omg-- supernatural fic!
Title: Cheesecake and Cherry Kool-Aid
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: ~950
Summary: Sam's (almost) surprised Dean remembers. (Winchester boy gen! feel free to read in any subtext you'd like :P)
Notes: Hee!! Title and premise from yet another conversation gone awry. As usual. :D
Sam sat at the small, scarred table in the dingy motel room in an ancient burnt-orange armchair, focused on his computer and the stories he'd begun to string together surrounding three mysterious deaths in the suburb of Wheaton. He'd already been at it a while when the door cracked open and let in a gout of equally dingy afternoon sunlight for the few seconds it took for Dean to walk in and lock it behind himself. Though Sam spared his brother only a cursory, "Hey," he was suddenly a lot more at ease now that the idiot was back.
Dean made a beeline to Sam and rumbled, "Close up shop, Sammy. Got something for you."
Glaring at Dean's hand as it reached for the screen, Sam snatched his laptop away. "Dean, come on. I think I know where we're going next. See, there've be--"
"Awesome. We'll go kick its ass later," Dean said, glaring back as he pointed at the computer. "Now shut up and close that thing."
That he hadn't questioned him or argued was a sign something was up, and Sam reluctantly did so. "Fine. What?"
"Here," said Dean as he dumped out a plastic grocery bag onto the table and made for the kitchenette area. Sam inspected the things that had spilled out onto the table --a small refrigerated cheesecake in a box, two packs of cherry Kool-Aid and a box of sugar-- until he began to laugh incredulously. Dean returned and set a plastic pitcher printed with cows and already full of water onto the table next to the odd assortment.
"Dude. I cannot believe that you remembered that," Sam said, his grin stupidly wide, dimples flashing.
"Put those away, Junior," said Dean, concentrating on pouring the red cherry powder into the pitcher, then ripping open the box of sugar. "'S not authentic anyway. We didn't have to lift the sugar packets from a coffee shop."
Sam dropped his elbow onto the armrest and was holding his chin in his palm, still grinning behind the cover of his fingers as Dean poured in way too much. "I was what? Seven? Eight?"
"Serious. You don't stop looking like that, I'm gonna find some poor kid to hand all this shit off to and then you'll be sorry," Dean muttered, no real threat behind his words. He'd shared the first time anyway, right? Even after the botched attempt to let Sammy help Dean boost stuff from that store when Dad was away.
Seemingly reading his mind as per usual, Dean rolled his eyes as he looked around for something he seemed to need. "Wasn't gonna not give you any, geek." He shrugged, stretched to reach into his bag, pulled out his big Bowie knife, unsheathed it and began to stir the bright red drink. "Your whole job was to distract anyway while I got you cake and punch."
Mouth partially open, Sam watched, completely entertained. "I'd never had cheesecake in my life, Dean. How was that for me?"
Brow furrowed, Dean proceeded to tip a healthy portion of his hip flask into the kool-aid. "I was in charge and you needed dairy--" he gestured vaguely at Sam trying to sound nonchalant, "--for your bones and shit. Worked didn't it?" he shook off the knife, set it on the table and ventured back into the kitchenette, muttering, "Freak."
Sam sat forward and picked at the cheesecake box, somewhat floored as Dean pulled two glasses of questionable cleanliness from the cabinet. He could hear Dean still muttering, "Ah, fuck it. Alcohol'll kill whatever's around." Then there was a pause, another swear and the sound of running water.
In the two years he'd been gone, his friends had taken it upon themselves to celebrate Sam's birthday, but he'd always received a postcard from Dean. Or at least, he assumed it was from Dean, since it was blank and never signed, the handwriting familiar, and it sure as hell wasn't from Dad. But this...
The glasses thumped down on the table, and in a series of fluid movements, Dean used the knife to unceremoniously rip open the cheesecake box, peel it back, and split the cake in roughly half, stuck a plastic fork in each and handed the slightly bigger one to Sam. He filled the glasses to the top with the adulterated Kool-Aid and held one out far enough away that Sam had to sit forward to reach it.
When Sam did, Dean wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the back of Sam's head, yanked him closer, planted a kiss on his forehead and released him so fast that it might not have happened at all. Sam sat with his half cheesecake in half of a split-open box and his glass of Jack and Kool-Aid and stared, stunned. It just-- seemed like something Dad might've done on a good day way back.
"Good job surviving another year, you little shit," said Dean, busy picking up his glass and taking a giant drink, not looking at Sam at all yet.
"Thanks..." said Sam, still wondering what the hell had just happened, but willing to let it go. Dean waved it off with his fork and slid into the second lumpy armchair straight out of the seventies.
"Bah," Dean grumped through a mouthful of cheesecake, swallowing it down hard. "What've you got?" he asked, cocking his head toward Sam's computer.
"Fuck you, man," Sam snorted, slumping downward as he took a good, long sip. "'M not working today," he said, grinning. "It's my birthday."
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: ~950
Summary: Sam's (almost) surprised Dean remembers. (Winchester boy gen! feel free to read in any subtext you'd like :P)
Notes: Hee!! Title and premise from yet another conversation gone awry. As usual. :D
Sam sat at the small, scarred table in the dingy motel room in an ancient burnt-orange armchair, focused on his computer and the stories he'd begun to string together surrounding three mysterious deaths in the suburb of Wheaton. He'd already been at it a while when the door cracked open and let in a gout of equally dingy afternoon sunlight for the few seconds it took for Dean to walk in and lock it behind himself. Though Sam spared his brother only a cursory, "Hey," he was suddenly a lot more at ease now that the idiot was back.
Dean made a beeline to Sam and rumbled, "Close up shop, Sammy. Got something for you."
Glaring at Dean's hand as it reached for the screen, Sam snatched his laptop away. "Dean, come on. I think I know where we're going next. See, there've be--"
"Awesome. We'll go kick its ass later," Dean said, glaring back as he pointed at the computer. "Now shut up and close that thing."
That he hadn't questioned him or argued was a sign something was up, and Sam reluctantly did so. "Fine. What?"
"Here," said Dean as he dumped out a plastic grocery bag onto the table and made for the kitchenette area. Sam inspected the things that had spilled out onto the table --a small refrigerated cheesecake in a box, two packs of cherry Kool-Aid and a box of sugar-- until he began to laugh incredulously. Dean returned and set a plastic pitcher printed with cows and already full of water onto the table next to the odd assortment.
"Dude. I cannot believe that you remembered that," Sam said, his grin stupidly wide, dimples flashing.
"Put those away, Junior," said Dean, concentrating on pouring the red cherry powder into the pitcher, then ripping open the box of sugar. "'S not authentic anyway. We didn't have to lift the sugar packets from a coffee shop."
Sam dropped his elbow onto the armrest and was holding his chin in his palm, still grinning behind the cover of his fingers as Dean poured in way too much. "I was what? Seven? Eight?"
"Serious. You don't stop looking like that, I'm gonna find some poor kid to hand all this shit off to and then you'll be sorry," Dean muttered, no real threat behind his words. He'd shared the first time anyway, right? Even after the botched attempt to let Sammy help Dean boost stuff from that store when Dad was away.
Seemingly reading his mind as per usual, Dean rolled his eyes as he looked around for something he seemed to need. "Wasn't gonna not give you any, geek." He shrugged, stretched to reach into his bag, pulled out his big Bowie knife, unsheathed it and began to stir the bright red drink. "Your whole job was to distract anyway while I got you cake and punch."
Mouth partially open, Sam watched, completely entertained. "I'd never had cheesecake in my life, Dean. How was that for me?"
Brow furrowed, Dean proceeded to tip a healthy portion of his hip flask into the kool-aid. "I was in charge and you needed dairy--" he gestured vaguely at Sam trying to sound nonchalant, "--for your bones and shit. Worked didn't it?" he shook off the knife, set it on the table and ventured back into the kitchenette, muttering, "Freak."
Sam sat forward and picked at the cheesecake box, somewhat floored as Dean pulled two glasses of questionable cleanliness from the cabinet. He could hear Dean still muttering, "Ah, fuck it. Alcohol'll kill whatever's around." Then there was a pause, another swear and the sound of running water.
In the two years he'd been gone, his friends had taken it upon themselves to celebrate Sam's birthday, but he'd always received a postcard from Dean. Or at least, he assumed it was from Dean, since it was blank and never signed, the handwriting familiar, and it sure as hell wasn't from Dad. But this...
The glasses thumped down on the table, and in a series of fluid movements, Dean used the knife to unceremoniously rip open the cheesecake box, peel it back, and split the cake in roughly half, stuck a plastic fork in each and handed the slightly bigger one to Sam. He filled the glasses to the top with the adulterated Kool-Aid and held one out far enough away that Sam had to sit forward to reach it.
When Sam did, Dean wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the back of Sam's head, yanked him closer, planted a kiss on his forehead and released him so fast that it might not have happened at all. Sam sat with his half cheesecake in half of a split-open box and his glass of Jack and Kool-Aid and stared, stunned. It just-- seemed like something Dad might've done on a good day way back.
"Good job surviving another year, you little shit," said Dean, busy picking up his glass and taking a giant drink, not looking at Sam at all yet.
"Thanks..." said Sam, still wondering what the hell had just happened, but willing to let it go. Dean waved it off with his fork and slid into the second lumpy armchair straight out of the seventies.
"Bah," Dean grumped through a mouthful of cheesecake, swallowing it down hard. "What've you got?" he asked, cocking his head toward Sam's computer.
"Fuck you, man," Sam snorted, slumping downward as he took a good, long sip. "'M not working today," he said, grinning. "It's my birthday."