SO. I am slow, slow, slow, but am posting this as a second fill! I haven't read the first yet and I'm hoping they are somehow identical, LOL. Also, I entrapped oddishly and had her give it a read over bc she is a kind soul who does these things.
While they're sitting in the dark in this office, waiting for the alcohol to kick in, Dean expands on his dream pie. He's got the burn of tequila in his gut and his brother as a somewhat captive audience. Sam had said, "Oh my god Dean," when Dean hit his go-to subject, but now there's a curve of a smile, just there, Dean can see it. It's pretty much the best.
"Flaky crust," he tells Sam. He crosses an arm over his chest and nods, no nonsense.
Sam idly rewinds the tape to test whether they're drunk enough to see the shoujo. They're not. "Flaky crust, huh?"
"That's where it's at. Good with anything. Well, not blueberry.”
Sam mutters, “Yeah, you hate blueberry.”
Dean watches him rewind the tape again. “You just checked it a second ago. We're not drunk yet.”
“Dean, you've gone into full pie mode, I think we're pretty much there.”
Dean shrugs. What he can't say is, this is dangerous, this getting smashed around Sam. When he does drink enough that his judgment is impaired, pie is the only safe subject.
“Love me some pie,” he says instead of “I think I'm in love with you.”
“Dean, shut up.” Sam clicks a key rather forcefully, but then seems to feel bad about it and amends with with slurry distraction. "Know what? We survive this, I'll make you one."
"You?" Dean knocks a paperweight off the desk but catches it right away because, hunter reflexes. He does not let this fumble derail him from the fact that, "you really going to make good on that?"
"Sure."
Dean is beyond pleased, even if that did sound somewhat like a bribe. The image of Sam bent over an oven is pretty damn awesome and eclipses all else. He is a simple guy.
Ma Vie En Peche(1/5)
While they're sitting in the dark in this office, waiting for the alcohol to kick in, Dean expands on his dream pie. He's got the burn of tequila in his gut and his brother as a somewhat captive audience. Sam had said, "Oh my god Dean," when Dean hit his go-to subject, but now there's a curve of a smile, just there, Dean can see it. It's pretty much the best.
"Flaky crust," he tells Sam. He crosses an arm over his chest and nods, no nonsense.
Sam idly rewinds the tape to test whether they're drunk enough to see the shoujo. They're not. "Flaky crust, huh?"
"That's where it's at. Good with anything. Well, not blueberry.”
Sam mutters, “Yeah, you hate blueberry.”
Dean watches him rewind the tape again. “You just checked it a second ago. We're not drunk yet.”
“Dean, you've gone into full pie mode, I think we're pretty much there.”
Dean shrugs. What he can't say is, this is dangerous, this getting smashed around Sam. When he does drink enough that his judgment is impaired, pie is the only safe subject.
“Love me some pie,” he says instead of “I think I'm in love with you.”
“Dean, shut up.” Sam clicks a key rather forcefully, but then seems to feel bad about it and amends with with slurry distraction. "Know what? We survive this, I'll make you one."
"You?" Dean knocks a paperweight off the desk but catches it right away because, hunter reflexes. He does not let this fumble derail him from the fact that, "you really going to make good on that?"
"Sure."
Dean is beyond pleased, even if that did sound somewhat like a bribe. The image of Sam bent over an oven is pretty damn awesome and eclipses all else. He is a simple guy.