Sally Moore’s is the place you want to be, if you’re passing through13th Mile. It’s got atmosphere. Hunting trophies nudging each other for comfort, ranging from grizzly to some variety of a big cat; whisky-stained counters; friendly townsfolk who’ll point you to the interstate and also buy you a beer. Sally’s hands are blood-red from the 13th Mile’s World-Famous Beet she puts in her pies, but she’s a good sort. Works hard, grows her own beets, wins medals from the Mayor that she wears on her belt.
“And you gotta try her pies, man. Swore a beet pie’s not gonna win me over, but there you go. World’s full of surprises.”
The stranger is in his mid-twenties: dark hair curling wetly on the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a shirt with the collar turned up, like he pulled it on too quick, and didn’t have time to check himself in a mirror. He’s all right though. Nice hair, nicer ass. Soft worried eyes, like he can’t remember something important. Lips stained a little red, so maybe he’s already had a slice of that pie Dean’s been recommending. He’s got a book open in front of him, something like a journal, but he’s barely skimming it.
“You here on business? My brother and I, we’re just passing through. Going hunting, yeah?”
Small smile. The stranger is fiddling with his car keys, scratching initials into the counter. Dean can make out a D. The kid has long, spidery fingers, the little one a bit crooked from some childhood accident. Poor boy’s expression is woebegone, somehow endearing. Dean pats him on the shoulder.
“Hey, man. Let me buy you a beer, okay? This town, they make their own. It’s phenomenal.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Huh?”
"Your brother, the one you’re hunting with. Where is he?”
“Back at the motel, I guess. A bit of a bookworm, that one, but he’s a good kid. Hey, my name is Dean. You wanna tell me yours?”
The kid’s hand clenches around the keys. “Sam. My name is Sam.”
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branchandroot
don't try their pie! (kinda Sam/Dean)
Date: 2014-02-04 03:40 am (UTC)“And you gotta try her pies, man. Swore a beet pie’s not gonna win me over, but there you go. World’s full of surprises.”
The stranger is in his mid-twenties: dark hair curling wetly on the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a shirt with the collar turned up, like he pulled it on too quick, and didn’t have time to check himself in a mirror. He’s all right though. Nice hair, nicer ass. Soft worried eyes, like he can’t remember something important. Lips stained a little red, so maybe he’s already had a slice of that pie Dean’s been recommending. He’s got a book open in front of him, something like a journal, but he’s barely skimming it.
“You here on business? My brother and I, we’re just passing through. Going hunting, yeah?”
Small smile. The stranger is fiddling with his car keys, scratching initials into the counter. Dean can make out a D. The kid has long, spidery fingers, the little one a bit crooked from some childhood accident. Poor boy’s expression is woebegone, somehow endearing. Dean pats him on the shoulder.
“Hey, man. Let me buy you a beer, okay? This town, they make their own. It’s phenomenal.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Huh?”
"Your brother, the one you’re hunting with. Where is he?”
“Back at the motel, I guess. A bit of a bookworm, that one, but he’s a good kid. Hey, my name is Dean. You wanna tell me yours?”
The kid’s hand clenches around the keys. “Sam. My name is Sam.”