[closed, unless you sneak into their ~*bachelor pad*~]
WHO: Sam and Dean Winchester
WHAT: Breakfast time at the WINchester household.
WHERE: Their apartment.
WHEN: Early morning, maybe two/three days after Cowboy Night.
Sam was up early.
This was not a surprise. However, the fact that eggs (egg beaters, actually, but he sure as hell wasn't telling Dean that) were sizzling in a pan on the stove and the smell of coffee wafted through the early morning air was not. Cooking was somewhat theraputic for Sam, something he taught himself to do when his dad was off doing 'business' and he was tired of eating things that you microwaved back to life. It reminded him of what he could do for himself on the days that he felt like he had no choices in his life, though if he expressed this sentiment out loud, Dean would most likely call him a pussy, but you know what, fuck Dean, Sam figured he was going to explode in a fit of pent up emotion if he never talked about Dad and what they both knew was going on. But that was a conversation for another time.
"Dean!" Sam called down the hall, hoping his voice carried. He really didn't want to battle his way over to Dean's room. "Get your ass out of bed, I made food!" Sam had learned the hard way that the only reasonable way of dragging Dean out of bed was the promise of food and coffee.
Sam scooped the eggs out of the pan and onto a ceramic plate without any fuss, pushing it down the long counter to make room for another plate. The coffee maker beeped softly and Sam made his way over to it, pouring himself a mug, giving a bark of laughter as he heard the cursing and banging that meant that Dean had finally got his ass up.
WHAT: Breakfast time at the WINchester household.
WHERE: Their apartment.
WHEN: Early morning, maybe two/three days after Cowboy Night.
Sam was up early.
This was not a surprise. However, the fact that eggs (egg beaters, actually, but he sure as hell wasn't telling Dean that) were sizzling in a pan on the stove and the smell of coffee wafted through the early morning air was not. Cooking was somewhat theraputic for Sam, something he taught himself to do when his dad was off doing 'business' and he was tired of eating things that you microwaved back to life. It reminded him of what he could do for himself on the days that he felt like he had no choices in his life, though if he expressed this sentiment out loud, Dean would most likely call him a pussy, but you know what, fuck Dean, Sam figured he was going to explode in a fit of pent up emotion if he never talked about Dad and what they both knew was going on. But that was a conversation for another time.
"Dean!" Sam called down the hall, hoping his voice carried. He really didn't want to battle his way over to Dean's room. "Get your ass out of bed, I made food!" Sam had learned the hard way that the only reasonable way of dragging Dean out of bed was the promise of food and coffee.
Sam scooped the eggs out of the pan and onto a ceramic plate without any fuss, pushing it down the long counter to make room for another plate. The coffee maker beeped softly and Sam made his way over to it, pouring himself a mug, giving a bark of laughter as he heard the cursing and banging that meant that Dean had finally got his ass up.