Dean just wants to have a day to himself. Knowing this, Sam sends him to a spa for the day. Despite Dean's grumbles over this, he goes and ends up enjoying himself.
Characters: Dean and Sam
Word Count: 1,200
Disclaimer; I don't own them
“Are you nuts?”
“If I am, it’s only because you’re driving me nuts, Dean.”
“A spa? Seriously?”
“Yes, a spa. You said yourself you needed to get away and relax.”
“I can do that at a decent bar with a bottle of Jack.”
“Yes, but this is better, it’s a good – HEALTHY – way of getting away from it all."
“You’re not selling it, Sam.”
“Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“Yep, and relaxing.”
“Dude, if there’s yoga … I will hurt you.”
“There is yoga, but only if you want to do it Dean.”
“I’d rather peel my eyeballs.”
“Fine. No yoga then.”
“No, freaking new-age hippy yoga crap. No, definitely not, nada, nein, niet. Not on my goddamn life.”
“Just go. Like, now. Please …”
Dean frowned as he glanced out of the Impala’s windscreen at the ‘New You’ spa that Sam had booked him a pampering day at.
All he’d said a few days ago was that he needed to get away from it all. Of course, what he’d actually meant was that he wanted to take the impala and drive to a new bar, somewhere the Winchesters didn’t frequent and where he could sit with only a bottle of Jack and a plate of pickle chips for company, and not be bothered by any folk who knew him, or by Sam angsting about life, the universe and everything.
Instead of that, Sam had got this idea in his head that Dean needed a pamper day. A spa for chrissakes! What the hell was a ‘Men’s Pampering Day’ anyway?
Never mind a pampering day, when he got back to the bunker, he was going to book Sam a hormone check down at the local clinic. Jeez, the guy was so freaking metrosexual, he was probably growing ovaries right this minute.
Dean reluctantly stepped out of the parked impala, remembering to pick up the drawstring bag that he had prepared. Packed with his favourite blue striped swimming shorts, a pair of flip-flops, shower gel, shampoo and – at Sam’s insistence - a bottle of conditioner that Dean was flatly refusing to acknowledge the existence of.
He was most aggrieved that Sam had refused to allow him to pack the dead guy robe.
As Dean walked through the glass doors at the front of the building, he was met by a jaunty young woman in a flatteringly fitted tracksuit.
He smiled. This day was looking up already.
“Mr Winchester welcome!” She smiled warmly.
He smiled back, “Hi…” he replied, glancing at the girl’s name badge; “…Kayley.”
“You’re here for your pamper day,” Kayley confirmed, glancing into the appointment book.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed; “that’s right. My brother booked it; apparently he thinks I need to relax more.”
Kayley looked up; “you have a very special brother, Mr Winchester.”
“Oh, he’s that alright,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Yes, I sure have,” he announced for Kayley’s benefit; “and it’s Dean by the way.”
Kayley turned round with a radiant smile, and emerged from behind the counter. “I’ll take you down to the changing rooms Dean, here, you’ll need this.”
She handed him a large wad of something white and fluffy, which he took hesitantly. He stared at it in confusion.
“It’s a towel Dean, and a bathrobe for when you’re walking around the spa.”
Dean just couldn’t process the fact that there were towels in the world that felt this soft. He reflected that none of the towels at the bunker were as soft and fluffy as this. Some of them felt like they’d take your skin off if you scrubbed too hard with them; in fact he was pretty sure he could use them to replace the glasspaper he used when he made body repairs on the Impala. He often berated Sam about using better fabric conditioner, and Sam generally responded with a few words that couldn’t be repeated in polite company and an invitation for Dean to ‘do his own goddamn laundry then’.
“So your brother has booked you our deluxe mens’ pamper day which includes a Turkish shave and facial, a massage, a pedicure and plenty of time to relax in our sauna and swimming pool.”
“Cool,” Dean replied; “so no yoga then.”
“No,” came the response; “not included in the package, but if you wanted to purchase a day pass, there are two classes later in the …”
“No,” Dean snapped; “you’re okay. No yoga is fine, awesome in fact!”
In what seemed only moments later, Dean found himself, resplendent in flip-flops and his awesomely soft bathrobe, sitting in a barbers chair with his head and face wrapped in damp, hot towels.
Dean never thought that he’d be so relaxed about having another dude touching his face, especially since said dude was holding a fierce-looking razor that would give Dean’s trusty Bowie knife a run for its money, but nevertheless, here he was. Drifting off into a comfortable doze as the hot towels and scented foam worked their magic on his skin.
His mind wandered, and he found himself thinking back all those years ago, helping Sam as he learned to shave. He smiled at the memory, those were good times. Especially entertaining were the times watching teenage Sam walking around with lumps of toilet paper stuck to various nicks around his face. Dean had never met a kid so unco-ordinated – it must have been those freaky long, fast-growing limbs that caused it. Dean would be willing to bet that Sam’s brain and his eyes probably couldn’t keep up the pace.
At the end of the shave, Dean felt his face and gasped. So soft, and smooth. Jeez, never mind Sam growing ovaries, Dean suddenly felt like he already had them.
If Dean had felt relaxed after his shave, his massage reduced him to a semi-liquid state. As the therapist worked, her expert hands reduced their victim to a boneless puddle of Dean. He didn’t actually know it was possible to be this relaxed without a) copious amounts of alcohol and b) being dead.
Every now and again, she would discover a knot of tension buried deep in the overworked and abused muscles of his back, and on doing so, she would piledrive into it with determined fingertips and knead it into oblivion. Dean was convinced that she had kneaded his brain into oblivion as well, but he was totally cool with that. He went to a bar and did that for himself most evenings anyway.
After a refreshing few lengths of the pool, Dean knew he was reaching the end of his day, and although it pained him to admit it, the whole day had been amazing. Well, apart from that one awkward moment during his pedicure … okay, he’d never realised that his feet were that sensitive – and he really hadn’t meant to kick the therapist in the face … but, at least it had woken him up enough that he felt confident to be able to drive back to the bunker without slipping into a coma.
Dean felt relaxed and invigorated. He’d had lots of new experiences, which thankfully didn’t include yoga, and they had all been awesome – even the dandelion tea wasn’t too bad, although it made you pee like a racehorse - He felt calm and fresh, and like he could take on the world.
Yes, Sam had been absolutely right after all.
Damnit, he was never going to hear the last of this …