Truth and Dare - Chapter 1 - Truth (part 1)
Supernatural
Sam/Dean
NC-17
~7000 words
This is a sequel to Spin the Can but it's not necessary to have read it. But it's pornier if you like that kind of thing. The second chapter will be up in a few days.
Dean and Sam haven’t fooled around much since that first night with the whole spin the bottle thing. Sam had reached for him one drunken night and they’d managed a quick rub off, and there had been some awesome but quick almost fully-clothed hand jobs. But nothing close to that night. Nothing at all since Madison, and he can’t quite figure out how to get his little brother naked and horizontal again.
“Six bucks for a milkshake?” Eyes wide, Dean looks up at the Lucille Ball-look alike in the faux 50s waitress outfit. Her nametag reads LaVerne but it’s probably about as real as her hair color.
LaVerne blows a bubble with her well-chewed gum, sucks it back whole between her candy-apply red lips, and bites down, popping it. “First time in LA?” She pats his arm consolingly, draws it back slowly, fingers dragging slightly down the leather. Dean gives her a half-force smile, panty-dampening but not panty-dropping. Sam snorts a laugh and Dean shoots him a look, but Sam seems engrossed in the song selection on the tabletop jukebox.
“First time getting robbed,” Dean mutters into the menu. LaVerne sighs impatiently.
Sam drops several quarters into the jukebox, turns to the waitress, dimples flashing. “I’ll take a banana shake and the roast chicken and veggie plate. Extra gravy.”
“Sure thing, honey.” She smacks Dean with the order pad. “And for you, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”
Dean kicks Sam under the table, knowing without looking that his brother is laughing silently at him. Nothing makes Sam happier than a woman who can resist the Dean Winchester charm.
Sam answers for him. “He’ll have the cheeseburger plate, medium, and a …?” Now it’s Sam’s turn to kick Dean.
Dean scowls across the table. “Butterscotch.”
“Butterscotch shake.” LaVerne pops her gum again as she collects the menus and saunters away from the booth.
“Hey,” Dean calls out after her. “What if I want dessert?”
“A milkshake is dessert,” Sam pronounces as he pushes more buttons. Click, click, click. Sam makes a selection.
Here’s my story, it’s sad but true. About a girl that I once knew. She took my heart and ran around With every other boy in town.
Dean shifts on the red vinyl bench until his back is against the wall, right leg bent up onto the seat. He’s tapping along on the seat, singing along with Dion under his breath. Sam scans the free newspaper he’d grabbed on the way in.
“Anything?”
Sam shakes his head, goes back to the paper. Dean watches Sam out of the corner of his eye while he pretends to be checking out the crowd. To anyone else, Sam would look perfectly calm, peaceful. Dean’s not buying it. Sam had been moodily quiet since they’d left the lot. Not a full-on teenage sulk, more a low-level irritation that he seemed to fighting. And losing, if Dean was any judge. Which he was. Sam’s face was Dean’s native tongue and Dean’s face was Sam’s. Their lives had depended on that fluency over and over. So it worried Dean on a primal level when he couldn’t break the code.
Dean clicks at the tray on the metal straw dispenser, one, two, three, four straws. Sam’s large hand slaps down over his as he goes for five. “Dean.”
Dean is all innocence. “What? Bruce in catering said the milkshakes here were to die for. Worth the drive. I just want to be prepared.”
“I think one straw apiece will suffice.” Sam folds the newspaper up as LaVerne walks down the aisle carrying a tray with two tall glasses filled with milkshake and two metal mixing cups, condensation rolling down their side.
Dean slides his foot off the bench until he’s facing Sam. “Ooh, suffice. I like when you use big words, gets me all hot.” Sam’s eyes narrow.
LaVerne gives them each a shake and a tumbler with the extra that didn’t fit in the glass. “Banana for you,” she sets one down in front of Sam. “Butterscotch for the boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Sam’s reply is quick. It’s true, of course, but for some reason it still rankles Dean. So he’s good enough to screw around with, but not good enough for a boyfriend? And how fucked up is that thought? Dean stabs three straws into his milkshake.
LaVerne eyes Dean up and down. “No? Good to know.” She smiles at Sam. “Food’ll be out in about five. Enjoy.”
The Righteous Brothers start singing about losing that loving feeling as Dean gets his first sip of shake. “Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff,” he moans around the three straws. He takes another long sip, eyes closed. He opens them to Sam’s smirk.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” Sam asks, but Dean can’t help but noticed that Sam is sucking on his straw pretty hard, too. There’s something mesmerizing about the way Sam’s pink lips are wrapped around that straw. Dean licks some butterscotch off his lips. A flash of sense memory - Sam on his knees, looking up through a curtain of hair, Sam’s lips wide around his cock - and a tickle of lust start low in his belly. Dean doesn’t answer, just tilts his glass a little towards him, swirls all three straws around in the bottom of the glass, and carefully pulls out a thick mouthful of vanilla ice cream laced with butterscotch syrup. He can see Sam’s eyes tracking his hand as he raises the straws and lets the ice cream drip into his open mouth. He makes sure Sam is looking at him and then licks and sucks the straws clean before slipping them back into his glass. “The best stuff is always at the bottom.” There are splashes of color high on Sam’s cheeks and his nostril flare just a bit. Dean digs back into the bottom of his glass, scoops up some more, and holds it out to his brother. “Want a taste?”
Sam leans forward, mouth open, eyes locked on Dean.
“That’s what the spoon is for, honey.” They both start slightly - hunters don’t startle - as LaVerne sets down a tray on the end of their table. Sam leans back, lifting his arms up to make an empty space as she slides his plate in front of him.
“Shit,” Dean curses as the ice cream slides down the straw onto the table.
“Language,” LaVerne scolds, putting Dean’s burger down. She puts her hands on her hips, at looks between the boys. “So? Liking the shakes? Best in the Valley.”
They both nod. “They’re excellent, ma’am.” Sam adds.
She smiles at him. Dean thinks she’s one second away from pinching his cheek. “Such a polite young man. You I like.” She turns and glares at Dean but see her trying to hold back a small smile. She’s younger than Dean had thought at first. “You, on the other hand…” She waggles a finger at Dean, walking backwards away from the table. “Mind your manners.”
“What are you, my mother?” Dean calls down the aisle to her. When she waggles her eyebrows and flips him the double bird, he burst out laughing and shakes his head. She mouths something he can’t understand, and he gave her the head tilt, eyebrows drawn together look. Kiss him, she mouths again, slowly, jerking her head at Sam just in case Dean could possibly think she means some other him.
Sam cranes his head around to see what Dean is looking at but LaVerne has already turned away. He turns back to see Dean chuckling and shaking his head a little. “What?” He looks back and forth between LaVerne’s retreating back and Dean’s face. “What?”
“Nothing,” Dean says, still smiling. He jerks his chin at Sam’s shake. “So how is it? Good?”
“Yeah, it’s really good. Fresh banana.” Sam tilts his cup towards Dean. “Want a taste?” His voice is a little deeper, and he sinks just a little lower in the booth, legs stretching out to bracket Dean’s under the table.
Hell yeah, Dean wants a taste. He and Sam haven’t fucked around much since that first night with the whole spin the bottle thing. Sam had reached for him one drunken night and they’d managed a quick rub off, and there had been some awesome but quick almost fully-clothed hand jobs. But nothing close to that night. Nothing at all since Madison, and he can’t quite figure out how to get his little brother naked and horizontal again. That’s the only reason he’d gone with Tara. He was horny and he’d jerked off to a mental picture of Tara more than once. Tara was on the list. And Tara was great, fine, sweet girl. But. Well. Dean replays the well-worn memory of Sam coming so spectacularly that first time, the look on his face, the feel of his skin against Dean’s cock. He could lose himself in Sam and Dean knows he wants more than a taste.
Sam rattles the cup, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags his arm forward until the can bend down over the cup. The straw is warm and tastes of Sam and banana shake. Awesome. He lets the straw slip out of his mouth, hand still on top of Sam’s. “Oh, that is good.” He licks his lips like he’s chasing the flavor. Sam slides the straw back between Dean’s lips, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyes dark. Dean takes another deep sip, sucking in his cheeks more than is probably necessary - it really is good, maybe he should get a banana shake to go - then pulls off, pushing the glass back to Sam. “Drink up, Sammy. Milk. It does a body good.”
Sam leaves his legs on either side of Dean’s and starts in on his dinner. Maybe it will be tonight, Dean muses. He’s definitely getting some fuck-me vibes off Sam. He’d though Sam had been pissed when he caught Dean coming out of Tara’s trailer. Guess not. It’s not like Dean was mad about…Dean’s thought skitter away from the whole Madison disaster. He digs deep into the burger, looking to distract himself. They eat in silence for a second, the hum of conversation and clinking silverware and the faint music from someone else’s jukebox filling the silence. Speaking of silence, there is distinct lack of music at their table. Dean holds out a hand across the table. “Give me a quarter.”
“Get your own quarter.”
Dean rolls his eyes. He knows Sam has change. The kid always has change in his pockets. Saying no to Dean is just like a reflex in Sam and ignoring it is Dean’s reflex. He wiggles his fingers. “The music’s stopped. Quarter.”
Sam sighs, but digs in his pocket and pulls out a quarter, dropping into Dean’s outstretched hand. “Fine. But no crappy songs.”
“You wouldn’t know a crappy song if it crapped on your head.” He’s already pressing the buttons, making the song list rotate, so Sam goes for the kick rather than the eye roll.
“Lame.”
Dean punches in two songs and turns back to his plate. “You’re lame.” Now Sam goes for the eyeroll.
Oh, when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof And your shoes get so hot, you wish your tired feet were fireproof Under the boardwalk, down by the sea On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be.
“What do you say, Sam? Spend a few days on the beach? Under the boardwalk?” He waggles his eyebrows.
Sam shakes his head. “I wanna keep going. I need to keep going.”
“C’mon, it will be fun.”
Sam scowls and hacks at his chicken like it’s personally offended him. “No. I don’t want to stay here any longer then we have to.”
Dean sighs as bites into his burger. “Why you gotta be like that, Sammy?” Dean lets the song play out uninterrupted. He’s not giving up, this is just the first volley, sometimes Sam takes a little convincing.
Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop *POP*
Sam looks up. “God, I haven’t heard this song forever. I used to love this song when I was a kid.”
Crazy way he thrills-a me Tell you why Just like a lightning from the sky He loves to kiss me 'Till I can't see straight Gee, my Lollipop is great!
“I know. You always did like to lick the lollipops.” Dean’s voice is caught between a leer and a chuckle and Sam looks at him like he’s a lunatic.
“Did you just make a blow job innuendo?” Dean nods and smiles, pleased that his joke didn’t go unnoticed. “About me or the song?”
“Can’t it be both?” Now Dean does let out the laugh, because Sam looks scandalized, letting his fork and knife lower to the table.
“This song isn’t about -“ he looks around to make sure no one is listening and still leans closer to Dean and whispers, “-blowjobs.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s like -“ he waves his knife around, looking for the right word “-old.”
“You telling me people didn’t get blowjobs in the fifties?” He scoops up some milkshakes with his straws, sliding them deep into the back of his mouth.
“You’re a perv.”
Dean’s laugh is loud and real and completely contagious. He sees a few heads turn towards them, and even Sam can’t hold in his smile though he shakes his head at Dean’s lack of shame.
“Why do you think I taught it to you? And why dad made you stop singing it?”
Sam flicks a pea at him. “You were a perv at twelve.”
“You know it, baby. You love it.” He sucks the dregs of his milkshake through the straws, then burps loudly. Sam frowns and LaVerne, who just happens to be passing the table, smacks him on the back of the head with her order pad. “Bite me,” he tells her. “Save it for the boyfriend,” she suggests, sauntering away.
Sam half turns to her, one arm over the back of the seat, “He’s not my -“
Dean clinks the long spoon against the metal cup, dragging up the last of the shake. “C’mon, Sam. Eat up. Let’s blow this place. We can be at the beach in twenty minutes.”
Sam shovels in some chicken and gravy. “We’re not going to the beach, Dean. We’re going to get some sleep and then hit the road.”
Dean grunts and finished the last bite of his burger. He catches LaVerne’s eye and gestures for the check. He isn’t sulking. Who’d died at made Sam boss anyway? It’s not like he was asking for a week at Disneyland. He deserves it. He’s been cheated out of the swimming pools and movie stars, and they’ve had a reasonably successful salt & burn. Too bad about Walter, but the idiot should not have been playing with shit he didn’t understand. He kinda didn’t blame those ghosts, the dead needed to stay dead. So, all in all, he felt he was owed at least a little time to soak up the City of Angels. One night, maybe two, not too much to ask.
They finish up, pay, and walk out in silence. Dean still can’t get a handle on Sam’s mood. It was up and down so much tonight, Dean can’t tell if he stands a better chance of getting laid or getting punched. He spins the keys to the impala around his finger as they push through the doors of the diner.
Sam/Dean
NC-17
~7000 words
This is a sequel to Spin the Can but it's not necessary to have read it. But it's pornier if you like that kind of thing. The second chapter will be up in a few days.
Dean and Sam haven’t fooled around much since that first night with the whole spin the bottle thing. Sam had reached for him one drunken night and they’d managed a quick rub off, and there had been some awesome but quick almost fully-clothed hand jobs. But nothing close to that night. Nothing at all since Madison, and he can’t quite figure out how to get his little brother naked and horizontal again.
“Six bucks for a milkshake?” Eyes wide, Dean looks up at the Lucille Ball-look alike in the faux 50s waitress outfit. Her nametag reads LaVerne but it’s probably about as real as her hair color.
LaVerne blows a bubble with her well-chewed gum, sucks it back whole between her candy-apply red lips, and bites down, popping it. “First time in LA?” She pats his arm consolingly, draws it back slowly, fingers dragging slightly down the leather. Dean gives her a half-force smile, panty-dampening but not panty-dropping. Sam snorts a laugh and Dean shoots him a look, but Sam seems engrossed in the song selection on the tabletop jukebox.
“First time getting robbed,” Dean mutters into the menu. LaVerne sighs impatiently.
Sam drops several quarters into the jukebox, turns to the waitress, dimples flashing. “I’ll take a banana shake and the roast chicken and veggie plate. Extra gravy.”
“Sure thing, honey.” She smacks Dean with the order pad. “And for you, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”
Dean kicks Sam under the table, knowing without looking that his brother is laughing silently at him. Nothing makes Sam happier than a woman who can resist the Dean Winchester charm.
Sam answers for him. “He’ll have the cheeseburger plate, medium, and a …?” Now it’s Sam’s turn to kick Dean.
Dean scowls across the table. “Butterscotch.”
“Butterscotch shake.” LaVerne pops her gum again as she collects the menus and saunters away from the booth.
“Hey,” Dean calls out after her. “What if I want dessert?”
“A milkshake is dessert,” Sam pronounces as he pushes more buttons. Click, click, click. Sam makes a selection.
Here’s my story, it’s sad but true. About a girl that I once knew. She took my heart and ran around With every other boy in town.
Dean shifts on the red vinyl bench until his back is against the wall, right leg bent up onto the seat. He’s tapping along on the seat, singing along with Dion under his breath. Sam scans the free newspaper he’d grabbed on the way in.
“Anything?”
Sam shakes his head, goes back to the paper. Dean watches Sam out of the corner of his eye while he pretends to be checking out the crowd. To anyone else, Sam would look perfectly calm, peaceful. Dean’s not buying it. Sam had been moodily quiet since they’d left the lot. Not a full-on teenage sulk, more a low-level irritation that he seemed to fighting. And losing, if Dean was any judge. Which he was. Sam’s face was Dean’s native tongue and Dean’s face was Sam’s. Their lives had depended on that fluency over and over. So it worried Dean on a primal level when he couldn’t break the code.
Dean clicks at the tray on the metal straw dispenser, one, two, three, four straws. Sam’s large hand slaps down over his as he goes for five. “Dean.”
Dean is all innocence. “What? Bruce in catering said the milkshakes here were to die for. Worth the drive. I just want to be prepared.”
“I think one straw apiece will suffice.” Sam folds the newspaper up as LaVerne walks down the aisle carrying a tray with two tall glasses filled with milkshake and two metal mixing cups, condensation rolling down their side.
Dean slides his foot off the bench until he’s facing Sam. “Ooh, suffice. I like when you use big words, gets me all hot.” Sam’s eyes narrow.
LaVerne gives them each a shake and a tumbler with the extra that didn’t fit in the glass. “Banana for you,” she sets one down in front of Sam. “Butterscotch for the boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Sam’s reply is quick. It’s true, of course, but for some reason it still rankles Dean. So he’s good enough to screw around with, but not good enough for a boyfriend? And how fucked up is that thought? Dean stabs three straws into his milkshake.
LaVerne eyes Dean up and down. “No? Good to know.” She smiles at Sam. “Food’ll be out in about five. Enjoy.”
The Righteous Brothers start singing about losing that loving feeling as Dean gets his first sip of shake. “Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff,” he moans around the three straws. He takes another long sip, eyes closed. He opens them to Sam’s smirk.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone?” Sam asks, but Dean can’t help but noticed that Sam is sucking on his straw pretty hard, too. There’s something mesmerizing about the way Sam’s pink lips are wrapped around that straw. Dean licks some butterscotch off his lips. A flash of sense memory - Sam on his knees, looking up through a curtain of hair, Sam’s lips wide around his cock - and a tickle of lust start low in his belly. Dean doesn’t answer, just tilts his glass a little towards him, swirls all three straws around in the bottom of the glass, and carefully pulls out a thick mouthful of vanilla ice cream laced with butterscotch syrup. He can see Sam’s eyes tracking his hand as he raises the straws and lets the ice cream drip into his open mouth. He makes sure Sam is looking at him and then licks and sucks the straws clean before slipping them back into his glass. “The best stuff is always at the bottom.” There are splashes of color high on Sam’s cheeks and his nostril flare just a bit. Dean digs back into the bottom of his glass, scoops up some more, and holds it out to his brother. “Want a taste?”
Sam leans forward, mouth open, eyes locked on Dean.
“That’s what the spoon is for, honey.” They both start slightly - hunters don’t startle - as LaVerne sets down a tray on the end of their table. Sam leans back, lifting his arms up to make an empty space as she slides his plate in front of him.
“Shit,” Dean curses as the ice cream slides down the straw onto the table.
“Language,” LaVerne scolds, putting Dean’s burger down. She puts her hands on her hips, at looks between the boys. “So? Liking the shakes? Best in the Valley.”
They both nod. “They’re excellent, ma’am.” Sam adds.
She smiles at him. Dean thinks she’s one second away from pinching his cheek. “Such a polite young man. You I like.” She turns and glares at Dean but see her trying to hold back a small smile. She’s younger than Dean had thought at first. “You, on the other hand…” She waggles a finger at Dean, walking backwards away from the table. “Mind your manners.”
“What are you, my mother?” Dean calls down the aisle to her. When she waggles her eyebrows and flips him the double bird, he burst out laughing and shakes his head. She mouths something he can’t understand, and he gave her the head tilt, eyebrows drawn together look. Kiss him, she mouths again, slowly, jerking her head at Sam just in case Dean could possibly think she means some other him.
Sam cranes his head around to see what Dean is looking at but LaVerne has already turned away. He turns back to see Dean chuckling and shaking his head a little. “What?” He looks back and forth between LaVerne’s retreating back and Dean’s face. “What?”
“Nothing,” Dean says, still smiling. He jerks his chin at Sam’s shake. “So how is it? Good?”
“Yeah, it’s really good. Fresh banana.” Sam tilts his cup towards Dean. “Want a taste?” His voice is a little deeper, and he sinks just a little lower in the booth, legs stretching out to bracket Dean’s under the table.
Hell yeah, Dean wants a taste. He and Sam haven’t fucked around much since that first night with the whole spin the bottle thing. Sam had reached for him one drunken night and they’d managed a quick rub off, and there had been some awesome but quick almost fully-clothed hand jobs. But nothing close to that night. Nothing at all since Madison, and he can’t quite figure out how to get his little brother naked and horizontal again. That’s the only reason he’d gone with Tara. He was horny and he’d jerked off to a mental picture of Tara more than once. Tara was on the list. And Tara was great, fine, sweet girl. But. Well. Dean replays the well-worn memory of Sam coming so spectacularly that first time, the look on his face, the feel of his skin against Dean’s cock. He could lose himself in Sam and Dean knows he wants more than a taste.
Sam rattles the cup, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and drags his arm forward until the can bend down over the cup. The straw is warm and tastes of Sam and banana shake. Awesome. He lets the straw slip out of his mouth, hand still on top of Sam’s. “Oh, that is good.” He licks his lips like he’s chasing the flavor. Sam slides the straw back between Dean’s lips, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyes dark. Dean takes another deep sip, sucking in his cheeks more than is probably necessary - it really is good, maybe he should get a banana shake to go - then pulls off, pushing the glass back to Sam. “Drink up, Sammy. Milk. It does a body good.”
Sam leaves his legs on either side of Dean’s and starts in on his dinner. Maybe it will be tonight, Dean muses. He’s definitely getting some fuck-me vibes off Sam. He’d though Sam had been pissed when he caught Dean coming out of Tara’s trailer. Guess not. It’s not like Dean was mad about…Dean’s thought skitter away from the whole Madison disaster. He digs deep into the burger, looking to distract himself. They eat in silence for a second, the hum of conversation and clinking silverware and the faint music from someone else’s jukebox filling the silence. Speaking of silence, there is distinct lack of music at their table. Dean holds out a hand across the table. “Give me a quarter.”
“Get your own quarter.”
Dean rolls his eyes. He knows Sam has change. The kid always has change in his pockets. Saying no to Dean is just like a reflex in Sam and ignoring it is Dean’s reflex. He wiggles his fingers. “The music’s stopped. Quarter.”
Sam sighs, but digs in his pocket and pulls out a quarter, dropping into Dean’s outstretched hand. “Fine. But no crappy songs.”
“You wouldn’t know a crappy song if it crapped on your head.” He’s already pressing the buttons, making the song list rotate, so Sam goes for the kick rather than the eye roll.
“Lame.”
Dean punches in two songs and turns back to his plate. “You’re lame.” Now Sam goes for the eyeroll.
Oh, when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof And your shoes get so hot, you wish your tired feet were fireproof Under the boardwalk, down by the sea On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be.
“What do you say, Sam? Spend a few days on the beach? Under the boardwalk?” He waggles his eyebrows.
Sam shakes his head. “I wanna keep going. I need to keep going.”
“C’mon, it will be fun.”
Sam scowls and hacks at his chicken like it’s personally offended him. “No. I don’t want to stay here any longer then we have to.”
Dean sighs as bites into his burger. “Why you gotta be like that, Sammy?” Dean lets the song play out uninterrupted. He’s not giving up, this is just the first volley, sometimes Sam takes a little convincing.
Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli Lollipop *POP*
Sam looks up. “God, I haven’t heard this song forever. I used to love this song when I was a kid.”
Crazy way he thrills-a me Tell you why Just like a lightning from the sky He loves to kiss me 'Till I can't see straight Gee, my Lollipop is great!
“I know. You always did like to lick the lollipops.” Dean’s voice is caught between a leer and a chuckle and Sam looks at him like he’s a lunatic.
“Did you just make a blow job innuendo?” Dean nods and smiles, pleased that his joke didn’t go unnoticed. “About me or the song?”
“Can’t it be both?” Now Dean does let out the laugh, because Sam looks scandalized, letting his fork and knife lower to the table.
“This song isn’t about -“ he looks around to make sure no one is listening and still leans closer to Dean and whispers, “-blowjobs.”
“Yes it is.”
“No, it’s like -“ he waves his knife around, looking for the right word “-old.”
“You telling me people didn’t get blowjobs in the fifties?” He scoops up some milkshakes with his straws, sliding them deep into the back of his mouth.
“You’re a perv.”
Dean’s laugh is loud and real and completely contagious. He sees a few heads turn towards them, and even Sam can’t hold in his smile though he shakes his head at Dean’s lack of shame.
“Why do you think I taught it to you? And why dad made you stop singing it?”
Sam flicks a pea at him. “You were a perv at twelve.”
“You know it, baby. You love it.” He sucks the dregs of his milkshake through the straws, then burps loudly. Sam frowns and LaVerne, who just happens to be passing the table, smacks him on the back of the head with her order pad. “Bite me,” he tells her. “Save it for the boyfriend,” she suggests, sauntering away.
Sam half turns to her, one arm over the back of the seat, “He’s not my -“
Dean clinks the long spoon against the metal cup, dragging up the last of the shake. “C’mon, Sam. Eat up. Let’s blow this place. We can be at the beach in twenty minutes.”
Sam shovels in some chicken and gravy. “We’re not going to the beach, Dean. We’re going to get some sleep and then hit the road.”
Dean grunts and finished the last bite of his burger. He catches LaVerne’s eye and gestures for the check. He isn’t sulking. Who’d died at made Sam boss anyway? It’s not like he was asking for a week at Disneyland. He deserves it. He’s been cheated out of the swimming pools and movie stars, and they’ve had a reasonably successful salt & burn. Too bad about Walter, but the idiot should not have been playing with shit he didn’t understand. He kinda didn’t blame those ghosts, the dead needed to stay dead. So, all in all, he felt he was owed at least a little time to soak up the City of Angels. One night, maybe two, not too much to ask.
They finish up, pay, and walk out in silence. Dean still can’t get a handle on Sam’s mood. It was up and down so much tonight, Dean can’t tell if he stands a better chance of getting laid or getting punched. He spins the keys to the impala around his finger as they push through the doors of the diner.