Tuesday Challenge (Brotherly Banter)

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◯ →˚ Nikki’s blog ₊·🕸੭. 04/15/25

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ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

ᴺᵒʷ ᴾˡᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ; It's my Life - cover by First To Eleven

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↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ  : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

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art credit: Me

warnings: None

word count :453

synopsis: Two brothers, Dean and Sam, balance their usual banter with the urgency of investigating a mysterious, inexplicable death in a remote cornfield.

hashtags: #featureme

a/n :

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▹   ⌜ 一 ┆ START ⌟

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The motel room was a time capsule of bad taste, its floral wallpaper peeling like it was trying to escape the '70s. A flickering lamp cast jittery shadows over the stained carpet and mismatched furniture, while the air carried the distinct aroma of mildew and regret.

Dean lounged on the sagging bed, boots unapologetically propped on the threadbare comforter, his gun resting in his lap. The rhythmic scrape of an old rag against the barrel filled the room, a steady soundtrack to his smug indifference. His eyes sparkled with mischief, a sharp contrast to his relaxed posture.

At the rickety desk, Sam hunched over his laptop, the screen’s cold blue glow highlighting the furrow in his brow. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a rhythm that screamed, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“You ate my last granola bar,” Sam said, breaking the silence with the kind of accusation that could start wars.

Dean didn’t even flinch, a grin tugging at his lips as he kept cleaning the gun. “What, you want me to write a eulogy for it?”

“It was labeled, Dean. With my name.” Sam’s tone was flat, but his glare could’ve melted steel.

Dean finally looked up, his grin widening. “Your name? What are we, kindergarteners? You gonna start putting stickers on your juice boxes too?”

Sam sighed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to summon patience from the universe. “It’s called basic human decency.”

Dean chuckled, tossing the rag aside as the gun clicked back into place. “Decency? From me? You’re aiming high, Sammy. But hey, I’ll write you an apology on a napkin if it helps.”

Sam groaned, his fingers gripping the edge of the laptop like it was his last shred of sanity. “Forget it. Let’s focus. What’d you find?”

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his grin turning conspiratorial. “Alright, Professor Granola, hit me.”

Sam pushed the laptop toward Dean, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “There’s been a body found outside town. No signs of struggle, no footprints, no blood—just dropped in the middle of a cornfield, like it fell from the sky.”

Dean’s smirk faded, replaced by a sharp-eyed focus. He stood, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans with practiced ease. “Alright. That’s weird.”

He grabbed his jacket, his movements brisk but still casual enough to sneak in one last jab. “Let’s roll. But I swear, Sammy, if you start labeling snack bags, I’m telling Bobby you’ve officially lost it.”

Sam groaned, shoving past Dean toward the door, his jacket slung over his shoulder. The creak of the hinges echoed as the door swung shut behind them, leaving the flickering lamp and peeling wallpaper to their silent vigil.

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▹   ⌜ 一 ┆ FINISH ⌟

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Thanks for reading, have a great day/night.