(Untitled)

[gavemea_45]

The front door slams open.

"Dean, I told you already, I didn't touch your car! You know what, forget it. I'll go

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[gavemea_45]

He catches the flash of light off blond hair from the corner of his eye, and turns his head.

"... hey, Elle."

Sam darts a look at Dean as if to say don't even think about it, dude.

[hopeitsworthit]

Oh, look, it's electricity-chick. Dean's night is made.

Sure.

"You want some popcorn over there, sweetheart?"

Hey, she's the one that was staring.

[gavemea_45]

"You wouldn't want it if he did," Sam promises.

He gives Dean's cheese fries an eloquent look.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Dude, I'm not the one that spits in other people's food."

Sam was three, but so what?

[gavemea_45]

"No," Sam grits out, glaring at Dean. "No one does that. Dean here's making a joke."

Beat.

"He just doesn't have any sense of humor."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah, okay. Whatever."

Dean gives Elle a look that says 'do you believe this guy?'

Any port in a storm, right?

For a given definition of 'storm'.

[gavemea_45]

Sam raises his eyebrows and smirks at Dean.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean mutters something that might sound like 'that's because you don't have a sense of humor'.

Today is not his day.

[gavemea_45]

Sam's smirk?

Gone.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean looks wary more than pleased, but he rallies pretty well.

"Guess some people know quality when they see it."

Or want to fry it. Whatever.