spn fic: "Cheerwine and Soggy Fries" (G, Sam, Dean)

[fannishliss]

title: "Cheerwine and Soggy Fries"
author: fannishliss
warnings -- none, gen, no paring
spoilers: generally s5
685 words.

notes: erinrua was kind enough to prompt me, and this was her prompt. Very fun for hiatus!

summary: Sam and Dean at a picnic table with hamburger wrappers, sunshine, and fall colors.

Two brothers in a shiny black car pulled onto a scenic overlook somewhere in the Appalachian mountains.

To the west, softly rolling hills stretched away in the distance, covered by a blanket of brilliant oranges, reds and yellows, occasionally interrupted by the spiky darkness of evergreens. The air was crisp and the sky was the brilliant blue of autumn, with only a trace of wispy clouds. A friend they'd once known might have called it the eternal empyrean. They just called it a damn nice day.

The car rumbled to a halt in the gravel of the overlook. Heavy Detroit steel swung open on well-oiled hinges that always creaked anyway.

The man in the beat-up leather jacket opened the trunk and dug around. He emerged with several dripping bottles and he carried them over to the picnic table, where his brother was sorting through the contents of a brown paper bag.

"Okay, we've got barbeque chips, vinegar chips, and crab chips, six apples, two Snicker bars, and a bag of baby carrots. Where's my v8."

"I left it in the cooler. I brought you a pony bottle of Coke and a Cheerwine instead."

Sam Winchester ground his teeth together at the thought of all that sugar, but he came from stock possessed of strong white teeth and had never had a cavity in his life. Besides, he secretly liked Cheerwine, and they only came across it once or twice a year.

Dean popped open the Cheerwine for Sam and a tiny emerald bottle for himself, downing half of it in the first gulp.

"Man, what is it about the tiny bottles that makes Coke taste so much better," Dean said, with a mighty carbonated sigh.

Sam rejected the psychological answer in favor of the folklorical. "Legend has it," he intoned, in his expository voice, "that the pony bottles all come from Mexico, where they still make Coke with cane sugar instead of corn syrup."

"Ah," Dean sighed again, and then burped while saying "Samuel Campbell Winchester."

Sam had never had a middle name, but after Dean had met their grandad, he had rectified the situation by always adding the "Campbell" into his belch. Dean's middle name had been Michael, but that didn't matter any more. In hindsight, they would have understood their mother's long game a little more clearly if they had just been paying attention.

Dean popped open the hood of the car and pulled a big foil wrapped bundle from off the top of the manifold, balancing it gingerly on his fingertips and hustling it over to the picnic table.

Sam kept his mouth shut as Dean pulled back the foil. Any comments about sogginess or cold spots resulted in immediate forfeiture of the lunch.

Deep inside the foil layers Dean revealed two red and white paper baskets of steak fries (soggy, as Sam expected, but steaming), a huge handful of ketchup packets (Dean loved him some ketchup, and maintained that hot ketchup was tastier than cold) and two cheeseburgers wrapped in paper, the size of Sam's head. Well, no, but at least the size of his massive paw. Which was still saying something.

Dean opened the wrapping and took an enormous bite of cheeseburger. Sam knew Dean thought he was picky, but the truth was that Sam enjoyed just watching the sensations of pure pleasure that registered across Dean's face as he ate. Eating put Dean in the moment in a way that would make a Zen monk nod in smiling approval.

Sam peeled back the wrapper on his own burger and chomped down. It was hot and good. Sam felt the sunshine of late fall warm his skin. He opened his eyes, and the world around him looked like paradise. Across the table from him, his brother chewed messily and swallowed, licking a stray dribble of ketchup and juice from his chin.

"Good, huh, Sammy," Dean grinned.

It was November 2, 2015, Sam and Dean were still standing, and God was in his heaven: that much at least was right with the world.

"Yeah, Dean. It is," Sam smiled back.

 

Comments

Re: Cheerwine and Soggy Fries

[fannishliss.livejournal.com]

Hey, thanks for reading!!

I really love this little moment. Erinrua gave me this gentle prompt and it percolated for like two weeks. And I wrote it at my in-laws' zen retreat. Ahhhhh!

I love how Sammy is wary about his lunch. Ever the little brother!!

I have this thing where I tend use rhetorical punctuation inside speeches. Let me know if it bothers you too much? I think it's because of all the nineteenth century diaries with their sudden Capitalization and dashes ----- everywhere ------ and commas, for every pause, whether necessary or not. :)