Vamphile's fiction and Stuff

I Said Good Day

They’re arguing, and Dean's trying to break the tension with humor.  Sam wishes he’d just stay with the full force anger; it’s more honest and less annoying.  But Dean’s trying to be cute, fucking adorable, and it works on other people but Sam’s not some one night stand who caught Dean sneaking out at three am.  Sam’s not a one night stand at all, he’s a forever night stand and Dean knows that, which is why the attempt at fucking adorable is just fucking annoying.

 

Sam walks away but there’s really nowhere to go.  The town has a tiny library, one coffee shop with no Wi-Fi, and the diner, in front of which they’re currently arguing.  Eventually, he just starts walking.

 

~ ~ ~

 

A week later, they’re having a really good day.  Dean is sitting on one of the beds enumerating the ways in which he’s an awesome brother. (He has great hair, he can even get Sam laid if Sam wants, he does most of the driving and he found really good Mexican take out in the middle of Nebraska.)  Sam has to admit that the nachos are impressive in general and really impressive when you consider that they’re in Wauneta, Nebraska.  He huffs out a laugh, neither admitting nor denying the awesomeness of Dean, and sits next to him while they find a baseball game on TV.  It’s only the top of the third so they settle in.  There’s beer cooling in the ice bucket, and, seriously, the nachos do kind of rock.

 

They don’t root for a specific team.  They never have, because teams belong to someplace, (the Cleveland Indians, The Kansas City Royals), but they don’t belong to anyplace, (the Impala Winchesters?)  But they belong to each other. So, fighting and trying and bitching and eventually having a good day defined by the absence of graves to be dug, and cuts to be stitched, the presence of really good nachos and a game to watch on a TV that gets excellent reception is really, the best they can ask for. 

 

They watch the beauty of the sport.  They enjoy the display of strength, agility, power and skill that has nothing to do with hunting or killing, with supernatural or evil, with angels or demons.   Dean looks over in the bottom of the eighth and raises an eyebrow at Sam, staring at him contemplatively.  “What’s up?”  Sam shakes his head, letting loose a loud burp, and smiling “Nothing.”  Then he eats the last nacho. Dean laughs and offers Sam another beer; surprisingly, he doesn’t press further, which is good, because that’s usually how the arguments start in the first place, Dean pushing too hard to get Sam to “share” although he calls it something else.  But today, the motel room is a DMZ and Sam doesn’t want to tell Dean all the ways he’s clearly doing it wrong, and Dean doesn’t feel like defending his methods and tearing down Sam's, and that’s really for the best because Dean’s not doing it wrong, not really, and Sam's methods work more often than they don’t, and it’s all just empty noise that’s become as much a part of the rhythm of samanddean as diner food and hustling pool and trying to find something on TV that isn’t a rerun and doesn’t suck.  

 

Eventually the game ends, and some team wins.  Dean falls asleep because he seems to bank sleep when they’re not on a job, and Sam goes back to the computer, searching in ever widening circles for a job.

 

Yeah, today was a good day.