comment fic meme!
Following the results of the poll we took last month (don't make it easy on us or anything, guys, haha!), we've decided to hold a comment fic meme once every three months. This gives everyone time to write and prompt to their heart's content, and allows us mods to keep up with y'all. And we're starting right now!
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In High School he’d sometimes sit outside at lunch and watch the smokers out of the corner of his eye, marveling at the stupidity of the act - it seemed like the most futile, dangerous thing to do to yourself, with no benefits that Sam could see besides looking cool. Which, okay, was a pretty big benefit in the world of adolescence, but in the grand scheme of things, cool wouldn’t do shit for you. It wouldn’t make you taller, it wouldn’t get you into college, it wouldn’t feed you, and it sure as hell wouldn’t save your ass from getting mauled by a charging werewolf. Cigarettes did nothing except make your teeth yellow and your lungs black; they didn’t even get you high, from what Sam could tell. Fucking ridiculous, he thought, and he always marveled at the people who would willingly put such ( ... )
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Turns out, Sam was born to be a smoker. He just hadn’t realized it. He loved everything about it - the ritual of it, crinkling the cellophane, packing the box against his palm, sliding one out, fitting it between his lips, raising the lighter, and, god, that perfect moment when it first caught and the tobacco crackled and smoke poured down his throat like a caress, like everything was right with the world… That first drag was his favorite. No, the second one, relaxing into it - or maybe the last, especially when he didn’t have anywhere to go and he knew that last drag was just a prelude to another first on his next cigarette ( ... )
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Sam tried something new that night after dinner. He put his silverware on his empty plate and slid his legs out of the diner booth.
“I’m, uh,” he said, trying to gather courage in the face of Dean’s sneer. “I’m gonna go have a smoke.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wow,” Sam said. “Okay, then.”
By the time he pushed through the diner’s double doors, he had a cigarette in his mouth and his lighter poised and ready. He lit up, slit his eyes against the smoke and eyed the row of windows that sat above a bed of mulch and dying petunias. Halfway down he could see the back of his brother’s head through the glare of the glass, and he went over, knocked on the window. Dean jolted, head darting around in a way that was almost comical, and his mouth dropped open a little bit when he saw Sam.
Sam settled the cigarette on his lower lip and gave Dean two thumbs up.
Dean gave him the finger.
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“Dean,” Sam said, “please, I am begging you.”
“No fucking way.”
“My bladder is about to explode, dude, come on“You haven’t had anything to drink ( ... )
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Oh, that was wonderful.
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May I just say that Sam smoking because he fell for a hipster goddess is so perfect I can't even begin to tell you.
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