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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: G
Pairing: None…er, well. Dean/car, kinda.
Feedback: Good lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: Belongs to the WB and misc., which doesn’t include me.
Summary: Sam catches Dean at it again.
***
Sam woke up in the middle of the night and instantly knew something was off. For one thing, Dean wasn’t snoring.
Dean wasn’t even in the room, and a quick check told Sam that Dean’s coat and boots were missing. Sam glanced at the clock, then longingly at his nice, soft, non-ghoul-flesh pillow. Then he got up and stumbled towards the door, expecting to have to drag Dean out of some late-night diner manned by a blonde. Or if Dean’s restlessness had gone the other way, out of some bar where he was pissing off the locals with that glint in his eye.
Halfway to the door, Sam had a…hunch. He didn’t care what Dean said; he was developing some weird extra sense. He’d better be—he didn’t want to think about what kind of person could non-supernaturally intuit that Dean was…Sam quietly padded over to the window and squinted out at the parking lot.
His brother was stretched over the hood, head turned so he was facing Sam’s way. But his eyes were all for the Impala; he had his hand splayed over the hood too while his lips moved. He stopped talking for a second and rubbed the hood a few times, then started again. It was way too far for Sam to hear, but he knew what Dean was saying.
I’m sorry, babe. But I had to do it. We had a pack of ghouls after us, and I don’t care what the books say, they are damn fast. I promise, next bunch of pool-boys I whip—all that money’s going to your paint touch-up.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned around to flop back in bed. Jesus Christ—they’d dented a trashcan and that was it. And Dean said Sam had possession-issues.
***