fic: Bread, Butter, and Cheese (Supernatural; Dean and Sam; gen)
For the most excellent devildoll, on her birthday. Happy Birthday! I hope it's a good one!
Bread, Butter, and Cheese
Supernatural; Dean and Sam; g; 1,280 words; no spoilers
"I would kill for a home-cooked meal."
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing.
~*~
Bread, Butter, and Cheese
Dean had finished his own burger and was picking fries off Sam's plate, when Sam wrinkled his nose at the remains of his dinner and said, "I would kill for a home-cooked meal."
Dean didn't admit to wishing for the same thing, and didn't bother to finish chewing before he said, "You know that's not gonna happen, Sammy. Not unless you can convince one of those old broads at the library to take you home and make you pot roast or something. And sauerkraut. Man, remember the sauerkraut Pastor Jim used to make? With the caraway seeds? That was so awesome."
Sam's face twisted in disgust. "I remember the epic gas it gave you. It was like living in a torture chamber."
Dean laughed and tossed his balled-up napkin at Sam. "Good times, Sammy. Good times."
Sam caught the napkin, started shredding it absently, faraway look in his eyes. "Jess used to cook sometimes," he finally said.
Dean stilled, waiting. Even now, Sam hardly ever talked about Jess.
"She liked to bake, mostly. Cookies, brownies, even pie, sometimes." He laughed, and Dean had to look away. "She made an awesome apple brown betty thing--it had no bottom crust, just apples and crumbs. You'd have loved it." Dean nodded and kept silent, hoping Sam would keep talking. "But the best meal we ever had was the first night after we moved into the apartment. She made grilled cheese. We ate sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes." He dropped the shreds of napkin into his plate, and laughed again, a soft laugh that made Dean's chest feel tight. He looked out the window, anywhere but at Dean, and said, "It felt like home for the first time since I'd left you and Dad." And even though Sam wasn't looking at him, Dean nodded again anyway, like he understood. He figured he did.
*
Dean left Sam to interview the grieving husband and went outside to check the yard and the garage for EMF, trying to figure out if they were dealing with a human serial killer or something supernatural. The EMF meter didn't register any activity, so he shoved it back into his pocket.
The people next door were having a garage sale, and he wandered through, trailing his fingers over old board games the kid behind the cashbox swore had all their pieces; porcelain dolls with wide faces and vacant, staring eyes; videotapes of kids' shows: Barney, Blue's Clues, Dora the Explorer.
He found the sandwich maker in a box that was still taped shut. Dean didn't believe in destiny, but he didn't believe much in coincidences either, and this was exactly the kind of thing fate, if it existed, would do to him. Because everyone knew fate had a weird sense of humor.
"Hey," he said to the kid at the table, "you ever use this thing?"
The kid gave him a bitchface worthy of Sam, and said, "Do I look like I've ever used it?"
Dean started to answer and decided it wasn't worth getting into a pissing contest with a fourteen-year-old. Instead, he said, "So if it doesn't work--"
"You're out a whopping five dollars and forty-five cents."
Just for that, Dean paid him in change.
*
While Sam was at the library, Dean drove to the nearest grocery store for supplies. He was afraid he'd been identified in the checkout line, flipping through the latest edition of the Weekly World News, but it turned out the cashier just had good taste in men. He pocketed her phone number with no intention of actually calling her, and went to the library to pick Sam up.
He waited until Sam was in the shower to pull the sandwich maker out of the box, surprised at the solidity of it, when he was expecting cheap and flimsy plastic. After he cleaned it, he sprinkled it with holy water, just in case, because he still wasn't sure how something so ridiculously, relentlessly cute didn't have demonic origins, but it just sat there on the counter and stared up at him in all its white-faced, pink-flowered glory.
By the time Sam was done, Dean had already made and eaten two sandwiches, impressed, and even a little charmed, despite himself.
Sam came out of the bathroom, towel hitched around his hips, and said, "Something smells really good."
Dean popped the sandwich onto a paper plate and shoved it at Sam. "Here."
Sam looked at the grilled cheese on the plate, little kitty and bear faces burned into the bread, and then at his brother. Dean shifted uncomfortably, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears starting to burn with embarrassment.
Sam was smiling the devilish smile of a younger brother who'd just caught his older brother doing something horribly humiliating. "Dean, that's a Hello Kitty sandwich maker."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. It cost five bucks at a yard sale. But if you're too manly to eat that sandwich, pass it over here, because it makes an awesome grilled cheese, and I'm still hungry."
Sam pulled the plate close to his chest. "I didn't say I didn't want it. I just didn't think Hello Kitty was on your radar." He took a hurried bite of his sandwich, as if afraid Dean would snatch it away if he didn't. "Hey, this is really good."
"And the little faces are kind of cute, don't you think? I thought they'd be right up your alley, Sammy."
"Shut up."
Dean waited until Sam had another mouthful of sandwich before he said, "You know, they make Hello Kitty vibrators." And then he had to pound Sam on the back when he choked.
"I don't even want to know how you know that," Sam finally managed, still wheezing a little.
Dean smirked and tossed him a bottle of water.
Dean kept making sandwiches because Sam kept eating them and holding out his plate for more, like the gigantic bottomless pit he was. Dean put the last two slices of cheese between two slices of bread, buttered the outsides, and put it into the sandwich press, and then went to take a leak.
When he came out, Sam was shoveling the last sandwich into his mouth like he hadn't just eaten three of them.
"Hey, that's the last sandwich. I was gonna eat that."
"I guess you and your tiny bladder are too late," Sam said, smirking in triumph around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
For a split second, Dean considered responding with some kind of smart remark, but words had never been his strong suit. He lunged for the sandwich. Sam yelped, raising the plate high above his head, which gave Dean the opportunity to tickle him. Sam batted at him ineffectually with his free hand, trying not to laugh. He lowered his arms to protect himself, and Dean pounced.
"Ha!" he shouted, grabbing the uneaten half of the sandwich and shoving as much of it as he could into his mouth.
Sam collapsed against the counter, laughing so hard he started wheezing again, and his face turned red. Dean chewed and swallowed, and laughed, too, until he couldn't breathe and his sides started to hurt.
When they were done--half a sandwich each was fair, they figured--Dean washed the sandwich maker and settled down in front of the television with a beer, while Sam opened the laptop to do some more research.
Dean was dozing when Sam said, "Hey, I can get an Easy Bake Oven cheap on eBay, and then you can make dessert, too."
Dean flipped him off, trying not to laugh, and went back to sleep.
end
*
May 19, 2007
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~
Bread, Butter, and Cheese
Supernatural; Dean and Sam; g; 1,280 words; no spoilers
"I would kill for a home-cooked meal."
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing.
~*~
Bread, Butter, and Cheese
Dean had finished his own burger and was picking fries off Sam's plate, when Sam wrinkled his nose at the remains of his dinner and said, "I would kill for a home-cooked meal."
Dean didn't admit to wishing for the same thing, and didn't bother to finish chewing before he said, "You know that's not gonna happen, Sammy. Not unless you can convince one of those old broads at the library to take you home and make you pot roast or something. And sauerkraut. Man, remember the sauerkraut Pastor Jim used to make? With the caraway seeds? That was so awesome."
Sam's face twisted in disgust. "I remember the epic gas it gave you. It was like living in a torture chamber."
Dean laughed and tossed his balled-up napkin at Sam. "Good times, Sammy. Good times."
Sam caught the napkin, started shredding it absently, faraway look in his eyes. "Jess used to cook sometimes," he finally said.
Dean stilled, waiting. Even now, Sam hardly ever talked about Jess.
"She liked to bake, mostly. Cookies, brownies, even pie, sometimes." He laughed, and Dean had to look away. "She made an awesome apple brown betty thing--it had no bottom crust, just apples and crumbs. You'd have loved it." Dean nodded and kept silent, hoping Sam would keep talking. "But the best meal we ever had was the first night after we moved into the apartment. She made grilled cheese. We ate sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes." He dropped the shreds of napkin into his plate, and laughed again, a soft laugh that made Dean's chest feel tight. He looked out the window, anywhere but at Dean, and said, "It felt like home for the first time since I'd left you and Dad." And even though Sam wasn't looking at him, Dean nodded again anyway, like he understood. He figured he did.
*
Dean left Sam to interview the grieving husband and went outside to check the yard and the garage for EMF, trying to figure out if they were dealing with a human serial killer or something supernatural. The EMF meter didn't register any activity, so he shoved it back into his pocket.
The people next door were having a garage sale, and he wandered through, trailing his fingers over old board games the kid behind the cashbox swore had all their pieces; porcelain dolls with wide faces and vacant, staring eyes; videotapes of kids' shows: Barney, Blue's Clues, Dora the Explorer.
He found the sandwich maker in a box that was still taped shut. Dean didn't believe in destiny, but he didn't believe much in coincidences either, and this was exactly the kind of thing fate, if it existed, would do to him. Because everyone knew fate had a weird sense of humor.
"Hey," he said to the kid at the table, "you ever use this thing?"
The kid gave him a bitchface worthy of Sam, and said, "Do I look like I've ever used it?"
Dean started to answer and decided it wasn't worth getting into a pissing contest with a fourteen-year-old. Instead, he said, "So if it doesn't work--"
"You're out a whopping five dollars and forty-five cents."
Just for that, Dean paid him in change.
*
While Sam was at the library, Dean drove to the nearest grocery store for supplies. He was afraid he'd been identified in the checkout line, flipping through the latest edition of the Weekly World News, but it turned out the cashier just had good taste in men. He pocketed her phone number with no intention of actually calling her, and went to the library to pick Sam up.
He waited until Sam was in the shower to pull the sandwich maker out of the box, surprised at the solidity of it, when he was expecting cheap and flimsy plastic. After he cleaned it, he sprinkled it with holy water, just in case, because he still wasn't sure how something so ridiculously, relentlessly cute didn't have demonic origins, but it just sat there on the counter and stared up at him in all its white-faced, pink-flowered glory.
By the time Sam was done, Dean had already made and eaten two sandwiches, impressed, and even a little charmed, despite himself.
Sam came out of the bathroom, towel hitched around his hips, and said, "Something smells really good."
Dean popped the sandwich onto a paper plate and shoved it at Sam. "Here."
Sam looked at the grilled cheese on the plate, little kitty and bear faces burned into the bread, and then at his brother. Dean shifted uncomfortably, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears starting to burn with embarrassment.
Sam was smiling the devilish smile of a younger brother who'd just caught his older brother doing something horribly humiliating. "Dean, that's a Hello Kitty sandwich maker."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. It cost five bucks at a yard sale. But if you're too manly to eat that sandwich, pass it over here, because it makes an awesome grilled cheese, and I'm still hungry."
Sam pulled the plate close to his chest. "I didn't say I didn't want it. I just didn't think Hello Kitty was on your radar." He took a hurried bite of his sandwich, as if afraid Dean would snatch it away if he didn't. "Hey, this is really good."
"And the little faces are kind of cute, don't you think? I thought they'd be right up your alley, Sammy."
"Shut up."
Dean waited until Sam had another mouthful of sandwich before he said, "You know, they make Hello Kitty vibrators." And then he had to pound Sam on the back when he choked.
"I don't even want to know how you know that," Sam finally managed, still wheezing a little.
Dean smirked and tossed him a bottle of water.
Dean kept making sandwiches because Sam kept eating them and holding out his plate for more, like the gigantic bottomless pit he was. Dean put the last two slices of cheese between two slices of bread, buttered the outsides, and put it into the sandwich press, and then went to take a leak.
When he came out, Sam was shoveling the last sandwich into his mouth like he hadn't just eaten three of them.
"Hey, that's the last sandwich. I was gonna eat that."
"I guess you and your tiny bladder are too late," Sam said, smirking in triumph around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
For a split second, Dean considered responding with some kind of smart remark, but words had never been his strong suit. He lunged for the sandwich. Sam yelped, raising the plate high above his head, which gave Dean the opportunity to tickle him. Sam batted at him ineffectually with his free hand, trying not to laugh. He lowered his arms to protect himself, and Dean pounced.
"Ha!" he shouted, grabbing the uneaten half of the sandwich and shoving as much of it as he could into his mouth.
Sam collapsed against the counter, laughing so hard he started wheezing again, and his face turned red. Dean chewed and swallowed, and laughed, too, until he couldn't breathe and his sides started to hurt.
When they were done--half a sandwich each was fair, they figured--Dean washed the sandwich maker and settled down in front of the television with a beer, while Sam opened the laptop to do some more research.
Dean was dozing when Sam said, "Hey, I can get an Easy Bake Oven cheap on eBay, and then you can make dessert, too."
Dean flipped him off, trying not to laugh, and went back to sleep.
end
*
May 19, 2007
~*~
Feedback is always welcome.
~*~