TITLE: Kite High
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
ARCHIVE: Ask, please.
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Aug. 7, 2006
SUMMARY: Sam was giggling softly over on his bed.
AUTHOR NOTES: Silly little thing that happened while I waited for the plumber. Really, silliness.
DISCLAIMER: Read
Sam was giggling softly over on his bed. Had been for at least the last...yeah, ten minutes. Like something had set him off while Dean was in the bathroom and he'd just forgotten to stop.
The weather report flashing green and yellow and red across the screen didn't sound all that hilarious; it was still raining, no need to rub it in. Dean's money was on something else turning Sam into a teenage girl. Something besides the emergency samples of Percocet that he'd dug out of the trunk. Those little pills had knocked Dean flat the one time he'd resorted to them, and after doing nothing more than easing Sam out of the car and into their room had pulled more than one whimper from Sam, Dean had been all for putting his brother in that state. Getting flung out into a normally dry river by a rain god gone psycho would've been wet but fine if-- Shit, nothing was broken, he'd checked, and they'd both torn plenty of muscles over the years, this was probably one more, but Sam didn't almost bite through his lip because of just anything.
Dean sighed and rolled over, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder that settled back into an ache. He'd been able to twist far enough to see and wince at the long, dark bruise in the mirror, but that was all it was: a bruise.
Sam, though... Flat on his abused back, check. Looking like he wouldn't be able to get a firm grip on the anything harder than a blanket, wonderful. Still giggling, oh yeah, which was going to have to be fixed before smothering turned into a good idea.
"Sam."
Nothing. The weather guy was droning on, having run out of excitement before they'd even arrived in this flooding desert town, and Sam seemed to be transfixed by one of the spreading water marks on the ceiling. He always did have a thing for staring up at clouds. Shaking him out of it probably wouldn't be the best approach this time, though.
"Hey, Sam."
The news went to commercial with the local equivalent of a dramatic horn, and the giggles deepened into snickering.
Dean rolled his eyes and barked, "Yo, Sammy!"
When Sam's head started turning, his mouth was still open on a stupid smile. By the time his head made it around far enough for Dean to see both pupils-blown eyes, Sam was trying to frown. Mostly, his nose was just scrunched up in a pissy pout.
"'m Sam."
"Soon as you respond to it, sure thing. So," Dean asked, waving a hand in the space between their beds, "was it the commercial for that dumb dust mop that got this going?"
Sam blew a raspberry loud enough that spit flew, and Dean grimaced, happy to be out of range. But then Sam stabbed a finger at the ceiling and said, "No!" and winced, that move obviously pulling things in bad ways even through the meds.
Dean shifted, sitting up. Before he could get any further, Sam's hand dropped back to the bed and the bounce it took got the giggles going again, and Dean rubbed a hand over his face. Terrific. Sam was as fine as he was going to get.
"Wanna share, then?"
"They met Santa!" Sam's voice was already as high as he was, and it rose higher as he said, "I heard it. And the little red one, he faints, I remember! So cute."
Dean blinked once, slowly. "How are you still conscious?"
"You really shouldn't eat them, Dean, 's not nice."
Dean stared at him even harder. It didn't help. Sam was rolling his head back and forth on his pillow, mouthing only god knew what.
"Yeah," Dean finally said. "Believe me, first M&M that talks gets used as ammunition."
Sam's head stilled immediately, his mouth twisting. Dean frowned, pushed back the covers, and was swinging his feet down to the floor when Sam shook his head, a quick rejection.
"No. Melting. Chocolate all over, like, like when you snorted, and the milk, there was chocolate milk everywhere." Both hands came up, fingers and arms spreading in a very loose demo of an explosion before falling back to Sam's sides as he sighed. "And anyway, sugar..."
He faded out, his eyes fluttering closed. Poised on the edge of his bed, Dean held his breath, hope for quiet winning out over curiosity about whatever sugar was or did. He was also reconsidering his project to get Sam seriously tanked. Reconsidering doing it in public, anyway; if being doped to the gills didn't keep Sam from forgetting the less happily memorable bits of their childhood, maybe--
"Sugar doesn't repel anything."
Sam's eyes were still closed, and that statement came out more mumbled than when he'd gotten his wisdom teeth out at fifteen. Its tone said, You idiot, as clearly as Sam ever deliberately did, though, and relaxing again, Dean didn't stop himself.
"Dentists."
"Nah." Sam let out a long sigh and pulled the covers up closer under his chin, his feet suddenly appearing at the bottom of the bed. Well, he was wearing socks, he'd live. "They'd attack. Bzzzz, drill, bad."
Dean choked on a laugh. "Right. Big weapon. And all those hygienists, best evil minion force available: always hot, with those big eyes...totally distracting. And that floss..."
"Mmmm-hm."
That came out slow and blurry, and Sam wasn't moving at all now. Which really, how was Dean supposed to deny the temptation to fuck with him? Just a little more.
"I bet if you take away their masks, that'd do it."
"Mm-- Hm?"
Dean put some awe into his voice. "Unless all their power comes from their chair."
Lines formed between Sam's eyebrows, but he didn't say anything. After a minute of silence, Dean turned off the light and watched him carefully until the sports report came up. When that ended and Sam was still just lying there with that little confused frown, breathing deep and even, Dean reached over to hit the power button on the remote.
In the dim light coming in around the curtains, he shook his head at the spots forming a toothy grin on the ceiling above his bed. Yeah, laugh it up, buddy. As of tomorrow, nothing but over-the-counter.
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