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whitereflectionCrappy and rushed writing today, since I had less than half-hour to do anything at all. Had something else I wanted to work on today also, but ugh, oh well.
Dean POV thing, vague spoilers for current eps?, I dunno. I write about coffee too much.
Day 20 11/20/10 5:25-5:53
Dean used to think sometimes that he could track the seasons by Sam's coffee.
Yeah, sure, Sam drank plain, normal coffee, too, like he actually was a guy and not a girl or metro or something, stuff from diners, truck stops and gas stations, or just from their motels' crappy coffee makers if the things were actually working. But if he had the luxury to do so, like when they were in a decent-sized down (and when Dean wasn't around to give him shit for it), Sam would inevitably head for some coffee shop or another.
Fall always seemed to be pumpkin, pumpkin spice, what the fuck ever. Then that gradually gave way to peppermint mochas in winter, with so much frou frou whipped cream and red & green sprinkles that Dean wanted to shove Sam out of the car before he got lame all over the seats (the Impala might be a she, but she goddamned wasn't girly). Summer meant caramel frappucinos--because Sam couldn't just get a shake or malt at a diner like a normal human being--and spring was vanilla lattes.
Sometimes in February, Sam would give in to Starbucks' mind control and get some sort of dark chocolate cherry mocha monstrosity--and Dean teased him mercilessly for it. Because, obviously any man adding cherry to his goddamned coffee was wanting an entirely different sort of cherry--so why didn't Sam go out and just get laid already?
*
Dean hasn't seen Sam go to a coffee shop once since being yanked out of hell. The few occasions he even drinks coffee--just because it's the only thing there, because he certainly doesn't fuckin' need it to stay awake--it's plain, black. No girly coffee drinks, no frou frou whipped cream or sprinkles or sparkles or any shit like that.
And Dean sure as hell doesn't have to razz Sam about getting laid once in a while for a change anymore.
It's funny how all the shit he teased Sam about before has become something that sours Dean's stomach for its lack.
Sometimes when they pass a Starbucks, Dean lets his foot ease off the accelerator ever so slightly, just to allow Sam a second's opportunity, but Sam never asks to stop. Dean wonders if there'll ever be another day when Sam wants another caramel frappumocha spiced what the fuck ever, and if he did, whether Dean would mock him about it, or instead fall to his knees and give thanks.
(407)
Dean POV thing, vague spoilers for current eps?, I dunno. I write about coffee too much.
Day 20 11/20/10 5:25-5:53
Dean used to think sometimes that he could track the seasons by Sam's coffee.
Yeah, sure, Sam drank plain, normal coffee, too, like he actually was a guy and not a girl or metro or something, stuff from diners, truck stops and gas stations, or just from their motels' crappy coffee makers if the things were actually working. But if he had the luxury to do so, like when they were in a decent-sized down (and when Dean wasn't around to give him shit for it), Sam would inevitably head for some coffee shop or another.
Fall always seemed to be pumpkin, pumpkin spice, what the fuck ever. Then that gradually gave way to peppermint mochas in winter, with so much frou frou whipped cream and red & green sprinkles that Dean wanted to shove Sam out of the car before he got lame all over the seats (the Impala might be a she, but she goddamned wasn't girly). Summer meant caramel frappucinos--because Sam couldn't just get a shake or malt at a diner like a normal human being--and spring was vanilla lattes.
Sometimes in February, Sam would give in to Starbucks' mind control and get some sort of dark chocolate cherry mocha monstrosity--and Dean teased him mercilessly for it. Because, obviously any man adding cherry to his goddamned coffee was wanting an entirely different sort of cherry--so why didn't Sam go out and just get laid already?
*
Dean hasn't seen Sam go to a coffee shop once since being yanked out of hell. The few occasions he even drinks coffee--just because it's the only thing there, because he certainly doesn't fuckin' need it to stay awake--it's plain, black. No girly coffee drinks, no frou frou whipped cream or sprinkles or sparkles or any shit like that.
And Dean sure as hell doesn't have to razz Sam about getting laid once in a while for a change anymore.
It's funny how all the shit he teased Sam about before has become something that sours Dean's stomach for its lack.
Sometimes when they pass a Starbucks, Dean lets his foot ease off the accelerator ever so slightly, just to allow Sam a second's opportunity, but Sam never asks to stop. Dean wonders if there'll ever be another day when Sam wants another caramel frappumocha spiced what the fuck ever, and if he did, whether Dean would mock him about it, or instead fall to his knees and give thanks.
(407)
