I've watched all your suffering [As the battles raged higher]
[Why did I believe that woman?]
“Why did I believe that woman?” Sam grumbled as he poked his fork at the mass of yellow-whitish sludge that was supposed to be corn casserole.
“Dude. I swear to God if we weren't wanted criminals just waitin' to get picked up for jay-walking we'd be eating at Biggerson's for the rest of our lives. This cafeteria food is killing me,” Dean groused. Immediately his eyes flew up to Sam’s just in time to catch the wounded puppy expression that flickered through his eyes. Apparently it was still too fresh to make dead jokes. "But not like that," he amended.
Sam half frowned and then shrugged. “Dude, don’t mention things like that. It’s gonna make my stomach rebel.” Nope. It wasn’t the memory of the contract they’d just barely gotten Dean out of that was making him nauseous. Not at all.
“How the hell do people survive on this shit?” Dean asked as he ate his lunch.
Sam smirked at him. “You ate prison food. And did just fine. I’m sure you’ll be okay here.”
“Bitch. That’s not the point,” Dean told him, giving him a glare. He reached over and stabbed something that was supposed to be meat on Sam’s plate and popped it in his mouth.
“Hey! That was mine!” Sam exclaimed, even though he wasn’t eating it. At least one Winchester had some standards food wise. Not many and they weren’t set high but they were standards. “Jerk.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the vending machines and then back at Dean, holding out his hand. “Cough up the quarters. I’m going to raid the vending machine.”
Dean gave him a dirty look, mouth still full of mystery meat. “Those are for the magic fingers bed.”
“Dean…I’m friggin’ starving.”
And that worked like a charm. Dean couldn’t let his baby brother starve to death, despite all evidence to the contrary. Dean stood up and grabbed some coins out of his pocket, slapping them into Sam’s open palm. Sam rolled his eyes and started over to the vending machines.
“Get me some friggin’ chips,” he yelled at Sam’s back.
“Why did I believe that woman?” Sam grumbled as he poked his fork at the mass of yellow-whitish sludge that was supposed to be corn casserole.
“Dude. I swear to God if we weren't wanted criminals just waitin' to get picked up for jay-walking we'd be eating at Biggerson's for the rest of our lives. This cafeteria food is killing me,” Dean groused. Immediately his eyes flew up to Sam’s just in time to catch the wounded puppy expression that flickered through his eyes. Apparently it was still too fresh to make dead jokes. "But not like that," he amended.
Sam half frowned and then shrugged. “Dude, don’t mention things like that. It’s gonna make my stomach rebel.” Nope. It wasn’t the memory of the contract they’d just barely gotten Dean out of that was making him nauseous. Not at all.
“How the hell do people survive on this shit?” Dean asked as he ate his lunch.
Sam smirked at him. “You ate prison food. And did just fine. I’m sure you’ll be okay here.”
“Bitch. That’s not the point,” Dean told him, giving him a glare. He reached over and stabbed something that was supposed to be meat on Sam’s plate and popped it in his mouth.
“Hey! That was mine!” Sam exclaimed, even though he wasn’t eating it. At least one Winchester had some standards food wise. Not many and they weren’t set high but they were standards. “Jerk.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the vending machines and then back at Dean, holding out his hand. “Cough up the quarters. I’m going to raid the vending machine.”
Dean gave him a dirty look, mouth still full of mystery meat. “Those are for the magic fingers bed.”
“Dean…I’m friggin’ starving.”
And that worked like a charm. Dean couldn’t let his baby brother starve to death, despite all evidence to the contrary. Dean stood up and grabbed some coins out of his pocket, slapping them into Sam’s open palm. Sam rolled his eyes and started over to the vending machines.
“Get me some friggin’ chips,” he yelled at Sam’s back.