[closed, unless you sneak into their ~*bachelor pad*~]

[ribellarsi]

WHO: Sam and Dean Winchester
WHAT: Breakfast time at the WINchester household.
WHERE: Their apartment.
WHEN: Early morning, maybe two/three days after Cowboy Night.

Comments

[canecieco]

Awesome dream. Awesome dream involving twins. Blond twins from Sweden from the looks of it. Busty things wearing matching tennis outfits, and feeling him up in the back seat of his baby. Dean was grinning his sleep, hugging his pillow tight, and then Sam Winchester; Professional Cockblocker had to ruin everything with his gigantron voice.

Fee fie foe thumb. I want to ruin Dean's fun.

Groaning and cursing, Dean rolled off the bed. A loud THUD followed suit from said rolling off bed, and there was even louder cursing.

He could always ignore Sammy, and stay in bed, but the bitch was only going to come stomping in here, dragging his sorry ass out. Agh.

The floor was comfortable though.

Mrrr, five more minutes.

[ribellarsi]

"I made eggs, asshole!" he shouted from the counter, newspaper spread out in front of him. He smoothed the paper down, flattening the nonexistant wrinkles before he picked up his mug of coffee, inhaling deeply. He took a sip, scanning over the newspaper while he drank. More mysterious deaths, how so very surprising. It was disgusting. He pushed it away angrily-- he didn't know why he put himself through that shit everyday.

The watery, early-morning sun streamed in through the french doors, catching on his watch. Birthday present from Jessica. Four months. He could hardly believe it.

He shook his head, glancing up at the microwave clock before deciding to pull out the big guns. "Eggs and coffee," he singsonged, listening to the inevitable sounds of Dean's morning destruction. Seriously, Sam knew bulldozers that were less efficient at knocking shit over.

[canecieco]

God, the giant's voice could break down walls, and shatter windows. Dean grumbled, sitting up and disentangling himself from the sheets. Stood up, caveman grunt, scratching the back of his head, and stumbled out of his bedroom. His eyes were still half-closed, and most likely, still half asleep.

"Don't sing," Dean slurred, groping the walls, trying to find his way to the table. "Are you drunk?"

[ribellarsi]

Sam looked up, grinning wide and bright. "Morning, sunshine!" He nodded toward the plate of eggs on the counter, "Eggs, coffee's in the pot."

Sam watched Dean stumble through the house warily, knowing just how much shit was on the floor. But if he did, it's not like it would be his fault. Dean just needs to learn to take off his pants in a place that isn't the middle of the living room. God, Dean was so fucking disgusting.

"Late night?"