Spn_Bigpretzel 1 Year Partay Drabbles
Title: More cheerful drabbles
Summary: Drabbles for spn_bigpretzel's 1 year partay.
Rating: PG
Table 1: Out of Gas
“What?” Dean demanded. His phone had woken him from an almost restful sleep.
Dean knew it was Cas before he answered. It was always Cas at 3 in the morning.
“This automobile doesn’t work,” Cas informed him.
Dean sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Why had they given Cas a car?
“Where are you?”
Cas was lying on the roof of the car beside a narrow country road. Dean didn’t ask why.
Dean found the problem quickly. “You’re out of gas, Cas.”
“I know. I just wanted you to see the stars.”
Dean looked. They were magnificent. “Move over.”
Table 2: Dean/Cas-ish - Awkward
Why do these things happen to him? Dean was planning a night off. Drinks with Sam and Cas, find a chick to go home with. Sam had bailed (traitor).
Dean had been chatting up this chick. It had been going great until he’d turned to see what she was looking at over his shoulder, and found his face an inch away from Cas’s.
“I was not aware being your wingman entailed sitting alone in a bar while you try to convince women to have sex with you,” said Cas.
There was a pause.
“Well, this is awkward,” said the woman.
Table 3: Season 1ish - Strangled
Sam rubbed his raw, bruised throat. Was it too much to ask for one case, just one where he didn’t get strangled? It had been a tie, this time. A stupid novelty one that had played tinny Christmas music while tightened around his neck. Dean had had to save him again. Dean had even said beforehand, “Try not to get strangled this time, Sammy.” He had tried, he really had. But it was like there was some sort of force that told the spirits, demons, poltergeists, everything: Go for the throat. Or maybe he just had a really attractive neck.
Table 4: Confused
“I don’t understand that reference.” Cas frowns. He doesn’t understand why Dean persists in speaking in code. “I’m not unwell.”
Dean has gone pink. He’s embarrassed about something. “I just mean sometimes a little bit of something good can make the bad stuff seem better.”
Sam is looking at his brother, torn between amusement and wonder. “Dude. When did you see Mary Poppins?”
Dean goes even redder and more uncomfortable.
“Who is Mary Poppins?”
“Shut up and eat the pie, Cas.” Dean shoves the pie at him. Cas doubts it will make the search for God enjoyable.
Somehow, it does.
Table 5: I liked that shirt
Sam upturns his bag on the bed and rifles through his clothes. No, it definitely wasn’t there.
“Dean, have you seen my shirt?”
“What shirt?” Dean answers with false innocence.
“You know which shirt.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I liked that shirt,” Sam pouts.
“What did it look like?”
“It’s purple and has a dog on it.” It sounds ridiculous when he says it like that, but it’s a nice shirt. It looks good on him.
“Maybe the coolness fairy magicked it away in the night.”
Sam smirks. “Dude, you totally just called yourself a fairy.”
Table 6: “A narcissist is someone better looking than you are.”
Mark hates the new guy on sight. This Dean guy is so in love with himself that Mark’s surprised he can tear himself away from the mirror. He probably spends a good two hours in there every day, getting his hair just right, and practicing that perfect, eye-crinkling, dimpled, straight toothed smile that’s too genuine to be anything but fake. He did it at Olivia Baker yesterday, and this morning she didn’t even say her shy hello to Mark.
Mark glances in the mirror, adjusting a lock of hair. He’s every bit as good looking as Dean, and less conceited.
Table 7: Meatloaf
Dean’s crying. He’s just standing in the kitchen, tears rolling down his cheeks. Sam pauses in the doorway. Should he say something? Dean’s weird when he’s upset.
Suddenly, Dean speaks. “Dude, if you’re just gonna lurk there all day, you can peel the potatoes.”
Dean turns to grab a bowl of something from the counter, and Sam sees what’s in front of him. He laughs. Dean’s not crying, he’s just chopping onions. Which, now that he thinks about it, is even more unusual.
“Whatcha making?” Sam asks.
“Meatloaf.”
“Why?”
Dean looks at him incredulously. “It’s like a burger, but bigger.”
Table 8: Poker Face
Can’t read my, can’t read my, can’t read my poker face. Dean’s ears are bleeding. He needs to get out of here. What is this crap college kids are listening to these days? What’s wrong with a bit of Led Zeppelin? Hell, he’ll even take Bon Jovi over this. It’s not even like they got any information from this foray into the cave of shrieking children. One of the chicks said he was “hot for an old guy”. Dean scowls and sits in the car.
On the way home, he finds himself singing. “Can’t read my, can’t read my…DAMN SONG!”
Summary: Drabbles for spn_bigpretzel's 1 year partay.
Rating: PG
Table 1: Out of Gas
“What?” Dean demanded. His phone had woken him from an almost restful sleep.
Dean knew it was Cas before he answered. It was always Cas at 3 in the morning.
“This automobile doesn’t work,” Cas informed him.
Dean sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Why had they given Cas a car?
“Where are you?”
Cas was lying on the roof of the car beside a narrow country road. Dean didn’t ask why.
Dean found the problem quickly. “You’re out of gas, Cas.”
“I know. I just wanted you to see the stars.”
Dean looked. They were magnificent. “Move over.”
Table 2: Dean/Cas-ish - Awkward
Why do these things happen to him? Dean was planning a night off. Drinks with Sam and Cas, find a chick to go home with. Sam had bailed (traitor).
Dean had been chatting up this chick. It had been going great until he’d turned to see what she was looking at over his shoulder, and found his face an inch away from Cas’s.
“I was not aware being your wingman entailed sitting alone in a bar while you try to convince women to have sex with you,” said Cas.
There was a pause.
“Well, this is awkward,” said the woman.
Table 3: Season 1ish - Strangled
Sam rubbed his raw, bruised throat. Was it too much to ask for one case, just one where he didn’t get strangled? It had been a tie, this time. A stupid novelty one that had played tinny Christmas music while tightened around his neck. Dean had had to save him again. Dean had even said beforehand, “Try not to get strangled this time, Sammy.” He had tried, he really had. But it was like there was some sort of force that told the spirits, demons, poltergeists, everything: Go for the throat. Or maybe he just had a really attractive neck.
Table 4: Confused
“I don’t understand that reference.” Cas frowns. He doesn’t understand why Dean persists in speaking in code. “I’m not unwell.”
Dean has gone pink. He’s embarrassed about something. “I just mean sometimes a little bit of something good can make the bad stuff seem better.”
Sam is looking at his brother, torn between amusement and wonder. “Dude. When did you see Mary Poppins?”
Dean goes even redder and more uncomfortable.
“Who is Mary Poppins?”
“Shut up and eat the pie, Cas.” Dean shoves the pie at him. Cas doubts it will make the search for God enjoyable.
Somehow, it does.
Table 5: I liked that shirt
Sam upturns his bag on the bed and rifles through his clothes. No, it definitely wasn’t there.
“Dean, have you seen my shirt?”
“What shirt?” Dean answers with false innocence.
“You know which shirt.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I liked that shirt,” Sam pouts.
“What did it look like?”
“It’s purple and has a dog on it.” It sounds ridiculous when he says it like that, but it’s a nice shirt. It looks good on him.
“Maybe the coolness fairy magicked it away in the night.”
Sam smirks. “Dude, you totally just called yourself a fairy.”
Table 6: “A narcissist is someone better looking than you are.”
Mark hates the new guy on sight. This Dean guy is so in love with himself that Mark’s surprised he can tear himself away from the mirror. He probably spends a good two hours in there every day, getting his hair just right, and practicing that perfect, eye-crinkling, dimpled, straight toothed smile that’s too genuine to be anything but fake. He did it at Olivia Baker yesterday, and this morning she didn’t even say her shy hello to Mark.
Mark glances in the mirror, adjusting a lock of hair. He’s every bit as good looking as Dean, and less conceited.
Table 7: Meatloaf
Dean’s crying. He’s just standing in the kitchen, tears rolling down his cheeks. Sam pauses in the doorway. Should he say something? Dean’s weird when he’s upset.
Suddenly, Dean speaks. “Dude, if you’re just gonna lurk there all day, you can peel the potatoes.”
Dean turns to grab a bowl of something from the counter, and Sam sees what’s in front of him. He laughs. Dean’s not crying, he’s just chopping onions. Which, now that he thinks about it, is even more unusual.
“Whatcha making?” Sam asks.
“Meatloaf.”
“Why?”
Dean looks at him incredulously. “It’s like a burger, but bigger.”
Table 8: Poker Face
Can’t read my, can’t read my, can’t read my poker face. Dean’s ears are bleeding. He needs to get out of here. What is this crap college kids are listening to these days? What’s wrong with a bit of Led Zeppelin? Hell, he’ll even take Bon Jovi over this. It’s not even like they got any information from this foray into the cave of shrieking children. One of the chicks said he was “hot for an old guy”. Dean scowls and sits in the car.
On the way home, he finds himself singing. “Can’t read my, can’t read my…DAMN SONG!”