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It it still is killabeez's birthday here on the West Coast - so happy birthday.
Sam knew they were running low on funds when Dean pulled up to the sagging front steps.
"Accommodations. Cheap” the sign had said. The collection of one room shacks then had the balls to slap the word "Motel" in faded red letters over the driveway. 25 separate buildings, each so small they looked like rejects from Disneyland’s Main Street.
He just hadn’t realized how broke they were until he stepped inside the room and saw that the ceilings topped out under 7 feet, the bed was a super twin, and while the bathroom had a tub, it was barely 4 feet long. And there was no showerhead.
"Historical landmark," muttered the clerk, thrusting a pamphlet at them during registration.
As Sam started running water for his bath, all he could think was 'historical tightwads.’
It didn’t help that Dean had not stopped talking for the past 4 hours. Sam was tired, still sore from his run-in with the mud-slinging ghost and badly in need of a bath. Dean, on the other hand, was wired with too much junk food, coffee and coco-cola and too little sleep.
"Hey read this!" Dean yelled from the other room. "The We Blow Motel was built in the 1940s-“
"Weaubleau Motel, Dean. Not ‘We Blow’ Motel," Sam yelled back, annoyed. The tub really was too small. He felt like he was bathing in a shotglass.
"Whatever." Sam could hear Dean’s underlying snigger and could imagine the rolling eyes. "Anyhow, the motel was built in the 1930s-"
"I thought you said the 1940s?" Sam yelled back more loudly this time, even though the bathroom door was cracked open. If he had to bathe in a shotglass, he might was well make Dean suffer too.
"Who cares when. Would you let me get to the good part? Okay?" There was a pause and then Dean added forcefully “Okay?" Clearly Dean did not want to take the chance of being interrupted again. Probably thinks every word is sacred, Sam thought. He knew the interruptions were driving Dean crazy. Along with the waiting for him to interrupt. But Sam had been trained alongside Dean in the art of lying in wait.
After a moment had passed, Sam finally replied. "Okay." He heard Dean take a breath and the pamphlet rustling.
"The motel-" Dean started up again after adding a few extra beats for safety.
"Not listening! Not listening! Not listening! Am dunking my head. Not listening!" Sam shouted gleefully. And then he did, grinning and trying not to inhale the water with laughter as he rinsed his hair. He held his breath for a few minutes before coming up. ‘Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great’ was now running though his mind. God, he must be tired.
Dean was still speaking. "......so we got a deal. You'll owe me a blow job every morning for the next 6 weeks. And I'll drink pineapple juice every morning to make it sweeter. Fair trade."
Sam shook his head ruefully. He really had nothing to say to that. Because they were right. Every sperm was sacred.