guffawing loudly. But Dean’s too busy imagining all the ways he could kill himself to answer.
Yup, this day can’t get any better.
Around midnight, Dean parks the car a few blocks away from Cedars Cemetery and he and Sam walk the rest of the way. The gate is locked, so they have to climb over the incredibly high fence. Sam, who’s practically the same height as the fence, hops over in one smooth motion. Dean, however, is not as graceful. He gets caught on one of the decorative stakes and can hear an audible rip as the pointy tip tears through the front of his jeans.
“Damn it…” he whines. “That’s the second pair today.”
Sam smiles slightly, but laughs out a muffled apology. “Wow, it’s just not your day today. I’m surprised you haven’t been struck by lightning yet.”
“Did I ask for a narrative?” Dean barks irritably. He is not in the mood for Sam’s obnoxious comments. Sam helps him down from the post and examines and damage done to his jeans: it’s a small tear, but it’s in an awkward spot and he can see more than just his boxers peeking through the torn fabric. “Damn it…” he repeats. “Let’s just get this over with.”
They find the body with relative ease, and the corpse is dug up and ablaze in a matter of minutes. It’s not until they’re back at the car that Dean’s bad luck strikes again. Dean opens the trunk and Sam props up the secret weapon compartment with a rifle. They’re busy rearranging everything, chatting about frivolous things, when Sam’s elbow hits the rifle and causes it to dislodge from its spot. The weapons compartment and the trunk hood come crashing down…right onto Dean’s hand.
Dean doesn’t really feel pain for the first few seconds, either from shock or adrenaline, but once Sam yanks open the trunk, it hurts. It motherfuckingdamnfucksonofabitchfuckfuckFUCK hurts, and everything goes black.
This is definitely a day for the record books.
The sun is just coming back up when they stagger into their hotel room after spending the night in a local ER. Dean’s sporting a cool blue cast that covers his middle, ring and pinky fingers and goes till his forearm. Still wobbly from pain meds, he lets Sam help him change and lay down on the bed. Dean mutters a shitty attempt at a thank-you as Sam props a bunch of pillows under his mangled hand. He closes his eyes and rubs at his temples with his good hand. He’s exhausted.
“The doctor said it was a clean break,” Sam reminds him, trying to comfort him. “You got lucky.”
Poor choice of words. Dean can’t hold back his frustration and can feel tears welling up in his eyes.
Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“This day sucked.” Dean cries out, hating how dumb and vulnerable he sounds.
“It happens, man. Remember when I lost that dumb rabbit’s foot? That was pretty bad, too.”
Dean lets out something between a chuckle and a sob.
Sam continues. “But eventually we burned the stupid thing and I was cured. Everyone has bad days, but they go away eventually. Trust me. Tomorrow will be better. Let’s go to bed.” He gives Dean’s shoulder a comforting squeeze and gets up from the bed, pulling the covers over his vulnerable brother.
Sam changes into sweatpants and lies down in his own bed. He’s just about to fall asleep when he hears from the other bed, “Thanks, Sammy. You’re the best.”
When Dean opens his eyes in the morning, he finds Sam sitting on the bed next to him with a coffee in hand. Dean takes a sip carefully. It tastes like Heaven. Sam hands his brother a takeout box of chocolate chip pancakes, made perfectly. Dean eats it all and doesn’t spill a single drop of syrup.
Hmm. Maybe this day isn’t all that bad.
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Date: 2011-04-13 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-13 10:34 pm (UTC)This was sweet and lovely. The lack of paragraph breaks made it a little hard for me to follow, but I really enjoyed it as a whole.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 10:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-14 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-17 03:14 pm (UTC)That really wasn't his day!
Tank you for this fic! :)
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Date: 2011-04-17 10:30 pm (UTC)