Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Muah

So I was talking with jinkamoo and a Fic Challenge was made and I had a total of 30 minutes to write today so... (Part 4 of Methodology coming tomorrow)

Jinkamoo: I propose a challenge!!!
Jinkamoo: A stupid one!
Jinkamoo: A lame one!
Jinkamoo: One that may not even be worth the taking!
Jinkamoo: But I double dog dare you...
Jinkamoo: if you write about kittens, I'm sure you'd stoop lower...
Jinkamoo: I bet you CAN'T make em kiss.
Minkmix: ha
Jinkamoo: and rules: no one is allowed to be drunk
Jinkamoo: *smacks you in face with gauntlet*
Minkmix: damn
Minkmix: that's a steep one
Jinkamoo: I knew the elimination of alcohol would please you

Title: Muah
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen - Humor
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: - See prompt above -

"I swear to God, the next person I see that doesn't use their freakin' turn signal?"

Sam was listening but he did it like he always did after chronic long term exposure to any other human being. It was kind of like watching TV with the mute on. You got the gist even by paying less than half the required attention. There was always the concept of actually absorbing every word but the need to be polite had fizzled out after the numeral 1,000,000 had long since flipped on the odometer.

"I'm gonna start shooting out tires." Dean declared.

It was a nice image to project on the scattered traffic that made up the lanes. Sam envisioned the fat tread of the gigantic cherry red SUV up ahead exploding in a burst of black shredded rubber shrapnel. The polished chrome rim sizzling into the asphalt with a shower of orange sparks as the vehicle careened uncontrollably into the emergency run off. Sam felt his smile grow as he stretched and breathed in that late afternoon summer air. Even off the highway it was sharp with fresh cut grass, charcoal fires and whatever it was that made June feel like it did.

"You know what I should do?"

Dean played the game of one sided conversation his own way. His TV wasn't on mute, it was more like stuck on one of those news networks. Running twenty-four hours a day and answering all its own repetitive and rhetorical questions. Occasionally interspersing the tirade with a feel good story about a one legged dog and updates on the weather.

"I should fire up one of the handhelds and call in some of these dudes to the Staties."

Dean grinned broadly at the prospect of flashing red lights in the rear view of his foes. Sam was already smiling but he liked the idea of involving the legit law on those that broke one of his brother's cardinal rules; thou shalt not fuck up my day by driving like a retard.

“You should call in everything under 70 mph in the left lane too.” Sam amended. “And anyone with a vanity plate that says they’re a #1 anything.”

He knew his brother was looking at him suspiciously. Sam didn’t often jump on board with the solution of petty revenge combined with possible mild to severe violence. Usually Sam’s stance on those that unwittingly pissed other strangers off was a passive dismissal. In his own private defense, it was usually accompanied with a stern interior cast of judgment but no one got any gratification out that besides himself.

“What’s with you?”

Dean switched gears, with the car and with his head. He slid off the self contained tracks he was coasting on and fully engaged his brother with an inquiry he expected an actual answer to. The car hitched as she slid down another notch, gliding along the curve of the exit ramp and slowing at the red light at the intersection.

“I don’t know.” Sam shrugged with his hands. “Just glad I guess.”

“Why?” Dean didn’t trust much overt cheerfulness that didn’t occur in a bar.

Sam wasn’t sure why he was so awesome at the moment. The sun was out, the car was full of gas and nothing on him ached more than the average. There was dinner to be had right down the road at one of those southern joints that always served grits and baked their own strawberry rhubarb pies. Wanting to laugh a little, Sam figured the birds were probably singing some harmonized Cat Stevens if he bothered to turn the radio down and try to listen.

Dean was staring at him with a concerned look on his face.

If you were the brief owner of joy it was your duty, no, your obligation to spread it around while it still burned in your chest. If the person sitting right next to you couldn’t physically feel it than you had a responsibility to convey the glee in anyway possible. It was karma. It was yin and yang. It had to be done for the sake of universal balance. Sam considered his brother for a moment before going ahead and doing what he just suddenly felt like doing.

Without any warning, Sam grabbed Dean by the face and planted a nice hard one right on the lips.

It occurred to him after he let Dean go that there might be a fist in his near to immediate future. But Sam’s smile hadn’t gone anywhere and he was pretty sure even a savage set of knuckles to his jaw wouldn’t shake his mood even a little bit.

But his brother was much too bewildered by what had just happened to react much at all. He was just sitting there with the back of his hand over his mouth like he’d just been told his eye color had changed. Or that up was now down. It looked a lot like the time they had finally got their hands on some typed Led Zeppelin lyrics and they realized what they had been singing for a few years was not quite what they had been listening to.

It was general profound confusion beyond sadness, rage or jubilation.

Sam felt his smile soften in an even deeper sense of contentment. The absence of all of it was replaced by something almost a little beautiful. Well, from his end anyway. He was pretty sure Dean was going to start gargling with anti-freeze as soon as his brain caught up with itself.

A small feminine gasp of elderly outrage came from the car idling next to them under the traffic light.

Suddenly shaken loose from his near Zen like shock, Dean started frantically shaking his head at the old woman in the powder blue Cadillac. He was offering up his hands like she had drawn on them with a police rifle.

“Nonono- It’s-It’s okay? H-He’s my brother!”

Dean’s quick and stuttered explanation didn’t seem to help the lady out in her indignant offense. In fact, Sam was pretty sure the clarification made it all the more reason to get to her bible ASAP and start lighting some extra candles under the plaster saints come bed time.

The light turned green and Sam waited patently for his brother to get his shit together long enough to put it into drive. Watching the Cadillac peel out like a drag race flag had just been waved down, Dean ignored the signal to proceed. Hands gripped on the wheel, he sighed shortly in Sam’s direction. There were a few moments of withheld eye contact but Dean eventually gave up and settled into the glare that nicely complimented his frown.

Sam folded his hands behind his head and waited for the car to lurch forward towards food and rest.

“Get out.” Dean instructed.


"The diner is three miles that way." Dean told him with a pointed finger. "And while yer walking I want you to think about what you've done."

Sam thought walking was actually the best idea he'd heard all day. With another flash of his grin he swung the door open and thankfully felt the gravel shift under his boots. The sky was blue and the heat wafting up off the sun baked pavement felt perfect on his face. With a parting wave Dean didn’t return, he watched the Impala screech off down the town's unspectacular main street. Shoving his hands into his front pockets, he started the pleasant stroll that would take him in the same direction. Plucking a wild yellow flower off the guard rail, he held it under his nose. He liked the blissful cliché he'd assumed for himself right there with the cigarette butts and broken glass along the curb. Taking Dean’s insistence to ponder his actions semi-seriously, he knew he could do a lot of things his brother asked of him.

But when it came to happiness when he found it?

He couldn’t make any promises.

Tags: gen, sam pov, spn humor, spn one shot
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