Chapter Text
After 4 weeks of recovery from demonic possession, one spent at the hospital and the other three at his brother’s apartment, Sam Winchester was going stir-crazy. It might not have been so bad if Dean were around, but his brother was being kept very busy at his day job at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.
Dean Winchester had a day job. Sam shook his head at the thought, then resumed his argument over their Friday night dinner of pizza and beer. “Look, I’m not trying to run a marathon here. Just go for a walk in the park,” Sam said.
“Dude, you get winded going down the one flight of stairs here,” Dean said. “Ten bucks says you couldn’t go 50 steps without needing me to carry you back to the car.”
“Deal!” Sam said quickly. Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to explain the definition of sarcasm, but Sam barreled on, “In fact, I’ll make it twenty bucks.” Dean again tried to argue so Sam injected some pleading into his voice, “Come on, man, don’t make me beg.”
“Fine!” Dean relented. “But I’m holding you to that bet.”
Sam smiled and took a drink of his beer in victory, then said nonchalantly, “So, how was work?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Are we really gonna do this again?” he asked.
“Do what?” Sam asked innocently.
“The thing where you dig for information that I can’t tell you and then you get pissed when I don’t tell you,” Dean said.
“You don’t have to tell me specifics,” Sam said. “You have my permission to give one-word answers. Just…give me something.”
Dean shrugged and said, “Work was…work was work. Had a meeting with my boss’s boss’s bosses. Gave a presentation.”
Sam smiled in bemusement. “You gave a presentation?” he asked.
Dean rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, I gave a presentation. I even used PowerPoint.” He took the last swallow of his beer and stood to throw it in the recycling bin.
Sam reached into the six pack and pulled out another beer for his brother. “Here you go,” he said, holding it out.
Dean shook his head and said, “Nah, I’m good.”
“Really?” Sam asked. “Since when have you ever turned down beer?”
Dean got himself a glass of water and sat back down. “Since I nearly died of alcohol withdrawal during boot camp,” he said.
“Huh,” Sam said, and he put the beer back with the others. He started peeling at the label of his own bottle. “Got a call from Bobby today.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked. “What about?”
Sam took a fortifying breath and said, “About a potential hunt.”
“No,” Dean said.
“You haven’t even heard my question,” Sam said.
“I don’t need to hear the question. It was implied,” Dean said with certainty.
“It’s in Winter Park, which is just like, two hours away,” Sam said. “And I know what you’re gonna say: your day job keeps you too busy. Well, not on the weekends it doesn’t, at least not for the next two weeks, right?”
“Sam, you are four weeks out of the most traumatic event of your life, you aren’t up to hunting,” Dean said.
Sam shook his head and said, “Bobby says it’s a milk run. Just your average haunting, there haven’t even been any deaths yet.”
“Like a dog with a bone,” Dean muttered. He threw up his hands in defeat and said, “Ok, you win. Again. You want to go on that walk now or later.”
“Actually, I was thinking we could kill two birds with one stone tomorrow,” Sam said.
Dean eyed his brother suspiciously and said, “I’m going to lose that twenty bucks, aren’t I?”