Fic: Donut Run
Title: Donut Run
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Pairing: None, it's gen
Genre: Gen, humor
Word Count: ~1,800
Warnings: A little bit of hunter-on-vampire violence.
Spoilers: Up through early season 6.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, and Dean aren't mine.
Summary: Soulless Sam wants donuts, and he's going to get them, whatever it takes.
- I just had to write a soulless Sam story. Ben Edlund already mined most of the comedic potential in the wonderful "Clap Your Hands If You Believe" episode, but I figured there was a little more to be had ....
Sam tried to slip out before dawn while Dean was still sleeping, but just as he turned the handle of the hotel-room door, Dean’s suspicious voice came out of the darkness: “Where’re you going?”
“Uh ... to get some donuts,” Sam answered honestly. The truth was easier to keep track of than lies, so he used it whenever he could. Besides, Dean had told him to just be honest, so nowadays he was ... mostly.
“I thought you just got some, like, three hours ago!”
Sam squinted with irritation at the memory. Yeah, he’d tried to get some three hours ago. It had ended in three bodies, no donuts, which was what necessitated this sojourn now, but it was best Dean didn’t know about that. If he did, there would be a long discussion about not killing humans, blah-blah blah, and Sam would have to nod and try to look appropriately concerned, and at that rate, he would never get his donuts--certainly not fresh like they were right now after the shop will have just opened. God, they’d smelled so good while he was killing those vamps--and, accidentally, the baker, most unfortunately--right when he was about to put another batch in the deep fryer, too. Sam’s mouth watered just thinking of it. “Uh ... yeah,” he said, thinking quickly. “But they were so good, you know ... I wanted to go back and get some more.”
“Oh, right, you don’t sleep,” Dean mumbled, burrowing deeper under the fancy covers. “Well ... get some for me this time! I can’t believe you didn’t think of getting me any last night. Compassion, Sammy!”
Sam thought this through several times, but it never made any sense. “Um ... how would bringing you donuts make me ‘compassionate’?”
“Because!” Dean barked. “You should have known how it would make your brother suffer to watch you eat donuts if he didn’t have any!”
“Well, then ... what if I just ate them at the shop and you never knew about it?”
“JUST BRING ME THE FREAKIN’ DONUTS, SAMMY!”
“Okay, Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Um ... raised, or cake?”
“SAM!”
“Okay, I’ll just get a ... variety,” Sam muttered, slipping out and shutting the door behind him. Apparently the subject of pastries was a sticky one with Dean (no pun intended), especially in the early morning hours. Sam made a note to himself to avoid the subject the next time it came up ... which it would. Somehow, hunting and baked goods together made up about two-thirds of their conversation on an average day.
Sam exited out onto the street, jamming his hands in his pockets, happily contemplating the flavors he would ask them to include in their dozen. Even before he turned the corner, he saw the red and blue lights flashing. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the street that he realized the cop cars were in front of the donut shop. Drat. He stopped where he was on the sidewalk. He had indeed left three bodies in the donut shop, but he’d hoped the police would be gone by now and a different baker would have opened the shop for the day. Now he realized the shop might stay closed all day, or even for several days, which made no sense. Not making any money when they could be wouldn’t help them feel better about their dead coworker ... right? Anyway, with cops around, it would be crazy for them not to be baking up a storm; they would make a killing if they did ... no pun intended.
He espied a trio of cops leaning against a brick wall near the shop, talking. Sam had spent more time than he cared to think about around law enforcement. He’d learned a few things, one of which was that stereotypes were often based in fact, and many policemen really did patronize donut shops quite a bit. Sam approached them, trying to look like a normal guy out for a 4 a.m. stroll in the red light district, just hoping to score a few donuts. “Hey,” he said. “I see this donut shop is closed, but ... does this shop have any other locations? I mean, is it independently owned, or is it a chain?”
The cops turned and stared at him. Sam thought back over what he’d said, but couldn’t find anything amiss. He was really working the earnest-young-man expression. “Three men died here tonight,” one of them said harshly.
“Yeah, I know, I kil--uh, heard from ... one of the other officers, who asked me if I knew anything, but I don’t; I’m just passing through town. So, about those donuts ...?”
The officer who’d spoken pushed away from the wall, looking ... angry, Sam thought. He’d seen that sort of expression before. What was it? Outraged. Planning to do something about it. It was time to split. “What’s wrong with you? Does human life mean so little to you, all you can think about is how the fact that people died here is getting in the way of you getting your morning donuts?”
That was, in fact, exactly what Sam was thinking. Fortunately, the cop’s words had told him what he needed to say to get out of this. “I--I’m sorry,” he said, looking down, trying to look troubled and freaked out. “I guess I’m just ... in shock, and when I’m in shock, I gorge on sweets.” The cops looked him up and down, looking confused. “I’m bulimic,” Sam added then quickly. “Bulimic ... too. And I have PTSD,” he threw in for good measure. “From the war. About dead bodies. Can’t handle it. ... I should go.” He took off, ducking into an alley as soon as possible. He wasn’t exactly sure whether the cops had bought his story. Better to get out of sight as quickly as he could just in case.
Emerging from the other end of the alley, he hunched against the chill and thought what to do next. He took out his phone and did a little research on that donut shop. It was an independent. Drat.
He could still remember the delicious aroma that filled his nostrils as he breathed hard during the fight. He’d gotten some frosting on his hand, too, which he licked off on the way back to the hotel, once he made sure it didn’t have any vampire blood in it. Truth be told, he probably should have lifted a few donuts on his way out last night. He didn’t, because he suspected Dean would manage to trump up some kind of moral objection, as he seemed to at every turn, but now Sam was deeply regretting the decision. All those donuts were just sitting there right now, getting stale ... or being labeled “evidence” by the cops ... “evidence” which would disappear before they arrived back at the station. Sam briefly contemplated breaking in through the back to steal some, but he’d have to wait until some of the cops cleared out first, if he had any hope of being able to take his time to pick and choose instead of simply having to grab what he could and run.
He’d never been that big of a donut fan. The people who ran that shop must be, like, donut artisans. Still, in a city this big, surely there must be other great donut shops. His hankering wasn’t going away. He’d settle for anything better than Dunkin Donuts at this point. He stopped a group of gangsters to ask about whether there was another donut shop nearby that was as good as that one. He also asked a homeless guy and a few drug addicts and dealers. All of them seemed well aware that the cops were swarming the place and highly reluctant to discuss it. Also, some of them gave him stares similar to the ones the cops had been giving him. He really hadn’t expected the same kind of judgment out of drug dealers as he got from cops, and Dean, but you just never knew about people, he guessed.
Just before dawn, he finally spied another donut shop, and hurried inside, rubbing his hands together as he waited in line, scanning the menu eagerly. The guys in front of him seemed at least as antsy for their donuts as he was, barking at the baker to hurry up. “The sun’s almost up,” one of them hissed to the other as the baker failed to respond to their exhortations.
“We’ll be all right,” the other one said grimly.
Sam looked at them curiously. “What happens when the sun comes up?” he asked them, and he could tell by the dark, dangerous look they gave him exactly what happened when the sun came up. “You’re vamps!” he said, delighted. They growled, and their second set of teeth emerged. He’d known there would be more vampires in the nest than the two he’d already killed that night. It took him only a moment to deduce that these must be from that same nest, and that nest for some reason had a thing for donuts. These vamps must be here because they, like Sam, couldn’t patronize their usual place, which their nestmates were patronizing last night. That meant that this donut shop must indeed be the next best thing to that other one! All this, and a couple of vamps came and practically cut off their own heads with his sword? What a great start to a great day. He loved getting lots done before breakfast.
He still had the sword he’d used to kill the other two in his jacket, which he drew out, and chopped off their heads. Here, with the element of surprise, with no one else in the shop but the baker, in the early hours, was just about as ideal a situation as you could hope for--way safer than creeping into their nest. Now, when he and Dean did invade their nest, their job would be four vamps lighter.
The baker emerged from the back, took in the scene, and froze, staring. Sam stepped over the bodies, trying not to think about how in dispatching the vampires, he’d also shortened the line to his benefit-- that was the kind of reasoning Dean really seemed to disapprove of. Sam quickly scanned the donuts in the case, pausing to give the baker a winning smile. “Yes, I’d like a full dozen, please. Let’s start with, uh ... two chocolate, two frosted, two sugared ... oh man, it’s so hard to decide. What, uh ... what kinds of jelly donut do you have ...?”
~ The End ~
This story now has a sequel! Yes, really (I know you were dying to know what happened next) ....
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean
Pairing: None, it's gen
Genre: Gen, humor
Word Count: ~1,800
Warnings: A little bit of hunter-on-vampire violence.
Spoilers: Up through early season 6.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Sam, and Dean aren't mine.
Summary: Soulless Sam wants donuts, and he's going to get them, whatever it takes.
- I just had to write a soulless Sam story. Ben Edlund already mined most of the comedic potential in the wonderful "Clap Your Hands If You Believe" episode, but I figured there was a little more to be had ....
Sam tried to slip out before dawn while Dean was still sleeping, but just as he turned the handle of the hotel-room door, Dean’s suspicious voice came out of the darkness: “Where’re you going?”
“Uh ... to get some donuts,” Sam answered honestly. The truth was easier to keep track of than lies, so he used it whenever he could. Besides, Dean had told him to just be honest, so nowadays he was ... mostly.
“I thought you just got some, like, three hours ago!”
Sam squinted with irritation at the memory. Yeah, he’d tried to get some three hours ago. It had ended in three bodies, no donuts, which was what necessitated this sojourn now, but it was best Dean didn’t know about that. If he did, there would be a long discussion about not killing humans, blah-blah blah, and Sam would have to nod and try to look appropriately concerned, and at that rate, he would never get his donuts--certainly not fresh like they were right now after the shop will have just opened. God, they’d smelled so good while he was killing those vamps--and, accidentally, the baker, most unfortunately--right when he was about to put another batch in the deep fryer, too. Sam’s mouth watered just thinking of it. “Uh ... yeah,” he said, thinking quickly. “But they were so good, you know ... I wanted to go back and get some more.”
“Oh, right, you don’t sleep,” Dean mumbled, burrowing deeper under the fancy covers. “Well ... get some for me this time! I can’t believe you didn’t think of getting me any last night. Compassion, Sammy!”
Sam thought this through several times, but it never made any sense. “Um ... how would bringing you donuts make me ‘compassionate’?”
“Because!” Dean barked. “You should have known how it would make your brother suffer to watch you eat donuts if he didn’t have any!”
“Well, then ... what if I just ate them at the shop and you never knew about it?”
“JUST BRING ME THE FREAKIN’ DONUTS, SAMMY!”
“Okay, Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Um ... raised, or cake?”
“SAM!”
“Okay, I’ll just get a ... variety,” Sam muttered, slipping out and shutting the door behind him. Apparently the subject of pastries was a sticky one with Dean (no pun intended), especially in the early morning hours. Sam made a note to himself to avoid the subject the next time it came up ... which it would. Somehow, hunting and baked goods together made up about two-thirds of their conversation on an average day.
Sam exited out onto the street, jamming his hands in his pockets, happily contemplating the flavors he would ask them to include in their dozen. Even before he turned the corner, he saw the red and blue lights flashing. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the street that he realized the cop cars were in front of the donut shop. Drat. He stopped where he was on the sidewalk. He had indeed left three bodies in the donut shop, but he’d hoped the police would be gone by now and a different baker would have opened the shop for the day. Now he realized the shop might stay closed all day, or even for several days, which made no sense. Not making any money when they could be wouldn’t help them feel better about their dead coworker ... right? Anyway, with cops around, it would be crazy for them not to be baking up a storm; they would make a killing if they did ... no pun intended.
He espied a trio of cops leaning against a brick wall near the shop, talking. Sam had spent more time than he cared to think about around law enforcement. He’d learned a few things, one of which was that stereotypes were often based in fact, and many policemen really did patronize donut shops quite a bit. Sam approached them, trying to look like a normal guy out for a 4 a.m. stroll in the red light district, just hoping to score a few donuts. “Hey,” he said. “I see this donut shop is closed, but ... does this shop have any other locations? I mean, is it independently owned, or is it a chain?”
The cops turned and stared at him. Sam thought back over what he’d said, but couldn’t find anything amiss. He was really working the earnest-young-man expression. “Three men died here tonight,” one of them said harshly.
“Yeah, I know, I kil--uh, heard from ... one of the other officers, who asked me if I knew anything, but I don’t; I’m just passing through town. So, about those donuts ...?”
The officer who’d spoken pushed away from the wall, looking ... angry, Sam thought. He’d seen that sort of expression before. What was it? Outraged. Planning to do something about it. It was time to split. “What’s wrong with you? Does human life mean so little to you, all you can think about is how the fact that people died here is getting in the way of you getting your morning donuts?”
That was, in fact, exactly what Sam was thinking. Fortunately, the cop’s words had told him what he needed to say to get out of this. “I--I’m sorry,” he said, looking down, trying to look troubled and freaked out. “I guess I’m just ... in shock, and when I’m in shock, I gorge on sweets.” The cops looked him up and down, looking confused. “I’m bulimic,” Sam added then quickly. “Bulimic ... too. And I have PTSD,” he threw in for good measure. “From the war. About dead bodies. Can’t handle it. ... I should go.” He took off, ducking into an alley as soon as possible. He wasn’t exactly sure whether the cops had bought his story. Better to get out of sight as quickly as he could just in case.
Emerging from the other end of the alley, he hunched against the chill and thought what to do next. He took out his phone and did a little research on that donut shop. It was an independent. Drat.
He could still remember the delicious aroma that filled his nostrils as he breathed hard during the fight. He’d gotten some frosting on his hand, too, which he licked off on the way back to the hotel, once he made sure it didn’t have any vampire blood in it. Truth be told, he probably should have lifted a few donuts on his way out last night. He didn’t, because he suspected Dean would manage to trump up some kind of moral objection, as he seemed to at every turn, but now Sam was deeply regretting the decision. All those donuts were just sitting there right now, getting stale ... or being labeled “evidence” by the cops ... “evidence” which would disappear before they arrived back at the station. Sam briefly contemplated breaking in through the back to steal some, but he’d have to wait until some of the cops cleared out first, if he had any hope of being able to take his time to pick and choose instead of simply having to grab what he could and run.
He’d never been that big of a donut fan. The people who ran that shop must be, like, donut artisans. Still, in a city this big, surely there must be other great donut shops. His hankering wasn’t going away. He’d settle for anything better than Dunkin Donuts at this point. He stopped a group of gangsters to ask about whether there was another donut shop nearby that was as good as that one. He also asked a homeless guy and a few drug addicts and dealers. All of them seemed well aware that the cops were swarming the place and highly reluctant to discuss it. Also, some of them gave him stares similar to the ones the cops had been giving him. He really hadn’t expected the same kind of judgment out of drug dealers as he got from cops, and Dean, but you just never knew about people, he guessed.
Just before dawn, he finally spied another donut shop, and hurried inside, rubbing his hands together as he waited in line, scanning the menu eagerly. The guys in front of him seemed at least as antsy for their donuts as he was, barking at the baker to hurry up. “The sun’s almost up,” one of them hissed to the other as the baker failed to respond to their exhortations.
“We’ll be all right,” the other one said grimly.
Sam looked at them curiously. “What happens when the sun comes up?” he asked them, and he could tell by the dark, dangerous look they gave him exactly what happened when the sun came up. “You’re vamps!” he said, delighted. They growled, and their second set of teeth emerged. He’d known there would be more vampires in the nest than the two he’d already killed that night. It took him only a moment to deduce that these must be from that same nest, and that nest for some reason had a thing for donuts. These vamps must be here because they, like Sam, couldn’t patronize their usual place, which their nestmates were patronizing last night. That meant that this donut shop must indeed be the next best thing to that other one! All this, and a couple of vamps came and practically cut off their own heads with his sword? What a great start to a great day. He loved getting lots done before breakfast.
He still had the sword he’d used to kill the other two in his jacket, which he drew out, and chopped off their heads. Here, with the element of surprise, with no one else in the shop but the baker, in the early hours, was just about as ideal a situation as you could hope for--way safer than creeping into their nest. Now, when he and Dean did invade their nest, their job would be four vamps lighter.
The baker emerged from the back, took in the scene, and froze, staring. Sam stepped over the bodies, trying not to think about how in dispatching the vampires, he’d also shortened the line to his benefit-- that was the kind of reasoning Dean really seemed to disapprove of. Sam quickly scanned the donuts in the case, pausing to give the baker a winning smile. “Yes, I’d like a full dozen, please. Let’s start with, uh ... two chocolate, two frosted, two sugared ... oh man, it’s so hard to decide. What, uh ... what kinds of jelly donut do you have ...?”
~ The End ~
This story now has a sequel! Yes, really (I know you were dying to know what happened next) ....