Fic: 'The Outback Steakhouse totally is a gourmet restaurant, bitch' (SPN: Crackfic)
I've had this fic buried on my hard-drive for a while. It will surprise no one who reads my LJ that it was inspired during a NaNo-fuelled MSN conversation with parenthetical. There was a time when I didn't write crackfic, once *struggles to imagine*.
Title: 'The Outback Steakhouse totally is a gourmet restaurant, bitch'
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Genre: Crackfic, pretty much.
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Disclaimer: Not my property, alas.
Notes/Summary: Very slight spoilers for 1.06: Skin and 1.17: Hell House
'If I recall correctly, we made a small wager. You were so confident that the mutilations over in Weston weren't a Yaguarete, you insisted I bet a meal on it. Winner's choice, Dean. We're right in the neighbourhood of the best sushi restaurant I've ever been to and I'm calling in my winnings.'
Many thanks to parenthetical, Beta Queen.
'The Outback Steakhouse totally is a gourmet restaurant, bitch'
'No way, man. There is no way that we're going to a sushi restaurant.' Dean banged his fist on the dashboard for emphasis, the look of resolve on his face akin to the one normally reserved for the killing of large and unsightly monsters.
'C'mon, Dean, you'll enjoy it.'
'Like hell I will! It's raw fish! Raw fish and bits of seaweed! No one could enjoy that shit.'
Sam regarded him severely. 'I enjoy it. Sushi is delicious and I intend to be sharing a succulent plate of it with my most beloved brother by the end of the day.'
'It figures that a pansy-ass like you would go for it, but there's no way I'm eating raw fish. It's demon food, Sam! Some of that shit's deadly. What kind of freak cooking involves poisonous fish?'
Sam rolled his eyes. 'If it's so dangerous, Dean, then how come a 'pansy-ass' like me can eat it? Besides, I'm not asking you to eat fugu, just to have a nice dinner for once.'
'Nu-uh, no way. We are not going for sushi and that is that.'
'If I recall correctly, we made a small wager. You were so confident that the mutilations over in Weston weren't a Yaguarete, you insisted I bet a meal on it. Winner's choice, Dean. We're right in the neighbourhood of the best sushi restaurant I've ever been to and I'm calling in my winnings.'
Dean scowled. It was true, he had made a bet. He should've known that Sam, geekboy extraordinare, would get the jump on him with that one. But he'd figured all he was letting himself in for was paying the bill, maybe at a slightly less shitty diner than their usual. Besides, he'd thought Sam had forgotten all about their wager, he hadn't mentioned it for - wait a minute -
'You little fucker! You planned this! You've been planning it for weeks. That's why you didn't make me pay up as soon as we killed that thing.'
Sam feigned innocence, the same butter-wouldn't-melt expression on his face that he used to get when the salt mysteriously turned out not to have the cap screwed on, or Dean's lunch bag accidentally got mixed up with the bag of chicken's feet on the first day in a new school.
'What? So I waited till we were near to a decent restaurant to claim my winnings? You are so suspicious, big brother, it breaks my heart.'
'Sam, we've driven past gourmet restaurants in three states. I even suggested we go to that steakhouse in Colorado and you turned me down, and now you want me to go and eat some slimy, gross globs of raw fish?'
'You're not afraid to try sushi, are you, Dean? My my my, the great Dean Winchester, slayer of demons, famed among the women-folk from Alaska to Alabama, afraid to get his mouth around a little raw fish.' His brother quirked one eyebrow suggestively and smiled evilly. 'I guess it really is true that heroes always turn out to have feet of clay.'
'I'm not scared!' Dean protested. 'I just think it's a waste of good money, eating some crappy thing they can't even be bothered to cook.'
'Too bad you lost the bet,' Sam said unrepentantly. 'Turn left here - this is a great restaurant.'
The restaurant was tucked away in an alley, no sign but a rough sketch of a fish over the door. Just like a typical demon haunt, Dean thought sourly. Knowing their luck, the waiter would be swallowed up by some giant tentacly thing before they'd even placed their orders.
On second thoughts, that scenario was infinitely preferable to the thought of actually having to eat some tentacly thing.
Alas, the waiter was an impeccably turned-out Japanese man and the only tentacled things were on the plates of their fellow diners. Dean tried fixing a few with his patented 'come and get it, fuckers' stare, but the sushi resolutely failed to leap up and attack anyone. After an elderly gentlemen two tables over shot a dirty look at him before ushering his wife out of the restaurant, Sam kicked him under the table and Dean was forced to turn his attention to the menu. He scanned down the list of ingredients for the least horrifying option.
'Sirs? Are you ready to order?'
Dean opened his mouth to request a California roll, but Sam had already fixed a radiant smile upon the waiter.
'Yes, thank you. I'll have the maguro sashimi and my brother here would like a selection of narezushi. He's been keen to try it. And we'll take some nigorizake, please.'
'Certainly, sir.' The waiter bowed and backed away before Dean could protest, heading for the kitchens at a speed which suggested he had some fairly accurate suspicions about Dean's sudden urge to kill something.
'Don't order for me, dude! I'm not a girl!'
'Dean, Dean, Dean. One never orders for a lady; that would be the height of rudeness. One does, however, order for one's uncouth big brother who was undoubtedly about to shame the name of Winchester by ordering some unspeakable Western abomination like a California roll.'
'Was not!' Dean muttered, then lapsed into rebellious silence. Sam smirked, humming a happy little tune under his breath. Dean was pretty sure he recognised the refrain of 'We are the Champions'. There was just not enough hate in the world for a brother like Sam.
The food, when it arrived, was worse than Dean's worst nightmares. A glistening, oozy pile of fish mixed with maggoty-looking rice. Skinwalkers, zombies, Dad's rice 'n' peas - he'd faced some pretty disgusting things in his day, but none of them matched this.
He swallowed hard and turned to the porcelain carafe the waiter had set down between them. The Japanese drank some pretty hardcore liquor, or so he'd heard. Maybe if he got drunk he'd be able to swallow the sushi-gore. He filled his cup generously and was about to take a sip when he noticed Sam's shit-eating grin. He looked down at the cup.
The liquor was white. Cloudy and white, and oh god, sort of viscous.
'Nigorizake is for the more refined palate,' Sam said pleasantly. 'It's left unfiltered and the rice sediment is mixed in with the liquor upon serving. Much of the fine flavour resides in the residue.'
'Christo,' Dean said experimentally, but without much hope that it would have any effect. It would be nice to think that his brother was possessed by a demon, but he recognised this Sammy from the more... competitive moments of their childhood. He set the cup back down and took a sip of water instead.
'Aren't you going to try your delicious sushi, Dean?' Sam popped what looked like a sliver of kappa liver into his mouth and chewed with apparent appreciation.
'No, Sammy,' Dean growled. 'Like hell am I trying that shit. I'm gonna sit and watch you eat your delicious sushi - and try not to upchuck while you do it - and then I'm gonna go get me a good American burger. And a beer.'
'I have sashimi, actually. And you are totally going to eat that sushi. You double-dared me to drink that stuff in the hell house, man, and then you whinge about trying a wonderful Asian delicacy.'
'Sashimi, then, Little Miss I-went-to-Stanford.' How was it even possible for anyone to be such a little bitch as Sam? 'Anyway, it's not like you actually drank that stuff, coward.'
Sam gave him a pointed look and Dean realised too late that he was screwed. So totally and utterly screwed. A Winchester man never, ever backed down from a double dare, and Sam had just prodded him into double-daring himself. Fucking pre-law - Sammy had gotten way too good at this shit.
Sam speared another slice of demon gut and sat back in a leisurely fashion. Resigned to his fate, Dean picked up his own chopsticks and looked down at his plate. How bad could it be? He steeled himself and grabbed the biggest bit of sushi - no way was he leaving any room for Sam to claim he'd chickened out on this dare. Quickly, before he had time to think any further about how gross this stuff looked, he shoved it into his mouth.
It was gross. Oh god, was it gross. He'd once gotten a mouthful of swamp-dweller gore when he was on a hunt with Dad, and that had been pretty bad, but this stuff was much, much worse.
Dean fixed a smile on his face and started chewing.
'You're very fortunate to have the opportunity to try narezushi,' Sam said conversationally. 'It's not often served in Western restaurants; it's a bit of a speciality. It takes so long to make, you see. They have to skin and gut the fish and stuff them with salt, then they squash them down in a barrel.'
The grains of rice were distinct against Dean's tongue, spreading the taste of salty, fermenting, disgusting fish across his tastebuds. Dean had the feeling that they were squirming slightly.
'They salt the fish for about a month, and then they put them in another barrel and layer them with rice and more fish.'
Dean mentally listed the names and dates of every drummer ever to play for Judas Priest and tried to ignore Sam's voice. He was going to kill the little bitch for this. Just as soon as he got the urge to vomit all over the table under control.
'Then they squash it all down with a big stone and just leave it to ferment. Well, they have to keep siphoning off the water that seeps out, but apart from that it pretty much looks after itself for six months.'
Every single member of the Japanese nation was demon spawn, it was the only explanation. Demons, all of them, and obviously they had infected Sam with their evil ways when he was in Stanford and out from under Dean's protective eye.
Dean forced himself to swallow the fishy, gooey paste in his mouth. For a second he thought he was going to be OK, and then he had a sudden, vivid mental image of the goo and hair that skinwalker back in St. Louis had left in the sewers. He grabbed for a drink and knocked it back.
Burning and lumpiness hit the back of his throat and oh Jesus Christ no, he'd picked up the weird fucking sake instead of the water.
He made it to the head just in time.
When he got back to the table, Sam was still unconcernedly nibbling on his sashimi.
'Sushi's believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac, you know.' Sam poured out the last of the sake and swirled it in his cup before taking a drink. 'Although, as with asparagus, it's mostly the resemblance to certain body parts that's given rise to that belief.'
Sam smiled up at Dean, the very picture of innocence.
That little bitch was going to pay for this.
Title: 'The Outback Steakhouse totally is a gourmet restaurant, bitch'
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Genre: Crackfic, pretty much.
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Dean
Disclaimer: Not my property, alas.
Notes/Summary: Very slight spoilers for 1.06: Skin and 1.17: Hell House
'If I recall correctly, we made a small wager. You were so confident that the mutilations over in Weston weren't a Yaguarete, you insisted I bet a meal on it. Winner's choice, Dean. We're right in the neighbourhood of the best sushi restaurant I've ever been to and I'm calling in my winnings.'
Many thanks to parenthetical, Beta Queen.
'The Outback Steakhouse totally is a gourmet restaurant, bitch'
'No way, man. There is no way that we're going to a sushi restaurant.' Dean banged his fist on the dashboard for emphasis, the look of resolve on his face akin to the one normally reserved for the killing of large and unsightly monsters.
'C'mon, Dean, you'll enjoy it.'
'Like hell I will! It's raw fish! Raw fish and bits of seaweed! No one could enjoy that shit.'
Sam regarded him severely. 'I enjoy it. Sushi is delicious and I intend to be sharing a succulent plate of it with my most beloved brother by the end of the day.'
'It figures that a pansy-ass like you would go for it, but there's no way I'm eating raw fish. It's demon food, Sam! Some of that shit's deadly. What kind of freak cooking involves poisonous fish?'
Sam rolled his eyes. 'If it's so dangerous, Dean, then how come a 'pansy-ass' like me can eat it? Besides, I'm not asking you to eat fugu, just to have a nice dinner for once.'
'Nu-uh, no way. We are not going for sushi and that is that.'
'If I recall correctly, we made a small wager. You were so confident that the mutilations over in Weston weren't a Yaguarete, you insisted I bet a meal on it. Winner's choice, Dean. We're right in the neighbourhood of the best sushi restaurant I've ever been to and I'm calling in my winnings.'
Dean scowled. It was true, he had made a bet. He should've known that Sam, geekboy extraordinare, would get the jump on him with that one. But he'd figured all he was letting himself in for was paying the bill, maybe at a slightly less shitty diner than their usual. Besides, he'd thought Sam had forgotten all about their wager, he hadn't mentioned it for - wait a minute -
'You little fucker! You planned this! You've been planning it for weeks. That's why you didn't make me pay up as soon as we killed that thing.'
Sam feigned innocence, the same butter-wouldn't-melt expression on his face that he used to get when the salt mysteriously turned out not to have the cap screwed on, or Dean's lunch bag accidentally got mixed up with the bag of chicken's feet on the first day in a new school.
'What? So I waited till we were near to a decent restaurant to claim my winnings? You are so suspicious, big brother, it breaks my heart.'
'Sam, we've driven past gourmet restaurants in three states. I even suggested we go to that steakhouse in Colorado and you turned me down, and now you want me to go and eat some slimy, gross globs of raw fish?'
'You're not afraid to try sushi, are you, Dean? My my my, the great Dean Winchester, slayer of demons, famed among the women-folk from Alaska to Alabama, afraid to get his mouth around a little raw fish.' His brother quirked one eyebrow suggestively and smiled evilly. 'I guess it really is true that heroes always turn out to have feet of clay.'
'I'm not scared!' Dean protested. 'I just think it's a waste of good money, eating some crappy thing they can't even be bothered to cook.'
'Too bad you lost the bet,' Sam said unrepentantly. 'Turn left here - this is a great restaurant.'
The restaurant was tucked away in an alley, no sign but a rough sketch of a fish over the door. Just like a typical demon haunt, Dean thought sourly. Knowing their luck, the waiter would be swallowed up by some giant tentacly thing before they'd even placed their orders.
On second thoughts, that scenario was infinitely preferable to the thought of actually having to eat some tentacly thing.
Alas, the waiter was an impeccably turned-out Japanese man and the only tentacled things were on the plates of their fellow diners. Dean tried fixing a few with his patented 'come and get it, fuckers' stare, but the sushi resolutely failed to leap up and attack anyone. After an elderly gentlemen two tables over shot a dirty look at him before ushering his wife out of the restaurant, Sam kicked him under the table and Dean was forced to turn his attention to the menu. He scanned down the list of ingredients for the least horrifying option.
'Sirs? Are you ready to order?'
Dean opened his mouth to request a California roll, but Sam had already fixed a radiant smile upon the waiter.
'Yes, thank you. I'll have the maguro sashimi and my brother here would like a selection of narezushi. He's been keen to try it. And we'll take some nigorizake, please.'
'Certainly, sir.' The waiter bowed and backed away before Dean could protest, heading for the kitchens at a speed which suggested he had some fairly accurate suspicions about Dean's sudden urge to kill something.
'Don't order for me, dude! I'm not a girl!'
'Dean, Dean, Dean. One never orders for a lady; that would be the height of rudeness. One does, however, order for one's uncouth big brother who was undoubtedly about to shame the name of Winchester by ordering some unspeakable Western abomination like a California roll.'
'Was not!' Dean muttered, then lapsed into rebellious silence. Sam smirked, humming a happy little tune under his breath. Dean was pretty sure he recognised the refrain of 'We are the Champions'. There was just not enough hate in the world for a brother like Sam.
The food, when it arrived, was worse than Dean's worst nightmares. A glistening, oozy pile of fish mixed with maggoty-looking rice. Skinwalkers, zombies, Dad's rice 'n' peas - he'd faced some pretty disgusting things in his day, but none of them matched this.
He swallowed hard and turned to the porcelain carafe the waiter had set down between them. The Japanese drank some pretty hardcore liquor, or so he'd heard. Maybe if he got drunk he'd be able to swallow the sushi-gore. He filled his cup generously and was about to take a sip when he noticed Sam's shit-eating grin. He looked down at the cup.
The liquor was white. Cloudy and white, and oh god, sort of viscous.
'Nigorizake is for the more refined palate,' Sam said pleasantly. 'It's left unfiltered and the rice sediment is mixed in with the liquor upon serving. Much of the fine flavour resides in the residue.'
'Christo,' Dean said experimentally, but without much hope that it would have any effect. It would be nice to think that his brother was possessed by a demon, but he recognised this Sammy from the more... competitive moments of their childhood. He set the cup back down and took a sip of water instead.
'Aren't you going to try your delicious sushi, Dean?' Sam popped what looked like a sliver of kappa liver into his mouth and chewed with apparent appreciation.
'No, Sammy,' Dean growled. 'Like hell am I trying that shit. I'm gonna sit and watch you eat your delicious sushi - and try not to upchuck while you do it - and then I'm gonna go get me a good American burger. And a beer.'
'I have sashimi, actually. And you are totally going to eat that sushi. You double-dared me to drink that stuff in the hell house, man, and then you whinge about trying a wonderful Asian delicacy.'
'Sashimi, then, Little Miss I-went-to-Stanford.' How was it even possible for anyone to be such a little bitch as Sam? 'Anyway, it's not like you actually drank that stuff, coward.'
Sam gave him a pointed look and Dean realised too late that he was screwed. So totally and utterly screwed. A Winchester man never, ever backed down from a double dare, and Sam had just prodded him into double-daring himself. Fucking pre-law - Sammy had gotten way too good at this shit.
Sam speared another slice of demon gut and sat back in a leisurely fashion. Resigned to his fate, Dean picked up his own chopsticks and looked down at his plate. How bad could it be? He steeled himself and grabbed the biggest bit of sushi - no way was he leaving any room for Sam to claim he'd chickened out on this dare. Quickly, before he had time to think any further about how gross this stuff looked, he shoved it into his mouth.
It was gross. Oh god, was it gross. He'd once gotten a mouthful of swamp-dweller gore when he was on a hunt with Dad, and that had been pretty bad, but this stuff was much, much worse.
Dean fixed a smile on his face and started chewing.
'You're very fortunate to have the opportunity to try narezushi,' Sam said conversationally. 'It's not often served in Western restaurants; it's a bit of a speciality. It takes so long to make, you see. They have to skin and gut the fish and stuff them with salt, then they squash them down in a barrel.'
The grains of rice were distinct against Dean's tongue, spreading the taste of salty, fermenting, disgusting fish across his tastebuds. Dean had the feeling that they were squirming slightly.
'They salt the fish for about a month, and then they put them in another barrel and layer them with rice and more fish.'
Dean mentally listed the names and dates of every drummer ever to play for Judas Priest and tried to ignore Sam's voice. He was going to kill the little bitch for this. Just as soon as he got the urge to vomit all over the table under control.
'Then they squash it all down with a big stone and just leave it to ferment. Well, they have to keep siphoning off the water that seeps out, but apart from that it pretty much looks after itself for six months.'
Every single member of the Japanese nation was demon spawn, it was the only explanation. Demons, all of them, and obviously they had infected Sam with their evil ways when he was in Stanford and out from under Dean's protective eye.
Dean forced himself to swallow the fishy, gooey paste in his mouth. For a second he thought he was going to be OK, and then he had a sudden, vivid mental image of the goo and hair that skinwalker back in St. Louis had left in the sewers. He grabbed for a drink and knocked it back.
Burning and lumpiness hit the back of his throat and oh Jesus Christ no, he'd picked up the weird fucking sake instead of the water.
He made it to the head just in time.
When he got back to the table, Sam was still unconcernedly nibbling on his sashimi.
'Sushi's believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac, you know.' Sam poured out the last of the sake and swirled it in his cup before taking a drink. 'Although, as with asparagus, it's mostly the resemblance to certain body parts that's given rise to that belief.'
Sam smiled up at Dean, the very picture of innocence.
That little bitch was going to pay for this.