Bad Day at Black Rock Coda
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean gently questioned his brother and Sam nodded once and then winced.
Dean reached into the front pocket of his jeans and fumbled his utility knife out, snapping it open with a one-handed flick of his wrist. He cut Sam out of the duct tape imprisoning him to the chair, and caught Sam when the younger hunter slumped forward, almost tumbling off the edge of the seat. Worried, Dean shoved a hand up in front of Sam’s face, splaying his fingers and wiggling three of them.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Dean, c’mon,” Sam groaned, rolling his eyes for good measure.
“Dammit, Sam, how many fingers?”
“Three, okay?” Sam snapped. “So, how many am I holding up?” Sam questioned in irritation, lifting his middle finger at his brother.
“Real funny, smart ass,” Dean growled back. “I’m just checking to see if you’re all right.”
“My head feels like it’s going to explode and my arms are totally numb from being pinned to my sides for the past hour and a half,” Sam stated, his voice thick with irritation. He raised a feeble hand up to his temple to rub at the incessant throbbing there. “Other than that, I’m just great.”
Dean ignored Sam’s bitchiness in light of all the ‘mishaps’ the younger man had suffered that day, no thanks to that Bela chick stealing the rabbit’s foot from them earlier. Probably should have shot her, Dean thought absently, as he gently took Sam’s bloodied face in his hands, eyes carefully inspecting his little brother’s wounds. Sam’s face sported a swollen gash high on one cheekbone along with a split lip and the beginnings of a nasty shiner. Nothing some antiseptic and a little rest wouldn’t take care of, Dean decided. He glanced back at Kubrick who was still sprawled unconscious on the floor.
“You’re lucky we don’t have time to stick around,” he muttered at the man, face contorting with anger. He helped Sam up from the chair and gave him a gentle push towards the motel room door. “Let’s get going before these two morons wake up from their nap.”
Dean followed Sam out to the parking lot, a puzzled frown on his face. He turned to look back at the motel room, brow creased in thought, and then he shrugged and moved to catch up with Sam.
“Hey,” Dean called after his brother as Sam came to a stop in front of the Impala. “So, who the hell were those two guys anyway?” he asked.
“Friends of Gordon’s,” Sam said, spitting the hunter’s name out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
Dean stopped, blinking in surprise. “Gordon? As in grenade totin’, mental case, I’m a prison be-yotch now, Gordon?”
“That’d be the one,” Sam replied tiredly. “Can we just go now? I’d like to end this day on a high note if possible. And seeing as how I’m still alive and we’ve got the stupid rabbit’s foot back, I’d rather not press my luck any further.”
“Sure,” Dean chuckled lightly. He reached for the car door and then stopped again, shaking his head. “I wonder how Gordon’s friends even knew you were here?” he pondered aloud. He looked up and over the top of the car at Sam. “I mean, what tipped them off?”
Sam flushed visibly and quickly looked away from Dean. Dean’s eyes narrowed as he watched his brother fidget.
“You didn’t…” Dean’s voice was tinged with more than a hint of annoyance, and Sam winced. Dean straightened up to his full height, his hazel eyes flashing at his brother. “Sam, I told you to stay put in that chair and not move a muscle!” he said angrily.
“It was an accident,” Sam whined, puppy dog eyes cast fearfully over at Dean. “I didn’t mean to pull the curtains and the rod down on my head,” he tried to explain as Dean’s expression darkened. “It’s just that I needed something to put out the fire and the curtains-”
“Fire?” Dean broke in, a vein in his temple beginning to throb. “You started a freaking fire in the room?”
“I didn’t start the fire!” Sam quickly corrected. He felt the conversation slipping out of his control and began to babble. “I mean, seriously, I was just minding my own business. I wasn’t doing anything, I swear. The stupid air conditioner just blew up, and I, you know, I thought I should go see what was going on and then…” his voice faded as he watched Dean’s mouth tighten into a thin white line of fury.
“You know what? We don’t have time for this!” Dean barked at Sam, ignoring the hurt look that flashed across his brother’s bruised face. “Just answer one question, Sam. Did you or did you not get up from that chair?”
Sam held his breath a moment, and then let it out in a single, long-drawn sigh of resignation “Yeah,” he quietly admitted, unable to look Dean in the face. “I got up.”
Dean let out an angry snort of disgust, his face a mask of frozen wrath as he stalked around the front of the car towards Sam.
“You never listen to me,” he muttered. He reached out and grabbed Sam by a bicep, swinging him around and shoving him down over the hood of the Impala.
“Dean?” Sam’s scared hollow voice matched the glint of fear in his eyes. He glanced back over his shoulder at Dean.
No,” Dean abruptly countered, his face hardening. “I’m sick of you thinking you can just blow off orders whenever the hell you feel like it.” He raised his arm and let fly, bringing his open palm down hard on Sam’s butt, the jolt reverberating all the way up his arm and into his shoulder.
Sam rocked forward from the blow, grunting and gasping simultaneously. “Jesus!” he swore under his breath.
“Yeah, I don’t think Jesus is gonna be able to help you this time, Sammy,” Dean retorted dryly, as he raised his arm again. “I got the rabbit’s foot now, remember? So, I’m the one making time with lady luck and that means I get whatever I want.”
Dean smiled coldly and swung again, nailing Sam in the center of his left butt cheek, the crack loud and satisfying. “And what I want right at this moment, Sammy, is to beat your little ass black and blue for not following orders and almost getting yourself killed!”
Sam whimpered in misery, letting his forehead drop to the cool, dark metal of the car hood as Dean continued to spank him hard, over and over and over again…stupid FUCKING rabbit’s foot…