SPN Fanfic: Key to Longevity
Title: Key to Longevity
Warnings/Rating: SPOILERS FOR 5.07, GEN, PG.
Word Count: 1350
Disclaimer: The boys and their world belong to Kripke and the CW
Summary: Tag for 5.07, for the prompt: "Dean put down the bacon cheeseburger and walked out the door. How long did that last - the sudden tilt toward "healthier eating"? Feel free to make use of the bacon-topped apple pie. :)"
A/N: The fic that won the enigmatic 'prioritize the hopping bunnies' poll, even without the assist from the hidden 'it's already late' poll-weighting. Happy belated Birthday smalltwndreamer!
-
Key to Longevity
by CaffieneKitty
-
They were halfway to the next town, Sam buried up to his nose in apocalyptic research in the passenger seat, before Dean realized he didn't feel hungry. He'd only eaten half his burger. That galled him a little; leaving food uneaten. Too many times when they were kids, money ran short and food got a bit creative to compensate. Even so, Dean would happily waste more than half a bacon cheeseburger to make certain things clear to Bobby.
But still, Dean didn't feel hungry. That was weird.
-
Sam glanced from the laptop to the menu. "I'll have, uh... the chicken caesar, no croutons, easy on the garlic."
The waitress who looked like she was probably the owner's kid blinked. "Um. I don't think they can do anything about the garlic. The dressing's from a mix. It's not really all that garlicky though."
"Oh, okay, whatever." Sam pushed the menu towards the girl and sunk back into whatever was absorbing his attention on his laptop.
"Great, and you?" she said, smiling and turning to Dean.
Dean glanced through the half of the menu devoted entirely to the many different delicious ways ground beef could be stuck into a bun.
So did you really mean you were gonna make a change back there, or was that just a bullshit gesture that wasted perfectly good food?
He closed the menu and slid it to the young waitress. "I'll have what he's having. And more coffee."
"Okay, great!" The girl gathered the menus and left.
Dean found himself at the receiving end of a dubious eyebrow. "You're having a salad?"
"What? Why not, you like 'em."
Sam's eyebrow went from dubious to amazed. "That much actual vegetation and no deep-fried anything? You sure you won't go into system shock or something?"
"Shaddup."
Salad wasn't that bad, Dean discovered. It even came with bacon on it.
-
It went like that for a week or two as they wound their way westward. Dean would order what Sam was having, since his brother seemed to be more aware of food that was naturally crunchy and green and didn't involve a deep-fryer at any stage of the cooking process. Sam's eyebrows remained on high alert.
Then Dean started venturing into the menu himself and Sam's eyebrows started to get worried.
"You have to try this, Sam!" Dean said around a mouthful of tomato-salsa-poached halibut on a bed of rice and corn. "It's like a burrito, except with fish and no wrapper."
They were at a little quasi-Mexican diner off the Cabrillo Highway in California. Sam shut the laptop and frowned across the table at his brother.
"What?" said Dean, gesturing with his fork. "Dude, you 'Christo' me and you're getting halibut in the eye."
"It's just... You're actually eating fish."
"Yeah? So?"
"Dean, you hate fish. You always have."
He chased a forkful of spicy halibut down with a swallow of beer. "Can't a man try something different once in a while?"
Sam frowned deeper and re-opened his laptop, glancing over top of it at Dean like he was expecting his brother to sprout antlers any second.
Dean ignored the hell out of Sam and ate his halibut.
-
"Stop," said Sam as they were driving down Williams Avenue in Portland two days later.
"What?"
"We're stopping there." Sam pointed at a glass-fronted restaurant with a round red sign. "It has pie."
"Everywhere has pie, Sam."
"Not this kind of pie," Sam said with a strange, jaw-clenching intensity.
"Okaaay, Weirdy McWeirderson." Dean pulled off the road into the parking lot of the Lincoln Restaurant.
When they got inside, Dean was certain Sam had either made a mistake or lost his mind.
"They charge eight bucks for a freaking ice cream sundae, Sam," Dean whispered across the table, glancing around at the patrons in business casual having lunch. "Half the menu's in French and Italian."
"Trust me, Dean. Please?" Sam gestured at a passing waiter. "Hi. We'll have the pie."
The waiter smiled. "Ah, you mean the-"
"Yep. The pie."
Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam as the waiter gathered the menus and left.
"Okay." Sam leaned across the table intently. "If you turn down this pie, I'm hog-tying you, throwing you in the trunk of the Impala and heading for Bobby's. Because possessed or not, you aren't you."
"What!?" Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "What the hell, Sam?"
"You eat crap. It's what you do. It's not huge but it's- You're freaking me out, alright?" A quick self-conscious grin flashed across Sam's face but didn't quite reach his eyes. "I mean, I know you aren't possessed, the tattoos take care of that. And I doubt I'd still be around if Michael possessed you and I hadn't noticed."
"Sam-"
"It's stupid, I know. You're eating healthy. You've been eating healthy for weeks. I should be thrilled, but it's," Sam's hands stuttered in the air. "it's like I woke up one morning and the sky was green."
Any response Dean might have made to being equated to a green sky was thwarted by the return of the waiter. "You're in luck! They just pulled them from the oven. Careful, it'll be hot. Enjoy!" The waiter set down two empty plates beside a pie just big enough for two people to share and left.
"Just eat the damn pie, Dean," said Sam through a tense smile. "Please?"
Dean looked down at the pie. It was an apple pie, but instead of having a top crust, the caramelized, cinnamon-smelling apples were covered by a lattice of crispy maple-smoked bacon. The smell hit Dean in a sweet-smoky wave. He hadn't thought of bacon in combination with pie, but what the hell, he hadn't thought of it being good on a salad either. The pie was steaming and pre-cut into four pieces; the silvery handle of a pie-serving utensil stuck out from the side of one.
He nudged the fork next to his empty plate. "I sort of promised Bobby I'd start eating better. Not exactly promised, but yeah."
"You never said." Sam frowned down at the pie.
"Well, you never asked. You just assumed something was wrong with me because I wasn't eating as much junk."
Sam slid the pie to one side. "Why?"
"That thing a few weeks ago with the year-stealing poker demon, when I got old."
"You still can't eat greasy food after that? I thought you-"
"No, no," Dean shook his head. "What Bobby said. About killing himself. I couldn't let that stand, so I had a talk with him."
Sam stayed silent.
"I guess... it was just words." Kind of the same words Bobby's said to me once or twice and didn't hear. "I needed-" Dean shook his head again. "It's stupid."
"No, what?"
"I needed something concrete. Something to prove I wasn't just talking to hear myself talk."
"I'm sure Bobby knows you were on the level, Dean."
Dean put a finger on the empty ceramic plate in front of him, pressing the edge to the table and rocking it back and forth. "The start of the year before I went to Hell, I didn't care. I ate bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast. I gave up."
Mouth tensing, Sam nodded.
"Bobby, he said what he said back there, and it just-" Dean let the empty plate thunk back down onto the thick-woven tablecloth. "I dunno. I had to let him know I wasn't giving up on him."
Sam sat back in his chair, staring at Dean. "Hunh."
"What?" Dean scowled at his brother.
"Nothing." Sam swallowed and smiled, nodding. "It seems like a really great way to let Bobby know you aren't giving up."
Dean examined the expression on Sam's face for mockery, but instead found amateur psychology and the beginnings of a chick flick moment. "Oh no. Don't go reading anything weird into it. It's a gesture, of like, solidarity and crap. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna eat this pie."
"It won't break your promise?"
"Dude. Bacon and pie together? An exception must be made." Dean lifted a piece of pie out and landed it on Sam's plate. "Plus, if I was really gonna break my promise, you'd have to get your own damn pie."
Sam grinned and picked up a fork.
- - -
(that's it, hope it's okay smalltwndreamer!)
Ref: The pie.
Warnings/Rating: SPOILERS FOR 5.07, GEN, PG.
Word Count: 1350
Disclaimer: The boys and their world belong to Kripke and the CW
Summary: Tag for 5.07, for the prompt: "Dean put down the bacon cheeseburger and walked out the door. How long did that last - the sudden tilt toward "healthier eating"? Feel free to make use of the bacon-topped apple pie. :)"
A/N: The fic that won the enigmatic 'prioritize the hopping bunnies' poll, even without the assist from the hidden 'it's already late' poll-weighting. Happy belated Birthday smalltwndreamer!
-
Key to Longevity
by CaffieneKitty
-
They were halfway to the next town, Sam buried up to his nose in apocalyptic research in the passenger seat, before Dean realized he didn't feel hungry. He'd only eaten half his burger. That galled him a little; leaving food uneaten. Too many times when they were kids, money ran short and food got a bit creative to compensate. Even so, Dean would happily waste more than half a bacon cheeseburger to make certain things clear to Bobby.
But still, Dean didn't feel hungry. That was weird.
-
Sam glanced from the laptop to the menu. "I'll have, uh... the chicken caesar, no croutons, easy on the garlic."
The waitress who looked like she was probably the owner's kid blinked. "Um. I don't think they can do anything about the garlic. The dressing's from a mix. It's not really all that garlicky though."
"Oh, okay, whatever." Sam pushed the menu towards the girl and sunk back into whatever was absorbing his attention on his laptop.
"Great, and you?" she said, smiling and turning to Dean.
Dean glanced through the half of the menu devoted entirely to the many different delicious ways ground beef could be stuck into a bun.
So did you really mean you were gonna make a change back there, or was that just a bullshit gesture that wasted perfectly good food?
He closed the menu and slid it to the young waitress. "I'll have what he's having. And more coffee."
"Okay, great!" The girl gathered the menus and left.
Dean found himself at the receiving end of a dubious eyebrow. "You're having a salad?"
"What? Why not, you like 'em."
Sam's eyebrow went from dubious to amazed. "That much actual vegetation and no deep-fried anything? You sure you won't go into system shock or something?"
"Shaddup."
Salad wasn't that bad, Dean discovered. It even came with bacon on it.
-
It went like that for a week or two as they wound their way westward. Dean would order what Sam was having, since his brother seemed to be more aware of food that was naturally crunchy and green and didn't involve a deep-fryer at any stage of the cooking process. Sam's eyebrows remained on high alert.
Then Dean started venturing into the menu himself and Sam's eyebrows started to get worried.
"You have to try this, Sam!" Dean said around a mouthful of tomato-salsa-poached halibut on a bed of rice and corn. "It's like a burrito, except with fish and no wrapper."
They were at a little quasi-Mexican diner off the Cabrillo Highway in California. Sam shut the laptop and frowned across the table at his brother.
"What?" said Dean, gesturing with his fork. "Dude, you 'Christo' me and you're getting halibut in the eye."
"It's just... You're actually eating fish."
"Yeah? So?"
"Dean, you hate fish. You always have."
He chased a forkful of spicy halibut down with a swallow of beer. "Can't a man try something different once in a while?"
Sam frowned deeper and re-opened his laptop, glancing over top of it at Dean like he was expecting his brother to sprout antlers any second.
Dean ignored the hell out of Sam and ate his halibut.
-
"Stop," said Sam as they were driving down Williams Avenue in Portland two days later.
"What?"
"We're stopping there." Sam pointed at a glass-fronted restaurant with a round red sign. "It has pie."
"Everywhere has pie, Sam."
"Not this kind of pie," Sam said with a strange, jaw-clenching intensity.
"Okaaay, Weirdy McWeirderson." Dean pulled off the road into the parking lot of the Lincoln Restaurant.
When they got inside, Dean was certain Sam had either made a mistake or lost his mind.
"They charge eight bucks for a freaking ice cream sundae, Sam," Dean whispered across the table, glancing around at the patrons in business casual having lunch. "Half the menu's in French and Italian."
"Trust me, Dean. Please?" Sam gestured at a passing waiter. "Hi. We'll have the pie."
The waiter smiled. "Ah, you mean the-"
"Yep. The pie."
Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam as the waiter gathered the menus and left.
"Okay." Sam leaned across the table intently. "If you turn down this pie, I'm hog-tying you, throwing you in the trunk of the Impala and heading for Bobby's. Because possessed or not, you aren't you."
"What!?" Dean looked at his brother incredulously. "What the hell, Sam?"
"You eat crap. It's what you do. It's not huge but it's- You're freaking me out, alright?" A quick self-conscious grin flashed across Sam's face but didn't quite reach his eyes. "I mean, I know you aren't possessed, the tattoos take care of that. And I doubt I'd still be around if Michael possessed you and I hadn't noticed."
"Sam-"
"It's stupid, I know. You're eating healthy. You've been eating healthy for weeks. I should be thrilled, but it's," Sam's hands stuttered in the air. "it's like I woke up one morning and the sky was green."
Any response Dean might have made to being equated to a green sky was thwarted by the return of the waiter. "You're in luck! They just pulled them from the oven. Careful, it'll be hot. Enjoy!" The waiter set down two empty plates beside a pie just big enough for two people to share and left.
"Just eat the damn pie, Dean," said Sam through a tense smile. "Please?"
Dean looked down at the pie. It was an apple pie, but instead of having a top crust, the caramelized, cinnamon-smelling apples were covered by a lattice of crispy maple-smoked bacon. The smell hit Dean in a sweet-smoky wave. He hadn't thought of bacon in combination with pie, but what the hell, he hadn't thought of it being good on a salad either. The pie was steaming and pre-cut into four pieces; the silvery handle of a pie-serving utensil stuck out from the side of one.
He nudged the fork next to his empty plate. "I sort of promised Bobby I'd start eating better. Not exactly promised, but yeah."
"You never said." Sam frowned down at the pie.
"Well, you never asked. You just assumed something was wrong with me because I wasn't eating as much junk."
Sam slid the pie to one side. "Why?"
"That thing a few weeks ago with the year-stealing poker demon, when I got old."
"You still can't eat greasy food after that? I thought you-"
"No, no," Dean shook his head. "What Bobby said. About killing himself. I couldn't let that stand, so I had a talk with him."
Sam stayed silent.
"I guess... it was just words." Kind of the same words Bobby's said to me once or twice and didn't hear. "I needed-" Dean shook his head again. "It's stupid."
"No, what?"
"I needed something concrete. Something to prove I wasn't just talking to hear myself talk."
"I'm sure Bobby knows you were on the level, Dean."
Dean put a finger on the empty ceramic plate in front of him, pressing the edge to the table and rocking it back and forth. "The start of the year before I went to Hell, I didn't care. I ate bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast. I gave up."
Mouth tensing, Sam nodded.
"Bobby, he said what he said back there, and it just-" Dean let the empty plate thunk back down onto the thick-woven tablecloth. "I dunno. I had to let him know I wasn't giving up on him."
Sam sat back in his chair, staring at Dean. "Hunh."
"What?" Dean scowled at his brother.
"Nothing." Sam swallowed and smiled, nodding. "It seems like a really great way to let Bobby know you aren't giving up."
Dean examined the expression on Sam's face for mockery, but instead found amateur psychology and the beginnings of a chick flick moment. "Oh no. Don't go reading anything weird into it. It's a gesture, of like, solidarity and crap. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna eat this pie."
"It won't break your promise?"
"Dude. Bacon and pie together? An exception must be made." Dean lifted a piece of pie out and landed it on Sam's plate. "Plus, if I was really gonna break my promise, you'd have to get your own damn pie."
Sam grinned and picked up a fork.
- - -
(that's it, hope it's okay smalltwndreamer!)
Ref: The pie.