![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: A Guy's Gotta Do
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Gen
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
"What are you doing?"
Sam had woken up when his still mostly asleep brain had registered the absence of something intrisic, the gentle sound of his brother's snores. Sam would bitch for days about the noise but the simple fact was, he'd gotten used to it. Stanford had been a bleary half-awake nightmare for the first three months of his stay because he just hadn't been able to sleep.
"What's it look like?"
"It looks like your holding a washing machine at gun point," Sam says, ever the stater of simple fact. Dean does indeed have his shotgun resting against the metal side of the washer that had just had the misfortune of being subjected to their clothes earlier that day. It had been a blessing and a curse to find a motel with a public laundry room attached.
A blessing because Dean's clothes were ready to get up and start hunting things by themselves and a curse because... well, they had no excuse not to do washing.
"Bingo."
"Okay, let me rephrase. Why are you doing that?"
"Because the little fucker can't hide forever is why," Dean says, voice a low growl while he nudges the washing machine with what looks like all the menace he can muster. It's not really that menacing considering he's wearing only a t-shirt, boxer shorts and one sock.
"Oh my god, we're not doing this again," Sam groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. He loves his brother, it's true, but he has all these damn quirks. Like sometimes he gets a notion in his head and nothing in the world will shake his resolve. He's also damn picky about what he believes in. "There's no monster that eats socks."
"There is," Dean insists. "It's been following us for five damn states and it got my last pair this morning."
"Well, technically it only got one."
"You're not helping," Dean complains, finally cutting his gaze to Sam. "Why can't you-?"
It's right about then that something dark and fluffy shoots out of the washing machine and straight up the wall opposite. Dean spins but he's too late as it disappears into a vent opposite that has a large hole in it. There's a chittering noise and then what sounds like an long and fairly lusty burp right before the remains of a fairly well-masticated sock thumps to the floor out of the vent.
Sam just stares at his brother for a moment, unable to form words right up until Dean cracks a grin.
"Next time I floor it when I see a rainbow I don't want to hear shit from you."
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Gen
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
"What are you doing?"
Sam had woken up when his still mostly asleep brain had registered the absence of something intrisic, the gentle sound of his brother's snores. Sam would bitch for days about the noise but the simple fact was, he'd gotten used to it. Stanford had been a bleary half-awake nightmare for the first three months of his stay because he just hadn't been able to sleep.
"What's it look like?"
"It looks like your holding a washing machine at gun point," Sam says, ever the stater of simple fact. Dean does indeed have his shotgun resting against the metal side of the washer that had just had the misfortune of being subjected to their clothes earlier that day. It had been a blessing and a curse to find a motel with a public laundry room attached.
A blessing because Dean's clothes were ready to get up and start hunting things by themselves and a curse because... well, they had no excuse not to do washing.
"Bingo."
"Okay, let me rephrase. Why are you doing that?"
"Because the little fucker can't hide forever is why," Dean says, voice a low growl while he nudges the washing machine with what looks like all the menace he can muster. It's not really that menacing considering he's wearing only a t-shirt, boxer shorts and one sock.
"Oh my god, we're not doing this again," Sam groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. He loves his brother, it's true, but he has all these damn quirks. Like sometimes he gets a notion in his head and nothing in the world will shake his resolve. He's also damn picky about what he believes in. "There's no monster that eats socks."
"There is," Dean insists. "It's been following us for five damn states and it got my last pair this morning."
"Well, technically it only got one."
"You're not helping," Dean complains, finally cutting his gaze to Sam. "Why can't you-?"
It's right about then that something dark and fluffy shoots out of the washing machine and straight up the wall opposite. Dean spins but he's too late as it disappears into a vent opposite that has a large hole in it. There's a chittering noise and then what sounds like an long and fairly lusty burp right before the remains of a fairly well-masticated sock thumps to the floor out of the vent.
Sam just stares at his brother for a moment, unable to form words right up until Dean cracks a grin.
"Next time I floor it when I see a rainbow I don't want to hear shit from you."