Snippet 3,
For ignipes.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not."
"You are so lying. Lying like a rug."
"I'm not lying! Hand to God!"
Dean's lips thinned to invisibility. "You have them, and they're mine."
"Dean," Sam said slowly and as distinctly as most of a bottle of Herradura would allow. "I'm telling you the truth."
Dean sneered and gave a short nod. "Yeah, and I'm Myrna Loy. Gimme."
Sam paused. "Myrna L --"
"Sam, if you don't --"
"I'm NOT LYING! You're just --"
"All right. That's it."
Sam was already laughed when Dean's tackle slammed him to the carpet. "Now, see?" he wheezed, while Dean untangled himself from the bedspread. "Look what you did!"
With a snort Dean turned sideways and sat on him.
"DEAN! You weigh -- A TON!"
"172, and shut the fuck up, you cheater."
Wheezing. "Didn't -- cheat!"
"Have I taught you nothing?" Dean settled in a little, rummaging around on the floor, and Sam thought he heard a rib crack. Not sure if it was the sitting, or the laughter. "Cheating is for civilians. You don't cheat family!"
"Dude," Sam gasped, while black spots swam in his vision. "Get OFF me, DYING."
"HAH!" Dean brandished Sam's fallen cards, and then stared at them, eyes widening. "Motherfucker."
"Dean..." Sam tried to say, but nothing would come out but a thin balloon-squeak of laughter.
"You lying motherfucker!" Dean held the cards in front of Sam's rapidly fogging eyes. "THREES. THREE of 'em!"
Mustering the last of his oxygen, Sam pushed as hard as he could, sending Dean sprawling against the end of the far bed. He drew a hoarse gasp of air and wheezed, "You didn't -- teach me go fish." He paused for oxygen.
Dean sat up, eyes narrowed. "Yes, I did."
"No." Gasp. "You didn't."
"I wouldn't have taught you to CHEAT your only BROTH --"
"It was Dad," Sam said.
Silence.
Finally, "Motherfucker," Dean breathed, face slack with shock, and Sam sagged back against the bed, laughing soundlessly.
"Our own FATHER, teaching you to cheat at cards. Son of a bitch."
"No," Sam gasped, waving his hands. "Not at CARDS. Just -- go fish."
"But -- we stopped playing this when you were like, seven. It's --"
"I know!" Sam blurted, and wiped his eyes. "I was about five when he told me I should cheat, and you'd never know. I think it was a test, man, see if I could keep a straight face."
Dean smiled slowly, and then gave a low chuckle. "My own family, consorting against me."
"Dean. It's GO FISH. Not exactly poker." Sam leaned forward and shoved Dean's shoulder lightly. "You were the one who taught me to cheat at that."
"Damn straight."
Sam had time to crawl up to grab the tequila bottle off the bedside table before Dean said, "Play again?"
Sam nipped at the bottle before holding it out. "Dean?" he asked with all gravitas. "I fucking hate that game."
Dean grinned and said, "Stupid game. Too easy to cheat," and drank a couple of heavy swallows.
"Easy? EASY? YOU never knew."
"Shut up and drink, cheater."
Sam reached out and grabbed the bottle back. "Loser," he said, and waited for Dean's grin.
END
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not."
"You are so lying. Lying like a rug."
"I'm not lying! Hand to God!"
Dean's lips thinned to invisibility. "You have them, and they're mine."
"Dean," Sam said slowly and as distinctly as most of a bottle of Herradura would allow. "I'm telling you the truth."
Dean sneered and gave a short nod. "Yeah, and I'm Myrna Loy. Gimme."
Sam paused. "Myrna L --"
"Sam, if you don't --"
"I'm NOT LYING! You're just --"
"All right. That's it."
Sam was already laughed when Dean's tackle slammed him to the carpet. "Now, see?" he wheezed, while Dean untangled himself from the bedspread. "Look what you did!"
With a snort Dean turned sideways and sat on him.
"DEAN! You weigh -- A TON!"
"172, and shut the fuck up, you cheater."
Wheezing. "Didn't -- cheat!"
"Have I taught you nothing?" Dean settled in a little, rummaging around on the floor, and Sam thought he heard a rib crack. Not sure if it was the sitting, or the laughter. "Cheating is for civilians. You don't cheat family!"
"Dude," Sam gasped, while black spots swam in his vision. "Get OFF me, DYING."
"HAH!" Dean brandished Sam's fallen cards, and then stared at them, eyes widening. "Motherfucker."
"Dean..." Sam tried to say, but nothing would come out but a thin balloon-squeak of laughter.
"You lying motherfucker!" Dean held the cards in front of Sam's rapidly fogging eyes. "THREES. THREE of 'em!"
Mustering the last of his oxygen, Sam pushed as hard as he could, sending Dean sprawling against the end of the far bed. He drew a hoarse gasp of air and wheezed, "You didn't -- teach me go fish." He paused for oxygen.
Dean sat up, eyes narrowed. "Yes, I did."
"No." Gasp. "You didn't."
"I wouldn't have taught you to CHEAT your only BROTH --"
"It was Dad," Sam said.
Silence.
Finally, "Motherfucker," Dean breathed, face slack with shock, and Sam sagged back against the bed, laughing soundlessly.
"Our own FATHER, teaching you to cheat at cards. Son of a bitch."
"No," Sam gasped, waving his hands. "Not at CARDS. Just -- go fish."
"But -- we stopped playing this when you were like, seven. It's --"
"I know!" Sam blurted, and wiped his eyes. "I was about five when he told me I should cheat, and you'd never know. I think it was a test, man, see if I could keep a straight face."
Dean smiled slowly, and then gave a low chuckle. "My own family, consorting against me."
"Dean. It's GO FISH. Not exactly poker." Sam leaned forward and shoved Dean's shoulder lightly. "You were the one who taught me to cheat at that."
"Damn straight."
Sam had time to crawl up to grab the tequila bottle off the bedside table before Dean said, "Play again?"
Sam nipped at the bottle before holding it out. "Dean?" he asked with all gravitas. "I fucking hate that game."
Dean grinned and said, "Stupid game. Too easy to cheat," and drank a couple of heavy swallows.
"Easy? EASY? YOU never knew."
"Shut up and drink, cheater."
Sam reached out and grabbed the bottle back. "Loser," he said, and waited for Dean's grin.
END