The Eating Habits of the Northern American Sasquatch
Summary: There's something to be said for fries that you don't have to help your brother eat.
Category: Coda. Oneshot.
Timeline: Post Season 2; references to events in All Hell Breaks Loose (2.21)
Characters: Sam & Dean
Wordcount: 970
Rating: PG
Written: Sep. 9th, 2007
Prompt: from
apreludetoanend, What is Sam's worst eating habit?
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There was something to be said for fries.
Dean was glad he had switched to decaf after his second cup of coffee, because Sam was eating. The kind of eating that caused unexpected belching and needed lots of napkins. This was not normal. As if anything in their lives could get that label. But definitely, no, not normal.
The pretty blonde waitress glided by every once in a while to check on them, lingering a little bit over Sam's water glass. She was cute, sure, but Dean had ruled her out as the reason for this massive hunger epidemic. Sam wasn't even looking up anymore when she walked by.
"There are starving children in Africa, you know," Dean said softly into his coffee cup.
Sam looked up from under his eyebrows and managed a half smile through his chili fries. "Yeah, I remember that line. It never worked on me, did it?" he said with a little chagrin.
"Nope. Not really," said Dean and smiled back.
Dean wasn't usually at a loss for words, but his brain was on some kind of overload watching Sam pack it away. He was tired and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and hit the sack. Hell, he could have skipped this whole visit after the bar down the road failed to yield a single working telephone number. It had been an annoyingly quiet week on the action front.
After that night, which is how they silently agreed to refer to it, all he'd wanted to do after closing a case was to have a good time - get a few more notches in his belt. That was one of the things he did best, if he did have to say so himself. The Closer. Better than that chick on TV, what's her name. But he hadn't closed on anything lately.
He wished he could get away with taking a picture of this. Sammy had asked if they could stop for burgers on the way back to the motel and a 24-hour breakfast dive was the first thing he had spotted. That there was more than one plate in front of Sam and the fact that all of those plates were well on their way to being empty with no help from him was grounds for calling the Guinness record book people.
Sam was licking his fingers now and he didn't even bother to look sheepish about it. Dean must have screwed up somehow when they were younger. Yeah, that had to be it. Dad had been gone so much, and before that he was just sad all the time. Some neighborhood lady had come by a few times at first to help with little Sammy. Pretty soon, Dad had shown Dean how to hold Sammy in his lap and make sure the bottle didn't get any air bubbles in it. Not many neighbors stopped by after that. Dean just knew from then on - it would be his job to tell Dad when Sammy needed something, even if he was too young to handle it himself. The Supersonic Sammy Radar was just always on.
"Man, I can't believe my appetite. It just tasted so good. It must have been the beer," Sam decided. He stacked the plates, which Dean was not going to count, and then poured himself a cup of coffee from the endless thermos, resting it again empty and precariously close to the edge of the table.
"You know, she's gonna take this as her cue to bring you a dessert on the house for keeping this place in business all by yourself," Dean said.
"Shut up," Sam replied with a fake frown, warming his hands on the coffee and leaning back onto the bench with a heavy sigh. They passed several minutes savoring the quiet.
"Do you remember..." Dean faded to silence.
"What?"
"Nah, you were too young. You couldn't have been more than three."
"Dean. You know I'm trying to... you're freakin' me out a little bit lately with the nostalgia. It's nice, don't get me wrong. It's just- "
"Yeah I know. It's okay. You're not exactly training for any eating contests that I know of, so join the freaked out club, Sasquatch."
"I'm just hungry is all."
He used to have to bribe this kid. Airplane fork. Cartoons and "borrowing" Dean's He-Man action figures. Economic vendettas. When Sammy was almost three, Dean had given him regular applesauce instead of cinnamon applesauce once and Sam hadn't let him forget it; every day for two weeks Sam would remind him at lunchtime to pweese Deen opena greeeen one notta red one. How on earth he got to be such a big freak he would never figure out. Sam had always been picky. Food was hardly ever his idea. Every time Sam left a half eaten plate, Dean would try to finish it. It avoided scrutiny from Dad about Sam not eating and it just turned into one of those things. Once they hit the road together, Dean had taken to handing Sam all the cash and sending him into diners or corner stores alone to figure out what the hell he wanted, and also could you bring your brother something, too, so he doesn't shrivel up and die behind the wheel waitin' on your ass. With extra onions.
Now he's eating. Now that he's alive. Honest to goodness alive and sitting there. Breathing. It should make Dean feel better, but it didn't. Something else had changed and he couldn't put his finger on it.
Sam was watching him. "Okay?" he prodded quietly.
"Yeah. It's nothin'," Dean said quickly, thumbing the edge of the table. "It's just one of those things ... you know. Being the only one who remembers. Still throws me sometimes."
Sam's jaw clenched. He penetrated the black depths of his coffee cup like he expected his brother's destiny to be buried somewhere in the darkness.
Category: Coda. Oneshot.
Timeline: Post Season 2; references to events in All Hell Breaks Loose (2.21)
Characters: Sam & Dean
Wordcount: 970
Rating: PG
Written: Sep. 9th, 2007
Prompt: from
apreludetoanend, What is Sam's worst eating habit?
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
There was something to be said for fries.
Dean was glad he had switched to decaf after his second cup of coffee, because Sam was eating. The kind of eating that caused unexpected belching and needed lots of napkins. This was not normal. As if anything in their lives could get that label. But definitely, no, not normal.
The pretty blonde waitress glided by every once in a while to check on them, lingering a little bit over Sam's water glass. She was cute, sure, but Dean had ruled her out as the reason for this massive hunger epidemic. Sam wasn't even looking up anymore when she walked by.
"There are starving children in Africa, you know," Dean said softly into his coffee cup.
Sam looked up from under his eyebrows and managed a half smile through his chili fries. "Yeah, I remember that line. It never worked on me, did it?" he said with a little chagrin.
"Nope. Not really," said Dean and smiled back.
Dean wasn't usually at a loss for words, but his brain was on some kind of overload watching Sam pack it away. He was tired and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower and hit the sack. Hell, he could have skipped this whole visit after the bar down the road failed to yield a single working telephone number. It had been an annoyingly quiet week on the action front.
After that night, which is how they silently agreed to refer to it, all he'd wanted to do after closing a case was to have a good time - get a few more notches in his belt. That was one of the things he did best, if he did have to say so himself. The Closer. Better than that chick on TV, what's her name. But he hadn't closed on anything lately.
He wished he could get away with taking a picture of this. Sammy had asked if they could stop for burgers on the way back to the motel and a 24-hour breakfast dive was the first thing he had spotted. That there was more than one plate in front of Sam and the fact that all of those plates were well on their way to being empty with no help from him was grounds for calling the Guinness record book people.
Sam was licking his fingers now and he didn't even bother to look sheepish about it. Dean must have screwed up somehow when they were younger. Yeah, that had to be it. Dad had been gone so much, and before that he was just sad all the time. Some neighborhood lady had come by a few times at first to help with little Sammy. Pretty soon, Dad had shown Dean how to hold Sammy in his lap and make sure the bottle didn't get any air bubbles in it. Not many neighbors stopped by after that. Dean just knew from then on - it would be his job to tell Dad when Sammy needed something, even if he was too young to handle it himself. The Supersonic Sammy Radar was just always on.
"Man, I can't believe my appetite. It just tasted so good. It must have been the beer," Sam decided. He stacked the plates, which Dean was not going to count, and then poured himself a cup of coffee from the endless thermos, resting it again empty and precariously close to the edge of the table.
"You know, she's gonna take this as her cue to bring you a dessert on the house for keeping this place in business all by yourself," Dean said.
"Shut up," Sam replied with a fake frown, warming his hands on the coffee and leaning back onto the bench with a heavy sigh. They passed several minutes savoring the quiet.
"Do you remember..." Dean faded to silence.
"What?"
"Nah, you were too young. You couldn't have been more than three."
"Dean. You know I'm trying to... you're freakin' me out a little bit lately with the nostalgia. It's nice, don't get me wrong. It's just- "
"Yeah I know. It's okay. You're not exactly training for any eating contests that I know of, so join the freaked out club, Sasquatch."
"I'm just hungry is all."
He used to have to bribe this kid. Airplane fork. Cartoons and "borrowing" Dean's He-Man action figures. Economic vendettas. When Sammy was almost three, Dean had given him regular applesauce instead of cinnamon applesauce once and Sam hadn't let him forget it; every day for two weeks Sam would remind him at lunchtime to pweese Deen opena greeeen one notta red one. How on earth he got to be such a big freak he would never figure out. Sam had always been picky. Food was hardly ever his idea. Every time Sam left a half eaten plate, Dean would try to finish it. It avoided scrutiny from Dad about Sam not eating and it just turned into one of those things. Once they hit the road together, Dean had taken to handing Sam all the cash and sending him into diners or corner stores alone to figure out what the hell he wanted, and also could you bring your brother something, too, so he doesn't shrivel up and die behind the wheel waitin' on your ass. With extra onions.
Now he's eating. Now that he's alive. Honest to goodness alive and sitting there. Breathing. It should make Dean feel better, but it didn't. Something else had changed and he couldn't put his finger on it.
Sam was watching him. "Okay?" he prodded quietly.
"Yeah. It's nothin'," Dean said quickly, thumbing the edge of the table. "It's just one of those things ... you know. Being the only one who remembers. Still throws me sometimes."
Sam's jaw clenched. He penetrated the black depths of his coffee cup like he expected his brother's destiny to be buried somewhere in the darkness.