Title: To-Do List
Original Prompt: What is that Sam does when Dean's out at a bar alone?
Rating: Teen (for mentions of sexual activity)
Word Count: 2200
Synopsis: When Dean finally gets out of the bunker, Sam whips out his to-do list, ready to check a few things off. Of course, things don't go smoothly. (Suggestions of background Cas/Crowley) Season 12.
The sigh. The sigh was Sam's signal, and he perked up at the noise, careful to hide his sudden attentiveness. He cautiously glanced up over the edge of his laptop screen, watching as Dean strutted back into the "table room", as the guys had dubbed the bunkers large open space. Whatever the eldest Winchester had found in the kitchen had left a pinched look on his face. Twice already Dean had no-so-subtly suggested a run into town, maybe a visit to a nearby diner, hell even a grocery store. It wasn't uncommon, Dean getting stir-crazy, so Sam knew it was only a matter of time before his brother broke down and grabbed his keys. The sigh was an acknowledgment that Dean was done waiting.
"You sure?" Dean prodded, one more time.
"Nah, I'm good," Sam answered, as he had each time Dean had asked. Outwardly he was casual, uncaring. Inwardly he was cheering at Dean's frustration. He could wait him out.
"I'm hitting Woody's Place. ..You know, you're allowed to leave the Batcave, Alfred."
Alfred? Sam bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from taking the bait. Or from reminding Dean that last time they'd visited Woody's there had been something crawling in the bar nuts. Instead, Sam focused on the computer again, shrugging as he pretended to read an article for the fifth time. "Not feeling it. Plus I told Jody I'd look into some lore for a friend of hers."
"Yeah, well, I might put in a few hours on the hunt myself, if you get me." In case he didn't, Dean winked. Then he looked immediately embarrassed for himself. "Who am I kidding? I'm going to drink a redneck under the table and win some money playing darts. Don't wait up."
Sam snorted, pretending to be engrossed in his research until he hear the creak of the outer door shutting. Letting out a breath, he smiled to himself and shut the computer. "Finally."
It wasn't that he didn't love having his brother around. It was just…well, it was hard to get anything done when Dean was there. Dean was either a hundred and ten percent chore/training/hunting mode, or, well, a couch potato. There was no in between, in Sam's experience, but there were just some tasks he needed to get done without his brother around, especially when his brother would huff at those tasks.
And there was also maybe an incident or two that involved Dean laughing hysterically at Sam's overly thought-out to-do lists. Which was why Sam had hidden the one he was currently working on between two books on the table. He quickly slid it out, ready to mark the first item off.
Not something he'd usually put on a to-do list, but since the angel had sent him a strange text message an hour earlier ("I am working a case. I do not require physical aid, however, I believe your advice might be beneficial. Call me when Dean is not nearby"), Sam figured he should move it to the top. After all, it wasn't every day that Cas wanted to speak to him instead of Dean, especially since they were all on decent terms again.
Cas answered on the first ring, and Sam tried not to worry when he heard what sounded like a body crashing through a wall. Was Cas fighting something?
"Hello, Sam. You returned my call."
Sam opened and closed his mouth, realizing how Cas sounded. Breathless, exhausted. "Cas, are you ok?"
"Yes. Sam. Winchester. I am. The problem has been resolved. But thank you for returning my call."
"Why are you saying my name like that?"
"Like you're letting someone know who you're on the phone with." Sam raised a brow when he heard shuffling nearby, the muffled sound of someone close to Cas biting off a whispered comment. Which seemed to confirm his theory. "Is someone on this hunt with you."
"I am not sure what you are referring to."
Sam shook his head, certain Cas was lying, but why? "What are you hunting? And why did you want me to call when Dean wasn't around?"
"It…I…misjudged. I needed to ask you a delicate question, and I believe Dean would not answer without making light of the situation. But it has been resolved."
"You still didn't say what you were hunting."
"An old being from a fairy race called Hosts. They have empathic abilities and are known for abducting victims."
Sam grimaced. He didn't have any fond memories of fairies. "And do they eat their victims?"
"Rarely." It sounded like a confession for some reason. "Mostly it appears they feed to satisfaction on heightened emotional energies. And they seem to find abducting an entertaining past-time."
"And you found these Hosts?"
"Ok. That's vague. You're not going to kill them? Do you need help? Wait, escaped? As in, they abducted you? What did they do to you?"
"I... I have no service. We are disconnecting."
"But I can hear you fine."
When he didn't receive another reply, Sam realized that Cas had ended the call. He huffed. That was weird. He hesitated only a moment before scratching the deed off his list and moving on to the next one.
Of all the chores Sam made sure to complete when Dean wasn't around, this was perhaps the most disgusting, and urgent. It wasn't that his brother was an unclean person, but despite how many years of shared laundry duty they had, Sam would never get over his brother's inability to give up on a favorite pair of boxer briefs. A few years back, Sam had finally gotten tired of Dean trotting around in underwear littered with holes, and decided to slowly replace the briefs with exact duplicates, brand new ones. And if Dean ever noticed that his underwear was recycling itself, he didn't comment.
Getting rid of the plastic wrappers, Sam left Dean's underwear drawer without any evidence of his visit, and slipped on a pair of heavy-duty gloves inside the kitchen. Time for the next chore.
Sam uncovered fresh and not-so-fresh corpses on a regular basis. And Dean had put in a Cool Whip container at the back of the meat drawer had made him gag. Still choking on thin air, he tossed it into the garbage and felt something splatter on his arm.
The gloves were not enough. So not enough.
Sure, he showered daily, but a nice long, hot shower? That was something he missed out on when his brother was constantly under his nose. And, okay, yes, maybe he had some private matters he wanted to take care of while enjoying the bunker's water pressure. And maybe he enjoyed being a bit more vocal than Dean's presence allowed. He wasn't putting that on the to-list.
There was a good reason he kept his list hidden, he thought, as he blew the shavings off the top of his emery board, careful not to shake his head and disturb the towel wrapped around his damp hair. For some reason, Dean could never understand why Sam insisted on putting in more effort into his maintenance. Excuse him for not wanting simply leave clipped nails all over the place, he thought.
It wasn't until after he'd glossed his toes and moved on to his hands that he realized something particular. His arm was turning purple. And not in a fresh after a fight bruise kind of way. It was vivid purple and spotchy. In fact it looked a bit like a splatter pattern.
"Son of a-"
Sam didn't know what it said about him that watching a new season of television had to be put on a to-do list. But A.) If he didn't watch it before Cas, Cas would spoil the ending, and B.) Dean was too invested in Nicky and Lorna's sex life to care about any other plotlines. So, Sam had resolved to get his Netflix fix on his own, when given the opportunity, so he could at least complain about Piper to his heart's content.
However, instead of catching up on the show, he found himself playing it in the background while he held his cell to his ear, cursing at Rowena's voice message and scratching the purple stain on his arm. Somehow, he knew this had to be her doing.
He raised his arm up higher, getting a better look at his skin. Were those scales?
"I'm going to kill her this time," Sam said, calmly.
When she didn't immediately call back, he grudgingly dialed the next most likely candidate. "Did your mother leave something in our fridge?" he barked, before Crowley could even answer.
"Having a lovely day. Thanks for asking, Moose." And while it was certainly sarcastic, Crowley almost sounded like he was being honest. There was a particular cheerfulness in his tone that Sam didn't care much for. "What were you saying about the hag?"
"Your mother isn't answering my calls, and I think she left something in the bunker's refrigerator," Sam replied. Then he heard himself and winced. "I think it might have been a potion," he quickly added.
Crowley sighed, as if he couldn't fathom the stupidity of the situation. "And when the bloody hell would that witch have been near your ice box of late? Wait…you mean the mess in the whipped topping container?"
"Yes!" Sam snapped. "You know what it is?"
"She put that in there when God will still roaming the earth. How long has it been since you cleaned your refrigerator?""
"Now, now, that's no way to-" Crowley broke off, hissing something that sounded like, "Oh, for the love of…Moose, that's who! He called me…"
Sam strained to listen in, scoffing when he thought he heard someone whisper something back. It was barely more than a growl of angry indignation, but it was enough. Sam was sure he knew who was with the King of Hell.
"Crowley, who are you with right now?" Sam frowned.
"Why? You taken a sudden interest in my love life?"
"Your love life?" Sam wasn't sure if the sudden dizziness he was feeling had to do with the potion. He took a deep, settling breath. "Crowley, have you hunted any fairies lately?"
"Why do you-? Ah." Crowley cleared his throat. "Oh, look at that. My battery is dead. Must be off. Good luck with the scales."
Sam swore under his breath when he realized his call had ended. He didn't have much time to fume when the phone lit up again with an incoming call from Rowena.
"What did you put you put in the meat drawer?" he snapped.
The witch was silent a moment. "Good heavens, when's the last time you cleaned your refrigerator?"
Giving up on his show after his scale crisis was quickly averted by lavender and holy water, Sam moved on to the next item on his list.
One would think that every experience he'd had with Becky would have turned him away from fanfiction. Instead, he'd found himself, out of boredom and curiosity, stumbling back into the world of fan creations. Despite his every intention of laughing at what he found and dismissing it, he slowly was sucked into a rather long, weekly updated, Harry Potter fanfic that would have left a prostitute blushing.
"I'm going to need another shower," he muttered.
Approximately two seconds after he finished reading, the cell phone vibrated against him. When he answered, Castiel sounded more dire than usual.
"Crowley is a demon who lies. Do not listen to him."
Sam groaned. "Cas."
"The fairies who targeted us manipulate emotions so they might feed. The quickest escape was through satisfying them."
"Cas, please, don't."
"Crowley lied. There was no love made between us."
"Intercourse, even at heightened emotional states, does not require love to reach completion."
These were not the sexual images Sam wanted to see in his head. "Make that a cold shower," he amended, and he honestly didn't care if Cas understood him.
Sam stared at the rest of his list before angrily wadding it in a ball and tossing it. He collapsed into his chair, exhausted, just as he heard the outer door echo down the steps of the bunker. A few moments later he heard Dean's footsteps.
"Look at you, hard at work," Dean said, stepping across the room. "Make any headway on that case for Jody?"
Sam barely looked away from the scattering of books surrounding his computer. He shrugged one shoulder. "You're back early."
"Turns out Woody's has been shut down. Health code or something. Ended up stopping at a bakery I drove past. They were closing up, so they sold me a few pies cheap." Dean raised two paper sacks. "Had some left-over cookies too."
Sam smiled slowly, reaching out to make a grab motion. Dean complied with a wide grin, tossing him the bag. "So you're staying in?"
"Yeah, man, guess we're stuck being boring together."
Sam snorted, pulling out a chocolate chip cookie. "Sure. Boring."
"Neflix?" Dean offered.
"Might as well. I have nothing better to do."