7x18 Comment-fic Meme
Hello! lazy-daze and I have decided that the time for comment-fic is now. In this past episode, Sam and Dean get shwasted Dean says, "I miss these talks." However, we do not see said talk on-screen.
AND THUS, THE INCEPTION OF:
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AND THUS, THE INCEPTION OF:
( Read more... )
He pulls his jeans back on, somewhat desperately, and a different shirt that smells like Sam because he wasn't paying attention apparently when he reached in the bag. He rubs the towel over his head one more time before tossing it into the corner, and when he steps out, he is about to demand to know who would make a mash-up of two of the greatest songs ever written, and secondly, why Sam is playing it, but Sam looks so entirely guilty that Dean waits. He clears his throat.
“Shit! Uh.” Sam says.
Dean loves catching Sam in the act. No matter what it is, he loves how Sam fumbles and goes dark and embarrassed. Currently, Sam has something in his mouth and is holding something behind his back.
Dean leans against the door jam. “So.”
Sam shifts on his feet and looks glum, which is not supposed to happen. Dean frowns.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine, I just.” Sam pauses, looks at Dean, then pulls the sword from behind his back like an admission, like it's supposed to mean something.
“Uh,” Dean hazards. “Practicing?”
Sam steps aside and a cutting board of fruit is revealed on the counter. “We didn't have a knife.”
“Peaches!” Dean says, and steps over to take a slice. He pops it in his mouth and moans around all the juice and tangy happiness that explodes like sunshine on his tongue. Sam makes a strangled noise. Dean pops another piece in his mouth and sucks juice from his thumb, feeling greedy. He says, “So, what is this?”
He notices Sam has sugar on his cheek like a fingerprint, and he wants to lick it. He's thinking about this so doesn't notice for a moment what else is on the counter.
“Is that?”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “You know, whatever.”
There is a tin with crust in it, and the oven beeps right then to three seventy-five.
Sam steps in so their shoulders are brushing and Dean watches him pile the peach slices into the tin in a delicious pile, and it all makes sense. Well, some sense. Sam has noticeably drawn himself up to his full height, ready for a scuffle if Dean, godforbid tries to get in between him and this mission. He pours sugar and other things on the fruit and Dean watches him, feeling an immeasurable amount of good-will which is not only due to the pie, until Sam sticks it in the oven and turns on Dean and demands, “Now spill.”
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“I know it's code. Every time you talk about pie it's like, it's like you're talking about something big. So spill.”
“It's not....” Dean starts, but Sam's expression is so randomly hopeful that he can't pass it off as nothing. He was in the shower two minutes ago thinking things were looking up, and then he was lured out with fruit, not even wearing his own shirt, into this trap where Sam is going to feel like shit and Dean's world will probably end.
Dean feels lightheaded with the reality of it and says, with the tremulous sincerity of a man who knows his greatest crime is also the one he believes in most, "I do love pie.”
Sam makes a noise, like you're lying, why would you lie to me but Dean catches his gaze and says, “I do love pie but I tell you about this shit because I can't just....” He takes a deep breath, a billion years of repression making his voice break. “You know?”
"No."
Dean can't stop talking somehow. "Other people are fair game. I just tell them everything, you know? About, uh, you.”
“Yeah?” Sam's got a shaky smirk somewhere in his voice, like Dean's joking. Like they're on safe ground now.
“There was a waitress at a strip club in Vegas, I really talked her ear off. And a guy at a dive last week. There are like, a hundred people at least."
"Oh,” Sam falters and looks away but then back, squinting. “You're serious?”
Dean scoffs. Serious? He's spilled his entire heart out to a hundred strangers at bars across the country. He says, “Sammy.”
“At a strip club?"
“That is not the-“
“I know.” Sam says, and then breathes out “Jesus,” and traps Dean up against the wall with elbows on either side of Dean's face.
“So I mean-“ Dean says.
“Yes.”
First order of business, Dean licks the sugar off of Sam's jaw. Next on the list, gratitude. He snags Sam's belt loop and pulls him in tight and says, “Thanks for, you know.”
“The crust is just the premade kind,” Sam says, like he's admitting some dark sin, and then kisses Dean. "But I promised, so."
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Just the thought of Dean realizing that he's enjoyed hanging with Sam and being in a good mood and having a long shower is making me all warm and fuzzy, and that's even without the pie-baking and declarations of love part.
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This is trufax canon.
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also the word 'frankly' and the little fingerprint of sugar on Sam....
“The crust is just the premade kind,” Sam says, like he's admitting some dark sin, and then kisses Dean. "But I promised, so."
<3
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