Drabble: What a Waist
Here's a little double drabble written for the weekend drabble challenge on fanfiction.net. The challenge word was 'pill'.
WHAT A WAIST
Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Sam and Dean
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Disclaimer: I don't own them
xxxxx
Dean hated the period after Christmas. The weather was grim, the bunker looked miserably bare after all the decorations had been taken down, and his jeans always seemed to shrink temporarily.
He had tried many times to convince himself that the jeans situation was down to an unfortunate laundry incident, and nothing to do with that faint roundness of the midriff he could see when he looked down in the shower, but …
Oh who was he kidding?
So, what were the solutions?
Going out running with Sam at moron o’clock in the morning, every morning? No thanks.
Diet pills? Nope, Dean didn’t trust those things. What if he ended up growing boobs or something? Then his shirts wouldn’t fit either.
Counting calories? Like Dean had the patience for that shit; Dean didn’t even count his meals, never mind his calories.
Rabbit food? That had always seemed like a reasonable short-term plan until last new year when Sam told Dean an extra tomato slice in his burger didn’t count. Sam was such a goddamn spoilsport.
Hmmm…
Dean sighed. He thought long and hard, examined all the options, and could arrive at only one realistic solution.
Bigger jeans it was then.
xxxxx
end
WHAT A WAIST
Rating: K+
Genre: Humour
Characters: Sam and Dean
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Word Count: 200
Disclaimer: I don't own them
xxxxx
Dean hated the period after Christmas. The weather was grim, the bunker looked miserably bare after all the decorations had been taken down, and his jeans always seemed to shrink temporarily.
He had tried many times to convince himself that the jeans situation was down to an unfortunate laundry incident, and nothing to do with that faint roundness of the midriff he could see when he looked down in the shower, but …
Oh who was he kidding?
So, what were the solutions?
Going out running with Sam at moron o’clock in the morning, every morning? No thanks.
Diet pills? Nope, Dean didn’t trust those things. What if he ended up growing boobs or something? Then his shirts wouldn’t fit either.
Counting calories? Like Dean had the patience for that shit; Dean didn’t even count his meals, never mind his calories.
Rabbit food? That had always seemed like a reasonable short-term plan until last new year when Sam told Dean an extra tomato slice in his burger didn’t count. Sam was such a goddamn spoilsport.
Hmmm…
Dean sighed. He thought long and hard, examined all the options, and could arrive at only one realistic solution.
Bigger jeans it was then.
xxxxx
end