FIC: A Shade of Pink
Nov. 19th, 2012 12:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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hoodie_timeTitle: A Shade of Pink
Genre: Gen or Dean/Sam; whatever
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Fluffy fluff fluff
Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I am broke
Word count: 805
Summary: In which Sam manages to ruin the one thing that will make Dean feel better.
Notes: Written for the hoodie-time Sick!Dean mini challenge 2012
“Hey there. Feeling better?” Sam’s voice is calm, soothing, quiet.
Dean has this strange flashback to a Sam practically screaming at him to get up, get out of the fucking mud, get on his feet, and keep moving in the freezing rain. His body doesn’t feel much like moving right now, but he feels like he’s underwater. So he sits up and coughs into a fist, sending him forward further. “You sound better at least.” Dean eyes him. His cough sounds like he’s taken that whole rainstorm into his lungs. Whatever he’s come down with can’t be good if this is “better.”
Dean remembers the impala, the way she lost her grip on the road for the first time in forever and went hydroplaning into a ditch. He remembers getting out to push, losing his footing, and faceplanting somewhere wet and cold. Somewhere that isn’t here. “Where… where is this?”
Sam talks so casually, like he knew what Dean would say and he’s just throwing out the answers, no challenge at all. “Motel down the road. Looked decent and they had a vacancy. You’ve been out for a day and the demon killed again.” Dean’s head hurts from thinking. A whole damn day wasted and someone else gets killed ‘cause they fucked up the hunt.
But then he remembers that black-eyed son of a bitch behind the wheel, doing 110 in a 35, trying to run them off the road. Damn lucky that they’d only skidded into a ditch, nothing worse. And not Dean’s fault or the Impalas that they hadn’t been able to stay on the pavement.
Not Dean’s fault, even though he had been running a fever and his movements hadn’t quite been as fast or precise as normal. And he’d barely heard a word of what Sam had said. Dean coughs again, leans back against pillows Sam bunches against the headboard for him.
The backs of Sam’s fingers ghost over Dean’s forehead, and he’s not even frowning much. “For a while there, I thought you’d never cool down. ’Round four in the morning, I was halfway to calling Bobby.”
“To ask him to dig up some magic spell or something?”
Sam feels Dean’s cheeks then somehow decides that’s all the touching Dean can stand for now and pulls back. “No, because he took care of us when we were kids. I thought he might remember some trick that was better than cool washcloths. I tried asking you but didn’t get anywhere.” He cracks a smile at this.
Dean remembers being at Bobby’s place loads and taking care of Sammy there. Strep throat, broken arm, stomach bug. But he doesn’t remember getting sick much there himself. Probably wasn’t ever that bad. Or maybe it was too bad for him to remember. Just like he doesn’t remember the past day.
His stomach rumbles rudely, and Sam perks up. “Now that’s a beautiful sound. You up for eating something?”
Coughing and nodding, Dean hopes it’s something good. Knowing Sam, though, it’s probably white rice or applesauce and bananas—something Dean’ll choke down just to get it off the plate in front of him as fast as possible.
Sam vanishes. There’s a little kitchenette in this motel room, and Sam rattles around in there. When he comes back, he’s got a small paper plate and a plastic fork. On the plate is the last thing he could have expected and the only thing he really wanted: pie.
And Dean would have smiled. Dean would have devoured it at once. Except this pie is pink. A beautiful pink, with white icing around the ring of crust.
Dean’s lip curls. This is the least manly pie he’s ever seen. He can barely imagine putting something this shade of pink into his belly. It reminds him of little girls. Hell, it reminds him of Pepto Bismol. “What sort of sick abomination of nature is this?”
Sam’s proud smile disappears at once. “It’s pie,” he defends. “You… love pie.”
Under normal circumstances, yes. But this is pink. “It’s so… pink.”
Sam nods. “Yeah. It’s peppermint.”
Dean stares at him. “What?” He heard the words just fine, but he’s never heard of such a thing.
“Peppermint pie. Seasonal exclusive. Plus, peppermint’s supposed to be kind of good for you.” He hesitates, apparently disappointed by Dean’s expression. “I thought you’d like it.” He reaches for the fork and uses it to cut off the tip of the wedge of pie. He holds it up, trying to make it look tempting. “Fine. If you don’t eat it, I will.”
When the fork is halfway to Sam’s mouth, Dean grabs his wrist. The bite of pie hangs in midair for a moment as Dean eyes it suspiciously. Then he pulls it to his mouth, takes it into his mouth, and tastes cool, sweet bliss.
EDIT: The pie... it's unbelievably pink and yummy *G*
http://www.mariecallendersmeals.com/cream-pies/peppermint-pie-1278140161
http://blogs.sj-r.com/offtheclock/index.php/archives/3470
Genre: Gen or Dean/Sam; whatever
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Fluffy fluff fluff
Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I am broke
Word count: 805
Summary: In which Sam manages to ruin the one thing that will make Dean feel better.
Notes: Written for the hoodie-time Sick!Dean mini challenge 2012
“Hey there. Feeling better?” Sam’s voice is calm, soothing, quiet.
Dean has this strange flashback to a Sam practically screaming at him to get up, get out of the fucking mud, get on his feet, and keep moving in the freezing rain. His body doesn’t feel much like moving right now, but he feels like he’s underwater. So he sits up and coughs into a fist, sending him forward further. “You sound better at least.” Dean eyes him. His cough sounds like he’s taken that whole rainstorm into his lungs. Whatever he’s come down with can’t be good if this is “better.”
Dean remembers the impala, the way she lost her grip on the road for the first time in forever and went hydroplaning into a ditch. He remembers getting out to push, losing his footing, and faceplanting somewhere wet and cold. Somewhere that isn’t here. “Where… where is this?”
Sam talks so casually, like he knew what Dean would say and he’s just throwing out the answers, no challenge at all. “Motel down the road. Looked decent and they had a vacancy. You’ve been out for a day and the demon killed again.” Dean’s head hurts from thinking. A whole damn day wasted and someone else gets killed ‘cause they fucked up the hunt.
But then he remembers that black-eyed son of a bitch behind the wheel, doing 110 in a 35, trying to run them off the road. Damn lucky that they’d only skidded into a ditch, nothing worse. And not Dean’s fault or the Impalas that they hadn’t been able to stay on the pavement.
Not Dean’s fault, even though he had been running a fever and his movements hadn’t quite been as fast or precise as normal. And he’d barely heard a word of what Sam had said. Dean coughs again, leans back against pillows Sam bunches against the headboard for him.
The backs of Sam’s fingers ghost over Dean’s forehead, and he’s not even frowning much. “For a while there, I thought you’d never cool down. ’Round four in the morning, I was halfway to calling Bobby.”
“To ask him to dig up some magic spell or something?”
Sam feels Dean’s cheeks then somehow decides that’s all the touching Dean can stand for now and pulls back. “No, because he took care of us when we were kids. I thought he might remember some trick that was better than cool washcloths. I tried asking you but didn’t get anywhere.” He cracks a smile at this.
Dean remembers being at Bobby’s place loads and taking care of Sammy there. Strep throat, broken arm, stomach bug. But he doesn’t remember getting sick much there himself. Probably wasn’t ever that bad. Or maybe it was too bad for him to remember. Just like he doesn’t remember the past day.
His stomach rumbles rudely, and Sam perks up. “Now that’s a beautiful sound. You up for eating something?”
Coughing and nodding, Dean hopes it’s something good. Knowing Sam, though, it’s probably white rice or applesauce and bananas—something Dean’ll choke down just to get it off the plate in front of him as fast as possible.
Sam vanishes. There’s a little kitchenette in this motel room, and Sam rattles around in there. When he comes back, he’s got a small paper plate and a plastic fork. On the plate is the last thing he could have expected and the only thing he really wanted: pie.
And Dean would have smiled. Dean would have devoured it at once. Except this pie is pink. A beautiful pink, with white icing around the ring of crust.
Dean’s lip curls. This is the least manly pie he’s ever seen. He can barely imagine putting something this shade of pink into his belly. It reminds him of little girls. Hell, it reminds him of Pepto Bismol. “What sort of sick abomination of nature is this?”
Sam’s proud smile disappears at once. “It’s pie,” he defends. “You… love pie.”
Under normal circumstances, yes. But this is pink. “It’s so… pink.”
Sam nods. “Yeah. It’s peppermint.”
Dean stares at him. “What?” He heard the words just fine, but he’s never heard of such a thing.
“Peppermint pie. Seasonal exclusive. Plus, peppermint’s supposed to be kind of good for you.” He hesitates, apparently disappointed by Dean’s expression. “I thought you’d like it.” He reaches for the fork and uses it to cut off the tip of the wedge of pie. He holds it up, trying to make it look tempting. “Fine. If you don’t eat it, I will.”
When the fork is halfway to Sam’s mouth, Dean grabs his wrist. The bite of pie hangs in midair for a moment as Dean eyes it suspiciously. Then he pulls it to his mouth, takes it into his mouth, and tastes cool, sweet bliss.
EDIT: The pie... it's unbelievably pink and yummy *G*
http://www.mariecallendersmeals.com/cream-pies/peppermint-pie-1278140161
http://blogs.sj-r.com/offtheclock/index.php/archives/3470
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-11-19 06:26 pm (UTC):)
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Date: 2012-11-19 06:41 pm (UTC)My father bought a peppermint pie the day the mini challenge was announced and I was forced to write this. And eat pie.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-19 07:35 pm (UTC)Does pepermint pie really exist?
Okay, read your answer. It does exist. *is speachless*
no subject
Date: 2012-11-19 07:39 pm (UTC)My father bought some and the first thing I thought upon seeing it was how repulsed Dean would be. BUT IT IS SO YUMMY!
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Date: 2012-11-19 11:43 pm (UTC)(incidentally, I just wrote a fic about peppermint hot chocolate. Must be in the air... I can deal with this season. *nods* Now I want a whole peppermint meal to share with the boys. ...pretty please?)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-19 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-20 02:06 am (UTC)This is great. I love the comfortable rhythm of their relationship here. And the forehead feel, naww. <3