SPN/DA Fic: (Minor Tremor 10)
Starting slow, will catch up on e-mails soon! ♥
-mink
Title: (Minor Tremor 1) - (Minor Tremor 2) - (Minor Tremor 3) - (Minor Tremor 4) - (Minor Tremor 5) - (Minor Tremor 6) - (Minor Tremor 7) - (Minor Tremor 8) - (Minor Tremor 9) - (Minor Tremor 10) - (Minor Tremor 11)
accompaniment(s) to: With a Bang
Author: Mink
Rating: SPN/DA Crossover - PG - Gen - AU in the year 2020 *Humor*
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & DA characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Alec POV. Alec has a new household chore.
Friday nights used to be Alec’s favorite set of 24 hours in the week. The arrival of that magical day meant cutting out of Jam Pony early, a night of trolling the clubs, and an early morning liaison with whatever conceded to getting mostly naked with him in an alleyway.
But not anymore.
Alec cracked a few windows and kicked the back door open to cool off the sweltering kitchen. Frowning at the faded increment lines on a measuring cup, he poured an extra squirt of ketchup into the mixing bowl just to be on the safe side. Another cup of milk probably wouldn’t hurt either. A glance at the clock made him anxiously check the collection of stopwatches he had lined up on the counter. They were all carefully synchronized to reach zero at the exact same time. With Sam doing his churchly rounds with the town’s chatty elderly and Dean stuck at the garage, Alec had been appointed with Friday’s all important chore for the very first time.
Dinner at 6PM.
Alec had secretly liked how Dean had added the word “promptly” after the instruction. Another look at the clock made him quickly scan the open cabinets one last time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Everything was perfect. He had made sure to cover all the essential food groups listed on the National Board of Health’s website. Assured that beer would cover the grain department, he poured what was left in his bottle into the mixing bowl. The recipe hadn’t been very specific so he figured he’d take some liberties to make it a little more exciting. He frowned at the next step which called for a chop, pulp, then a fine puree. Unsure of how to proceed he studied the buttons on the old blender. The ten different options seemed to accomplish all the same shit as far as he was concerned.
He hit the frappe button just for kicks.
All was well. As soon as the soup was going he’d start on the tiered Jello mold that was going to sit majestically on the dessert tray of diced Twinkies stuffed with chilled Pop Rocks…
Alec’s heart skipped a beat when he heard tires grinding in the gravel driveway.
Fumbling in a panic with the spatulas, he winced at the sound of both his father’s and uncle’s footsteps on the front porch. He froze in fear. Nothing was even close to readiness and the grapefruits in the oven had only been braised twice.
“Alec!” Dean called. “You home?”
“Don’t come in here!”
“What? Why?”
“It’s only 5:43,” Alec hissed. “Y-You said 6!”
“So we’re early,” Dean shrugged off his jacket. “Where’s the chow?”
“Alec?” Sam paused at the back door. “There’s something on fire in the backyard.”
“No there’s not,” Alec said. “That’s the meat product I put on the grill. It’s called Spam. It‘s cool. I sculpted it into a stuffed chicken.”
“Whatever the hell it was,” Dean perused the cluttered counter top. “It’s stuffed charcoal now.”
“That’s impossible,” Alec tapped the laptop sitting on the table. “According to my thermo read it hasn’t reached 145 degrees Fahrenheit yet.”
“What happens when it reaches 145 degrees Fahrenheit?”
“Then it will be done.” Alec rolled his eyes. “You have to achieve an adequate temperature to cook… uh, meaty things or you run a high risk of contracting an intestinal parasite and that’s no fun day at a theme park let me tell you--”
“Hey,” Dean pulled an empty Bud bottle out of the sink. “Did you drink all my beer?”
“No,” Alec said. “I made a soup.”
“Soup.”
“Yeah,” Alec brightened. “Did you know that the ancient Egyptians used to feed their slaves a thick mead, or as you would say today beer, that was both a food and an intoxicant to keep them under control--”
“All right, all right,” Sam said. “Let’s just skip the soup and get to dinner.”
“No.” Alec said.
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Watch TV or something,” Alec absently wiped a sticky smear of mystery substance on his jeans. “Dinner isn’t ready yet.”
“Who cares.” Dean tossed the bottle back into the sink. “Set the table.”
Sam had gotten as close to the stove as he could without being splattered by the boiling oil that was spitting on the burner. “It sure smells like… something.”
Alec couldn’t suppress his grin. “I’m making fried squid stuffed with…“ During the exhaustive internet search he’d found most foods considered any good were often stuffed with something else. “I guess by nature a squid would be stuffed with more squid?”
“Calamari.” Sam fished a lump out of the pot with a spoon and tossed it gingerly from hand to hand. “Where’d you get it?”
“Well,” Alec said. “The can said seafood products, but I’m pretty sure that means there’s some squid in there.”
“Can?” Sam carefully put the hot lump into his mouth. “What can?”
“The can the cat’s food comes in.”
Sam let the half chewed lump fall out of his mouth into a waiting napkin Dean was holding.
“How about an appetizer?” Alec tried. “The internet says everyone likes those.”
“Why not?” Dean shrugged. “What doesn’t kill you, right?”
Alec was glad he’d already set up the hors d’oeuvres well in advance. Setting down the tray decorated with festively carved radishes, he waited for his father and uncle to go at it. But instead they were both standing a few feet from the kitchen table with a wariness Alec had only seen when they were hunting.
“Looks great, but um,” Sam asked. “What are those?”
“Olives.” Alec proudly replied. “Stuffed ones.”
“I like olives,” Dean gratefully took a seat. “Looks good.”
“The only thing that would fit in there were peas, tho.” Alec watched in satisfaction as his uncle fearlessly tossed a few olives down. But the face Dean made was oddly not one of delighted surprise. “Oh, and M&Ms.”
“Would ya take a look at that,” Dean picked up another olive to show Sam. “I don’t think I’ve seen an M&M since the Pulse.”
“I picked them out of some old trail mix I found in the back of the trunk.”
“Huh.“ His uncle paused mid-chew before swallowing. “Tastes sorta minty.“
“Oh yeah, tic-tacs work great too.”
For some reason Sam hadn’t sat down yet. Alec looked worriedly out the window at the smoking remains on the grill and then into the oven at the withered ruins of the barbecued grapefruits.
“Maybe… Maybe we can call that place in town?” Alec said. “They deliver out here sometimes if their scooter is working-”
“That sounds great,” Sam interrupted. “How about pizza?”
His father was giving him one of those weird smiles. Like the one he gave Alec when he’d started the mosquito farm in an old truck tire, or the time he’d discovered how to make the doorbell chime with that old rap song about big butts.
“Get one with everything on it,” Dean said. “’Cept maybe olives.”
Turning off the burners, Alec turned off his stopwatches one by one. He decided not to mention the tuna salsa and the Fruit Loop salad. So much for taking his duties as seriously as he’d been instructed. With a yawn he realized that all this culinary artistry was pretty exhausting.
He wouldn’t mind a good pizza anyway.
And besides, they hadn’t even seen what he planned for the Saturday afternoon brunch.
-mink
Title: (Minor Tremor 1) - (Minor Tremor 2) - (Minor Tremor 3) - (Minor Tremor 4) - (Minor Tremor 5) - (Minor Tremor 6) - (Minor Tremor 7) - (Minor Tremor 8) - (Minor Tremor 9) - (Minor Tremor 10) - (Minor Tremor 11)
accompaniment(s) to: With a Bang
Author: Mink
Rating: SPN/DA Crossover - PG - Gen - AU in the year 2020 *Humor*
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & DA characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Alec POV. Alec has a new household chore.
Friday nights used to be Alec’s favorite set of 24 hours in the week. The arrival of that magical day meant cutting out of Jam Pony early, a night of trolling the clubs, and an early morning liaison with whatever conceded to getting mostly naked with him in an alleyway.
But not anymore.
Alec cracked a few windows and kicked the back door open to cool off the sweltering kitchen. Frowning at the faded increment lines on a measuring cup, he poured an extra squirt of ketchup into the mixing bowl just to be on the safe side. Another cup of milk probably wouldn’t hurt either. A glance at the clock made him anxiously check the collection of stopwatches he had lined up on the counter. They were all carefully synchronized to reach zero at the exact same time. With Sam doing his churchly rounds with the town’s chatty elderly and Dean stuck at the garage, Alec had been appointed with Friday’s all important chore for the very first time.
Dinner at 6PM.
Alec had secretly liked how Dean had added the word “promptly” after the instruction. Another look at the clock made him quickly scan the open cabinets one last time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Everything was perfect. He had made sure to cover all the essential food groups listed on the National Board of Health’s website. Assured that beer would cover the grain department, he poured what was left in his bottle into the mixing bowl. The recipe hadn’t been very specific so he figured he’d take some liberties to make it a little more exciting. He frowned at the next step which called for a chop, pulp, then a fine puree. Unsure of how to proceed he studied the buttons on the old blender. The ten different options seemed to accomplish all the same shit as far as he was concerned.
He hit the frappe button just for kicks.
All was well. As soon as the soup was going he’d start on the tiered Jello mold that was going to sit majestically on the dessert tray of diced Twinkies stuffed with chilled Pop Rocks…
Alec’s heart skipped a beat when he heard tires grinding in the gravel driveway.
Fumbling in a panic with the spatulas, he winced at the sound of both his father’s and uncle’s footsteps on the front porch. He froze in fear. Nothing was even close to readiness and the grapefruits in the oven had only been braised twice.
“Alec!” Dean called. “You home?”
“Don’t come in here!”
“What? Why?”
“It’s only 5:43,” Alec hissed. “Y-You said 6!”
“So we’re early,” Dean shrugged off his jacket. “Where’s the chow?”
“Alec?” Sam paused at the back door. “There’s something on fire in the backyard.”
“No there’s not,” Alec said. “That’s the meat product I put on the grill. It’s called Spam. It‘s cool. I sculpted it into a stuffed chicken.”
“Whatever the hell it was,” Dean perused the cluttered counter top. “It’s stuffed charcoal now.”
“That’s impossible,” Alec tapped the laptop sitting on the table. “According to my thermo read it hasn’t reached 145 degrees Fahrenheit yet.”
“What happens when it reaches 145 degrees Fahrenheit?”
“Then it will be done.” Alec rolled his eyes. “You have to achieve an adequate temperature to cook… uh, meaty things or you run a high risk of contracting an intestinal parasite and that’s no fun day at a theme park let me tell you--”
“Hey,” Dean pulled an empty Bud bottle out of the sink. “Did you drink all my beer?”
“No,” Alec said. “I made a soup.”
“Soup.”
“Yeah,” Alec brightened. “Did you know that the ancient Egyptians used to feed their slaves a thick mead, or as you would say today beer, that was both a food and an intoxicant to keep them under control--”
“All right, all right,” Sam said. “Let’s just skip the soup and get to dinner.”
“No.” Alec said.
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Watch TV or something,” Alec absently wiped a sticky smear of mystery substance on his jeans. “Dinner isn’t ready yet.”
“Who cares.” Dean tossed the bottle back into the sink. “Set the table.”
Sam had gotten as close to the stove as he could without being splattered by the boiling oil that was spitting on the burner. “It sure smells like… something.”
Alec couldn’t suppress his grin. “I’m making fried squid stuffed with…“ During the exhaustive internet search he’d found most foods considered any good were often stuffed with something else. “I guess by nature a squid would be stuffed with more squid?”
“Calamari.” Sam fished a lump out of the pot with a spoon and tossed it gingerly from hand to hand. “Where’d you get it?”
“Well,” Alec said. “The can said seafood products, but I’m pretty sure that means there’s some squid in there.”
“Can?” Sam carefully put the hot lump into his mouth. “What can?”
“The can the cat’s food comes in.”
Sam let the half chewed lump fall out of his mouth into a waiting napkin Dean was holding.
“How about an appetizer?” Alec tried. “The internet says everyone likes those.”
“Why not?” Dean shrugged. “What doesn’t kill you, right?”
Alec was glad he’d already set up the hors d’oeuvres well in advance. Setting down the tray decorated with festively carved radishes, he waited for his father and uncle to go at it. But instead they were both standing a few feet from the kitchen table with a wariness Alec had only seen when they were hunting.
“Looks great, but um,” Sam asked. “What are those?”
“Olives.” Alec proudly replied. “Stuffed ones.”
“I like olives,” Dean gratefully took a seat. “Looks good.”
“The only thing that would fit in there were peas, tho.” Alec watched in satisfaction as his uncle fearlessly tossed a few olives down. But the face Dean made was oddly not one of delighted surprise. “Oh, and M&Ms.”
“Would ya take a look at that,” Dean picked up another olive to show Sam. “I don’t think I’ve seen an M&M since the Pulse.”
“I picked them out of some old trail mix I found in the back of the trunk.”
“Huh.“ His uncle paused mid-chew before swallowing. “Tastes sorta minty.“
“Oh yeah, tic-tacs work great too.”
For some reason Sam hadn’t sat down yet. Alec looked worriedly out the window at the smoking remains on the grill and then into the oven at the withered ruins of the barbecued grapefruits.
“Maybe… Maybe we can call that place in town?” Alec said. “They deliver out here sometimes if their scooter is working-”
“That sounds great,” Sam interrupted. “How about pizza?”
His father was giving him one of those weird smiles. Like the one he gave Alec when he’d started the mosquito farm in an old truck tire, or the time he’d discovered how to make the doorbell chime with that old rap song about big butts.
“Get one with everything on it,” Dean said. “’Cept maybe olives.”
Turning off the burners, Alec turned off his stopwatches one by one. He decided not to mention the tuna salsa and the Fruit Loop salad. So much for taking his duties as seriously as he’d been instructed. With a yawn he realized that all this culinary artistry was pretty exhausting.
He wouldn’t mind a good pizza anyway.
And besides, they hadn’t even seen what he planned for the Saturday afternoon brunch.