SPN ficlet: Bull in a China Shop
Oh, just because I'm at home and bored out of my tree, and I have to do something to stop from slipping into a catatonic state. Because I'm avoiding work and (never fear) I have worked on Red today and it's going well, but this little scene is one that Kripke coulda shoulda given all of us. Gen, slightly cracky. About five paragraphs in length (well, maybe a bit more).
Because we know what's just as important to Sam as the Impala is to Dean and I'm thinking that after last week, the boys'll be needing a research backup plan. This is for JM, who has been hankering for this scene, and for Lemmypie because we all know the importance of good equipment.
Bull in a China Shop
Sam slapped Dean’s hand away from the display model, close enough to having a hissy fit he could feel it sizzling up his spine like Coke from a shaken bottle.
Dean’s mouth twitched in a complex mix of chagrin and amusement and sheer unmitigated joy; annoying Sam this much in public was a blood sport with him. Especially when he’d promised to be quiet. Jesus, why hadn’t Dean waited out in the car? The Impala, newly rebuilt, and that’s what Dean had gotten out of this whole fucking mess, the shiny newness of a car pushing forty and Sam needed to get his fix and Dean was just determined to ruin it…and fuck, here came the hissy fit.
“So, got one picked out?” The kid - and it was a kid, might be all of twenty, looked like he still collected Pokemon cards in plastic sleeves -- peered through his glasses, metal smile large and encouraging.
“Yeah,” Dean said before Sam could jump in. “He likes this one. Does it come with stickers?”
The kid cocked his head to the side, not understanding and Sam pinched his brother’s upper arm hard. Dean yelped and Sam didn’t care at all if that left a big nasty-ass bruise.
“I don’t want that one.” Sam was calm. He was calm. He kept repeating that as though it might work. “It’s a desktop unit,” and hit Dean again, just because he could, and because Dean was admiring some cute little speakers that looked like aliens or dildos, or alien dildos.
“So it’s a laptop you’re wanting?” The kid refined his question, and Sam suddenly understood that he could ask this kid to explain anything about how a computer worked and he’d get a half-hour lecture, likely with power point slides.
Sam nodded curtly, and was shown a model in white, widescreen big, beautiful.
“It’s…white,” Dean murmured at Sam’s elbow. “Pretty.” Didn’t have to say ‘girlie’ for Sam to hear it.
“Black model is an extra couple hundred,” Sam said, but didn’t look at Dean, just sat down in front of the laptop. He didn’t know if that was a mistake, because Dean could be making faces, or planning his next attack, and Sam would never know one way or another until it was too late.
“Nice fruit on the cover,” Dean continued, keeping his voice even, but with audible effort. “What’s that?” and Sam had to slap his hand away again.
“Camera for video conferencing,” Sam said. Looked up at the kid. “We’ll take it.”
“You want the black?” the kid asked, scratching a spot on his chin.
“No,” Sam said.
“Hell yeah,” Dean barked overtop. “Worth every fucking penny.”
The kid went to the back of the store to see what they had in stock. “You’d pay hundreds of dollars to have it in black?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.
“We can put a biological hazard sticker over the fruit.”
“It glows.”
“So our biohazard sticker’ll glow? Cool,” and sat on the desk next to the display model. “Who are we going to video conference with?”
“You never know,” Sam muttered, scrolling through the various applications that came preloaded.
Dean’s feet swung back and forth, construction grade boots unlaced, looking to cause damage. “Maybe your friend Ash. Get hairstyling tips or something.”
And Sam did look up at that, made a disgusted face. “Thanks, but I can do my own research.”
Dean shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy, Sammy. You’ve been without a computer too long.”
And wasn’t that the truth.
“Out of black,” the kid said, holding a box with a white laptop prominently displayed on the outside.
Dean cleared his throat. “What about that one?” And pointed to the supercharged, thousands-of-dollars-more pro model. He looked at Sam. “Silver’s almost as good, right?”
“Riiiight,” Sam agreed slowly.
“We’ll take one of the silver ones,” Dean said, jumping down. “You got silver, right?” And the kid nodded, surprised at their lackadaisical purchasing methods, perhaps. “I’ll be in the car. You have the credit card…uh…Jeremy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said faintly as the kid scurried off to find the box before they changed their minds. Dean hadn’t even looked at the price tag. It was only pretend money to him. And it was a laptop they were talking about after all, an important tool of the trade.
More than that, though, Sam thought, remembering the layer cake mess the accident had made of his previous computer. No less to him than the Impala was to Dean, in some ways.
Dean smiled slowly, knowingly. “Silver. Nothing’s too good for you, Sammy.” Stopped at the door. “You can download porn on that thing, right?”
And Sam didn’t even answer him, mostly because Dean had already left.
And now, back to Red. Fuck, I wish this flu thing would go away. Or that the drugs were better. I also whapped my head against the dresser this morning, really hard, while bending down to throw away a piece of paper. I think the big bruise in the middle of my forehead makes me look intelligent *maintains a really, really straight face*
--
Because we know what's just as important to Sam as the Impala is to Dean and I'm thinking that after last week, the boys'll be needing a research backup plan. This is for JM, who has been hankering for this scene, and for Lemmypie because we all know the importance of good equipment.
Bull in a China Shop
Sam slapped Dean’s hand away from the display model, close enough to having a hissy fit he could feel it sizzling up his spine like Coke from a shaken bottle.
Dean’s mouth twitched in a complex mix of chagrin and amusement and sheer unmitigated joy; annoying Sam this much in public was a blood sport with him. Especially when he’d promised to be quiet. Jesus, why hadn’t Dean waited out in the car? The Impala, newly rebuilt, and that’s what Dean had gotten out of this whole fucking mess, the shiny newness of a car pushing forty and Sam needed to get his fix and Dean was just determined to ruin it…and fuck, here came the hissy fit.
“So, got one picked out?” The kid - and it was a kid, might be all of twenty, looked like he still collected Pokemon cards in plastic sleeves -- peered through his glasses, metal smile large and encouraging.
“Yeah,” Dean said before Sam could jump in. “He likes this one. Does it come with stickers?”
The kid cocked his head to the side, not understanding and Sam pinched his brother’s upper arm hard. Dean yelped and Sam didn’t care at all if that left a big nasty-ass bruise.
“I don’t want that one.” Sam was calm. He was calm. He kept repeating that as though it might work. “It’s a desktop unit,” and hit Dean again, just because he could, and because Dean was admiring some cute little speakers that looked like aliens or dildos, or alien dildos.
“So it’s a laptop you’re wanting?” The kid refined his question, and Sam suddenly understood that he could ask this kid to explain anything about how a computer worked and he’d get a half-hour lecture, likely with power point slides.
Sam nodded curtly, and was shown a model in white, widescreen big, beautiful.
“It’s…white,” Dean murmured at Sam’s elbow. “Pretty.” Didn’t have to say ‘girlie’ for Sam to hear it.
“Black model is an extra couple hundred,” Sam said, but didn’t look at Dean, just sat down in front of the laptop. He didn’t know if that was a mistake, because Dean could be making faces, or planning his next attack, and Sam would never know one way or another until it was too late.
“Nice fruit on the cover,” Dean continued, keeping his voice even, but with audible effort. “What’s that?” and Sam had to slap his hand away again.
“Camera for video conferencing,” Sam said. Looked up at the kid. “We’ll take it.”
“You want the black?” the kid asked, scratching a spot on his chin.
“No,” Sam said.
“Hell yeah,” Dean barked overtop. “Worth every fucking penny.”
The kid went to the back of the store to see what they had in stock. “You’d pay hundreds of dollars to have it in black?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.
“We can put a biological hazard sticker over the fruit.”
“It glows.”
“So our biohazard sticker’ll glow? Cool,” and sat on the desk next to the display model. “Who are we going to video conference with?”
“You never know,” Sam muttered, scrolling through the various applications that came preloaded.
Dean’s feet swung back and forth, construction grade boots unlaced, looking to cause damage. “Maybe your friend Ash. Get hairstyling tips or something.”
And Sam did look up at that, made a disgusted face. “Thanks, but I can do my own research.”
Dean shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy, Sammy. You’ve been without a computer too long.”
And wasn’t that the truth.
“Out of black,” the kid said, holding a box with a white laptop prominently displayed on the outside.
Dean cleared his throat. “What about that one?” And pointed to the supercharged, thousands-of-dollars-more pro model. He looked at Sam. “Silver’s almost as good, right?”
“Riiiight,” Sam agreed slowly.
“We’ll take one of the silver ones,” Dean said, jumping down. “You got silver, right?” And the kid nodded, surprised at their lackadaisical purchasing methods, perhaps. “I’ll be in the car. You have the credit card…uh…Jeremy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said faintly as the kid scurried off to find the box before they changed their minds. Dean hadn’t even looked at the price tag. It was only pretend money to him. And it was a laptop they were talking about after all, an important tool of the trade.
More than that, though, Sam thought, remembering the layer cake mess the accident had made of his previous computer. No less to him than the Impala was to Dean, in some ways.
Dean smiled slowly, knowingly. “Silver. Nothing’s too good for you, Sammy.” Stopped at the door. “You can download porn on that thing, right?”
And Sam didn’t even answer him, mostly because Dean had already left.
And now, back to Red. Fuck, I wish this flu thing would go away. Or that the drugs were better. I also whapped my head against the dresser this morning, really hard, while bending down to throw away a piece of paper. I think the big bruise in the middle of my forehead makes me look intelligent *maintains a really, really straight face*
--