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Jun. 28th, 2008 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liptonrm_backupWhat a schizophrenic day. Parents and Big Lug came to spend the night and see me off tomorrow = good. Three exams in 6 hours = bad. Gorgeous weather while showing family around city = good. Torrential downpour I got caught in this morning = bad. Going to England tomorrow = good. Having to pack with a headache = bad. Classes over = good. Doctor Who downloading slower than a snail's pace because of crappy internet connection = badbadbadBAD
See, back and forth and up and down. I just opened my new driver's license and, OMG, that is the worse picture I've taken for an ID since my freshman year of college. Yowza. Way to make me feel extremely not-good-looking universe. Thanks.
So, you know what I'm going to do, since I have to pack my ginormous suitcases back up tonight? I'm going to post some more 'Bobby had a kid' because it makes me happy.
Explanatory note: When Jo was introduced I raised an eyebrow really very high because she was rather reminiscent of my girl Rachel. Well, ok, to be honest, Rachel was only in a nebulous beginning stage as a character at that point. I'm not sure if Bobby was her dad yet, or not, at the beginning of season two, but some form of her character had already taken shape in my head. But I already, kind of sort of, had things planned. I'm sure you won't have to think too hard or too long about what those things might have been.
And then I saw the way Kripke&Co. were shooting themselves in the foot re: Jo/Dean and I could only shake my head at them in pity. Because I had already figured out how it should be done and they weren't doing it right at all. So, if I ever wrote romance it would be something like the following, kind of. This is known as, '5 Times Rachel and Dean Didn't Kiss.' Most of you have already seen the first bit, but it's so cute I couldn't leave it out.
Summer 1991
“And then Han kisses Leia,” Sam blithely informed them from his perch off-stage from the carbonite pit they’d imagined out of a stack of old cars.
Dean and Rachel both shot him identical looks of disgust. “Eeeww, no way,” they said in unison
“But that’s the way it’s supposed to go,” Sammy whined, his eyes getting extra big and bright.
“Don’t care.” Dean replied, 12 year-old arms crossed decisively across his chest. “I let you be Luke,”
“But you think Luke’s a big pansy,” Sam interrupted with a pout.
“And I’m letting you tell the story but there’s no way you’re gonna make me kiss her,” Dean plowed on, oblivious to his brother’s inherent patheticness.
“Yeah, because it’s gross,” Rachel agreed, her fists planted decisively on her hips.
“Are you saying I’m gross?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Yes I am,” she replied, matching him glare for glare. “I’d rather kiss the wookie.” She gestured at Reagan the Rottweiler who was laying down a few feet away, panting in the sun.
“I just bet you would,” Dean sneered.
“Fine,” Sam interrupted before the situation could devolve to blows, again. “How ‘bout we skip to the part where Luke and Darth Vader fight?”
“Cool,” Dean agreed, already backing down.
“It is pretty sweet when Luke loses his hand,” Rachel said and they all nodded in agreement.
~~~
Summer 1996
She hummed absently along with the radio as she tightened a bolt on the underside of her current project. The ‘69 Ford Mustang was the first car Bobby'd let her work on by herself and she was fairly pleased with how much she’d been able to get done so far.
She heard something shift in the machinery above her and her zen-like concentration was broken just enough for her to bang her thumb with the wrench. She kicked involuntarily and banged her shin on the edge of the undercarriage. The combination caused her to let loose with a stream of the foulest language that came to mind.
“Bobby’d wash your mouth out with lava soap if he ever heard you talking like that.” Rachel flinched in surprise, only then noticing the pair of boots and the legs attached to them that loitered just to her left.
She rolled out from under the car and glared up at her visitor. “Who do you think it was who taught me?” She held her hand up and he grabbed it, easily pulling her to her feet.
“Is that so?” Dean asked, his voice low and amused. It was amazing how clear his eyes could be.
“You know how it is.” She grinned and shrugged, not seeming to notice that he hadn’t let go of her hand. “I didn’t hear you all pull up. The Impala still in one piece?”
“She’s running just fine.” He smirked, one side of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “You seemed a little focused under there, didn’t even notice when I walked up.” His voice had a depth she’d never heard before and it sank deep down into her. His thumb stroked back and forth lightly over her wrist and she shivered even though she wasn’t cold.
He stepped closer. His other hand came up and grabbed her waist, pulling her in till they were right up against each other. Her own hand found a place to rest on his hip, her banged thumb beating in time with her speeding heart.
“Well you know how it is when you get preoccupied under a hood.” The breathiness of her voice belied the flippancy of the words.
He hummed and his eyes were so close, he was so close. She felt like she was holding her breath, waiting as time stretched out.
Gravel ricocheted against metal and they jumped apart. As one their heads whipped around and there was Sam giving them one of the pissiest looks she’d ever seen.
“Damn, Sammy,” Dean laughed, his voice as shaky as she felt. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I’m hungry,” Sam returned with a hint of a whine but mostly bitchiness. “And Dad says we can’t eat till you two get in the house and get cleaned up.”
She couldn’t help it, she really couldn’t. The whiplash of emotions and the adrenaline still pumping through her veins combined with the exaggerated disgust on Sam’s face could only have one possible outcome. Hysterical laughter rolled out of her and she couldn’t stop it. She fell back against the Mustang as it exploded out of her. It only got worse when Dean joined in.
“You guys are so stupid,” Sam grumped and turned to stomp back across the yard.
The world eventually righted itself. “So, dinner?” Rachel asked wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Yeah, or else Sammy’ll kill us in our sleep,” Dean said with a wink She snorted in reply and they made their way towards the house through the deepening twilight.
~~~
November 2002
It was already dark when she heard his car come rumbling up. Cassiopeia was high above the horizon, her stars shining cold in a clear, dark sky. The car door creaked open and shut, bullet-loud in the stillness. She sipped her beer and stayed where she was, reclined on the hood of an ancient Caddy slowly rusting in the yard.
Old Reagan’s tail thumped in time with the boots crunching across the gravel.
“Hey,” she greeted, moving over on the hood. “Wanna beer?”
“Sure,” was his brusque riply. The car rocked slightly as he slipped up to sit next to her. She handed one over wordlessly, her eyes still tracking Draco’s tail as it wandered across the sky.
The silence stretched, broken momentarily by the snick and hiss of a bottle opening. Silent stacks of rusted metal hulked around them, shadowy sentinels slowly decaying into dust. Some remnants were too broken to even be salvaged for scrap.
She unconsciously moved closer to him. She hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten and he was invitingly warm. She shivered and he reflexively threw an arm over her shoulder.
“So, where’s Bobby?” He asked after taking a sip.
“Oh, you know, out for the night,” She replied, smirking into the darkness.
Dean whistled low. “That old dog.”
“How’s your dad?” She almost didn't want to ask, but she felt like she had to. Tonight wasn't a night where she could forget about family, anyone's family.
“Fine, hunting down in Nebraska.”
She nodded and took another drink. The sky stretched above them, clear and alien. Every noise was terrifying in its starkness, from the groan of settling steel to the glass that clinked from when Dean absently knocked his ring against the bottle.
She wasn’t drunk yet, just pleasantly relaxed, her own thoughts and memories reduced to a background hum she could easily ignore.
Gemini laid low against the horizon, the twin heads both winking down at the prairie. She’d been waiting all evening to see them rise. It’d been thirteen years and it still felt like yesterday.
She held her nearly empty bottle up. “To absent brothers,” she toasted the sky.
She could feel Dean shift, the intensity of his gaze almost palpable. A long second passed until he relaxed. The clink of his bottle against hers was brittle in the dark.
“Absent brothers,” he gruffly agreed.
~~~
July 2007
“I don’t have time for this, right now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” Dean wheedled. Rachel's hands curled into fists. He could tell that she was just about ready to pop him one right in the middle of his cocky little smirk.
“No, Dean. I’ve got more important shit to do than stand here and listen to you talk about how you don’t have any regrets.” Rachel stepped closer, a look in her eye that shook Dean just enough to make him glance over her shoulder at Sam, hoping he had his back. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see him leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. He was just going to stay there and watch her tear him limb from limb, the bastard.
She stepped even closer, finger coming up to poke him in the chest. “It’s all good, you’re going to Hell, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, no one’ll miss you when you’re gone, blah blah blah, horseshit.”
He shrugged dismissively. Cause, no, he damn well didn’t have any regrets. “It’s not like I wasn’t gonna end up there anyway. Never could stand waiting.”
“Oh, you son of a bitch,” she hissed. He saw it coming, of course he did, it wasn’t like she was trying to hide it. But a solid punch to the jaw hurt like a bitch, whether you were ready for it or not.
“Fuck!” Dean squawked, hand automatically going to his mouth. She’d split his lip, goddammit.
“If you open your fucking mouth one more time I’m going to sew it the fuck shut, understood?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what else to do, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her this pissed off.
She stepped back. “Fine. Good. I’ve got a demon to kill.” She turned and stalked into the other room, grabbing her shotgun on her way through the door.
Dean looked over at Sam, a clear, ‘What the fuck is her problem?’ written all over his face. Sam just shook his head, his mouth pinched tight. He straightened and followed Rachel out of the room.
Dean poked his tongue against the cut in his lip, hissing a little as it stung. Well, shit, he’d had worse. It was only what he deserved.
~~~
Some Undetermined, Future (or maybe past) Date
Sam’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure that he must have pissed off some really vengeful being in a former life. It’s the only way to explain how he just got stuck with the shittiest of shit responsibilities in the history of the world.
It all started with a hunt. It always started with a hunt. They and Rachel had crossed paths at Bobby’s one grey winter day and somehow, during a long evening spent playing poker and getting drunker and drunker, someone had suggested that they all drive down to Arkansas and put some troublesome spook out of its misery. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, though that might’ve been Jose Cuervo’s fault, or Bobby pushing them out the door, Sam couldn’t really recall.
Anyway, the hunt had gone pretty well, no major catastrophes until Dean started vomiting while digging out the grave. Sam had been able to finish the job while Rachel covered his back, but if he never saw a grave lined with vomit ever again it would be too soon.
By the time they got back to the motel, Dean was pretty much incoherent with delirium and Rachel was vomiting as well. Sam had decided to move Rachel in and himself into her room, if only to steal a couple hours of sleep for himself.
The next day was awful. Dean did not deal well with nausea so he spent half the day laying on the bathroom floor and the other half of it whining. Sam had tried to get some fluids down him to keep him hydrated but all Dean did was pull a bitchy face and tell Sam to stop bothering him. Except whenever Sam left the room for more than a couple minutes Dean would start freaking out. Delirium was a bitch.
And then there was Rachel. She spent the entire day curled up in a ball on the edge of the bed. She wouldn’t stop making these pathetic little moaning noises. Sam didn’t think she was even coherent enough to know that she was making them. At first it made him feel bad for her but after an hour of it he was ready to smother her with her own pillow. At least she wasn’t as demanding as Dean was.
He’d finally been able to sneak away in the middle of the night and crash on his own, relatively clean, bed. When he woke up the next morning and went by the sickos' room he made the joyous discovery that they were both still sleeping. He couldn’t get to the car fast enough.
He made the rounds of the grocery and drug store, after getting himself a decent breakfast and a cup of coffee strong enough to scour any residual germs right out of him. He eventually decided it was time to go back to the motel. Bobby would probably have something to say if he left them to die in Bumfuck Nowhere, Arkansas.
He unlocked the motel room door, plastic grocery bags hanging off of his arms, and stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked but the tableau that greeted him didn’t change.
Rachel had drifted over to Dean’s bed; from the detritus scattered around them it looked like she’d been drawn by the siren call of pudding cups. They were both leaning against the faux headboard, backs supported by pillows, their heads lolling on their shoulders and identical blank stares on their faces. Their eyes were fixed on the TV.
Neither of them looked up when the door slammed shut behind Sam. He started setting down and organizing all of the things he’d picked up when he was out. They still didn’t acknowledge his presence, didn’t even offer up a question about where he’d been or what he’d bought. If not for the vacant way they scraped pudding out of their little plastic cups he would’ve thought they were dead.
He started walking over to the bed. “What are you-?” He glanced at the TV. “You’re watching Spongebob Squarepants?” Sam looked from the TV to their faces and back to the yellow and pink and green sea creatures cavorting on the television. “Oh my god.”
Dean finally looked at him. His eyes blinked blearily. “Did you get anymore pudding?” Dean’s voice was scratchy and he kind of trailed off at the end, like he didn’t have enough energy to finish his own thought.
Sam shook his head, not sure himself whether it was in amusement or frustration. “Yeah, man, I did.”
“Awesome,” Rachel muttered around the plastic spoon in her mouth. She expelled a big breath of air, like that much effort had worn her out, and kind of collapsed onto Dean’s shoulder. They both continued to stare unblinkingly at their cartoon.
Before bringing them more pudding Sam pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. He was never going to let them live this down.
~~~
Okay, that last one totally just put a smile on my face. On to the packing portion of our evening, forward ho!
See, back and forth and up and down. I just opened my new driver's license and, OMG, that is the worse picture I've taken for an ID since my freshman year of college. Yowza. Way to make me feel extremely not-good-looking universe. Thanks.
So, you know what I'm going to do, since I have to pack my ginormous suitcases back up tonight? I'm going to post some more 'Bobby had a kid' because it makes me happy.
Explanatory note: When Jo was introduced I raised an eyebrow really very high because she was rather reminiscent of my girl Rachel. Well, ok, to be honest, Rachel was only in a nebulous beginning stage as a character at that point. I'm not sure if Bobby was her dad yet, or not, at the beginning of season two, but some form of her character had already taken shape in my head. But I already, kind of sort of, had things planned. I'm sure you won't have to think too hard or too long about what those things might have been.
And then I saw the way Kripke&Co. were shooting themselves in the foot re: Jo/Dean and I could only shake my head at them in pity. Because I had already figured out how it should be done and they weren't doing it right at all. So, if I ever wrote romance it would be something like the following, kind of. This is known as, '5 Times Rachel and Dean Didn't Kiss.' Most of you have already seen the first bit, but it's so cute I couldn't leave it out.
Summer 1991
“And then Han kisses Leia,” Sam blithely informed them from his perch off-stage from the carbonite pit they’d imagined out of a stack of old cars.
Dean and Rachel both shot him identical looks of disgust. “Eeeww, no way,” they said in unison
“But that’s the way it’s supposed to go,” Sammy whined, his eyes getting extra big and bright.
“Don’t care.” Dean replied, 12 year-old arms crossed decisively across his chest. “I let you be Luke,”
“But you think Luke’s a big pansy,” Sam interrupted with a pout.
“And I’m letting you tell the story but there’s no way you’re gonna make me kiss her,” Dean plowed on, oblivious to his brother’s inherent patheticness.
“Yeah, because it’s gross,” Rachel agreed, her fists planted decisively on her hips.
“Are you saying I’m gross?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Yes I am,” she replied, matching him glare for glare. “I’d rather kiss the wookie.” She gestured at Reagan the Rottweiler who was laying down a few feet away, panting in the sun.
“I just bet you would,” Dean sneered.
“Fine,” Sam interrupted before the situation could devolve to blows, again. “How ‘bout we skip to the part where Luke and Darth Vader fight?”
“Cool,” Dean agreed, already backing down.
“It is pretty sweet when Luke loses his hand,” Rachel said and they all nodded in agreement.
~~~
Summer 1996
She hummed absently along with the radio as she tightened a bolt on the underside of her current project. The ‘69 Ford Mustang was the first car Bobby'd let her work on by herself and she was fairly pleased with how much she’d been able to get done so far.
She heard something shift in the machinery above her and her zen-like concentration was broken just enough for her to bang her thumb with the wrench. She kicked involuntarily and banged her shin on the edge of the undercarriage. The combination caused her to let loose with a stream of the foulest language that came to mind.
“Bobby’d wash your mouth out with lava soap if he ever heard you talking like that.” Rachel flinched in surprise, only then noticing the pair of boots and the legs attached to them that loitered just to her left.
She rolled out from under the car and glared up at her visitor. “Who do you think it was who taught me?” She held her hand up and he grabbed it, easily pulling her to her feet.
“Is that so?” Dean asked, his voice low and amused. It was amazing how clear his eyes could be.
“You know how it is.” She grinned and shrugged, not seeming to notice that he hadn’t let go of her hand. “I didn’t hear you all pull up. The Impala still in one piece?”
“She’s running just fine.” He smirked, one side of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “You seemed a little focused under there, didn’t even notice when I walked up.” His voice had a depth she’d never heard before and it sank deep down into her. His thumb stroked back and forth lightly over her wrist and she shivered even though she wasn’t cold.
He stepped closer. His other hand came up and grabbed her waist, pulling her in till they were right up against each other. Her own hand found a place to rest on his hip, her banged thumb beating in time with her speeding heart.
“Well you know how it is when you get preoccupied under a hood.” The breathiness of her voice belied the flippancy of the words.
He hummed and his eyes were so close, he was so close. She felt like she was holding her breath, waiting as time stretched out.
Gravel ricocheted against metal and they jumped apart. As one their heads whipped around and there was Sam giving them one of the pissiest looks she’d ever seen.
“Damn, Sammy,” Dean laughed, his voice as shaky as she felt. “Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I’m hungry,” Sam returned with a hint of a whine but mostly bitchiness. “And Dad says we can’t eat till you two get in the house and get cleaned up.”
She couldn’t help it, she really couldn’t. The whiplash of emotions and the adrenaline still pumping through her veins combined with the exaggerated disgust on Sam’s face could only have one possible outcome. Hysterical laughter rolled out of her and she couldn’t stop it. She fell back against the Mustang as it exploded out of her. It only got worse when Dean joined in.
“You guys are so stupid,” Sam grumped and turned to stomp back across the yard.
The world eventually righted itself. “So, dinner?” Rachel asked wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Yeah, or else Sammy’ll kill us in our sleep,” Dean said with a wink She snorted in reply and they made their way towards the house through the deepening twilight.
~~~
November 2002
It was already dark when she heard his car come rumbling up. Cassiopeia was high above the horizon, her stars shining cold in a clear, dark sky. The car door creaked open and shut, bullet-loud in the stillness. She sipped her beer and stayed where she was, reclined on the hood of an ancient Caddy slowly rusting in the yard.
Old Reagan’s tail thumped in time with the boots crunching across the gravel.
“Hey,” she greeted, moving over on the hood. “Wanna beer?”
“Sure,” was his brusque riply. The car rocked slightly as he slipped up to sit next to her. She handed one over wordlessly, her eyes still tracking Draco’s tail as it wandered across the sky.
The silence stretched, broken momentarily by the snick and hiss of a bottle opening. Silent stacks of rusted metal hulked around them, shadowy sentinels slowly decaying into dust. Some remnants were too broken to even be salvaged for scrap.
She unconsciously moved closer to him. She hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten and he was invitingly warm. She shivered and he reflexively threw an arm over her shoulder.
“So, where’s Bobby?” He asked after taking a sip.
“Oh, you know, out for the night,” She replied, smirking into the darkness.
Dean whistled low. “That old dog.”
“How’s your dad?” She almost didn't want to ask, but she felt like she had to. Tonight wasn't a night where she could forget about family, anyone's family.
“Fine, hunting down in Nebraska.”
She nodded and took another drink. The sky stretched above them, clear and alien. Every noise was terrifying in its starkness, from the groan of settling steel to the glass that clinked from when Dean absently knocked his ring against the bottle.
She wasn’t drunk yet, just pleasantly relaxed, her own thoughts and memories reduced to a background hum she could easily ignore.
Gemini laid low against the horizon, the twin heads both winking down at the prairie. She’d been waiting all evening to see them rise. It’d been thirteen years and it still felt like yesterday.
She held her nearly empty bottle up. “To absent brothers,” she toasted the sky.
She could feel Dean shift, the intensity of his gaze almost palpable. A long second passed until he relaxed. The clink of his bottle against hers was brittle in the dark.
“Absent brothers,” he gruffly agreed.
~~~
July 2007
“I don’t have time for this, right now.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.” Dean wheedled. Rachel's hands curled into fists. He could tell that she was just about ready to pop him one right in the middle of his cocky little smirk.
“No, Dean. I’ve got more important shit to do than stand here and listen to you talk about how you don’t have any regrets.” Rachel stepped closer, a look in her eye that shook Dean just enough to make him glance over her shoulder at Sam, hoping he had his back. Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see him leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his chest. He was just going to stay there and watch her tear him limb from limb, the bastard.
She stepped even closer, finger coming up to poke him in the chest. “It’s all good, you’re going to Hell, you’d do it again in a heartbeat, no one’ll miss you when you’re gone, blah blah blah, horseshit.”
He shrugged dismissively. Cause, no, he damn well didn’t have any regrets. “It’s not like I wasn’t gonna end up there anyway. Never could stand waiting.”
“Oh, you son of a bitch,” she hissed. He saw it coming, of course he did, it wasn’t like she was trying to hide it. But a solid punch to the jaw hurt like a bitch, whether you were ready for it or not.
“Fuck!” Dean squawked, hand automatically going to his mouth. She’d split his lip, goddammit.
“If you open your fucking mouth one more time I’m going to sew it the fuck shut, understood?”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what else to do, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her this pissed off.
She stepped back. “Fine. Good. I’ve got a demon to kill.” She turned and stalked into the other room, grabbing her shotgun on her way through the door.
Dean looked over at Sam, a clear, ‘What the fuck is her problem?’ written all over his face. Sam just shook his head, his mouth pinched tight. He straightened and followed Rachel out of the room.
Dean poked his tongue against the cut in his lip, hissing a little as it stung. Well, shit, he’d had worse. It was only what he deserved.
~~~
Some Undetermined, Future (or maybe past) Date
Sam’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure that he must have pissed off some really vengeful being in a former life. It’s the only way to explain how he just got stuck with the shittiest of shit responsibilities in the history of the world.
It all started with a hunt. It always started with a hunt. They and Rachel had crossed paths at Bobby’s one grey winter day and somehow, during a long evening spent playing poker and getting drunker and drunker, someone had suggested that they all drive down to Arkansas and put some troublesome spook out of its misery. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, though that might’ve been Jose Cuervo’s fault, or Bobby pushing them out the door, Sam couldn’t really recall.
Anyway, the hunt had gone pretty well, no major catastrophes until Dean started vomiting while digging out the grave. Sam had been able to finish the job while Rachel covered his back, but if he never saw a grave lined with vomit ever again it would be too soon.
By the time they got back to the motel, Dean was pretty much incoherent with delirium and Rachel was vomiting as well. Sam had decided to move Rachel in and himself into her room, if only to steal a couple hours of sleep for himself.
The next day was awful. Dean did not deal well with nausea so he spent half the day laying on the bathroom floor and the other half of it whining. Sam had tried to get some fluids down him to keep him hydrated but all Dean did was pull a bitchy face and tell Sam to stop bothering him. Except whenever Sam left the room for more than a couple minutes Dean would start freaking out. Delirium was a bitch.
And then there was Rachel. She spent the entire day curled up in a ball on the edge of the bed. She wouldn’t stop making these pathetic little moaning noises. Sam didn’t think she was even coherent enough to know that she was making them. At first it made him feel bad for her but after an hour of it he was ready to smother her with her own pillow. At least she wasn’t as demanding as Dean was.
He’d finally been able to sneak away in the middle of the night and crash on his own, relatively clean, bed. When he woke up the next morning and went by the sickos' room he made the joyous discovery that they were both still sleeping. He couldn’t get to the car fast enough.
He made the rounds of the grocery and drug store, after getting himself a decent breakfast and a cup of coffee strong enough to scour any residual germs right out of him. He eventually decided it was time to go back to the motel. Bobby would probably have something to say if he left them to die in Bumfuck Nowhere, Arkansas.
He unlocked the motel room door, plastic grocery bags hanging off of his arms, and stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked but the tableau that greeted him didn’t change.
Rachel had drifted over to Dean’s bed; from the detritus scattered around them it looked like she’d been drawn by the siren call of pudding cups. They were both leaning against the faux headboard, backs supported by pillows, their heads lolling on their shoulders and identical blank stares on their faces. Their eyes were fixed on the TV.
Neither of them looked up when the door slammed shut behind Sam. He started setting down and organizing all of the things he’d picked up when he was out. They still didn’t acknowledge his presence, didn’t even offer up a question about where he’d been or what he’d bought. If not for the vacant way they scraped pudding out of their little plastic cups he would’ve thought they were dead.
He started walking over to the bed. “What are you-?” He glanced at the TV. “You’re watching Spongebob Squarepants?” Sam looked from the TV to their faces and back to the yellow and pink and green sea creatures cavorting on the television. “Oh my god.”
Dean finally looked at him. His eyes blinked blearily. “Did you get anymore pudding?” Dean’s voice was scratchy and he kind of trailed off at the end, like he didn’t have enough energy to finish his own thought.
Sam shook his head, not sure himself whether it was in amusement or frustration. “Yeah, man, I did.”
“Awesome,” Rachel muttered around the plastic spoon in her mouth. She expelled a big breath of air, like that much effort had worn her out, and kind of collapsed onto Dean’s shoulder. They both continued to stare unblinkingly at their cartoon.
Before bringing them more pudding Sam pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. He was never going to let them live this down.
~~~
Okay, that last one totally just put a smile on my face. On to the packing portion of our evening, forward ho!
