(BTW, Jink and her surrounding structures are just fine.)
Rating: PG - Gen - Humor
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: News worthy is a relative term...
It was an easy thing to ignore the waitress that kept clearing her throat every time she passed them by. After an hour it was fairly obvious that she wanted their non-entree or beverage consuming asses out of the only four tables that made up the outdoor portion of the diner. With steady free refills on the 50 cent coffee and a side item that wouldn’t require breaking a five dollar bill, Dean knew most wait staff wished they could tell all guys like them to go catch up on the want ads elsewhere.
He wasn’t quite sure why that didn’t happen more often with any kind of frequency. It might have been attributed to the fact that they were dressed just cleanly enough that their questionable homelessness was maddeningly indeterminable. Dean flipped the paper spread out over his lap with a sigh. He knew turning over tables was what kept this girl’s lights on and the dog fed. When they finally used up another private eating establishment’s patience they always made sure to leave behind something decent for the afternoon living room rental.
“Hey, listen to this?” Dean grinned, shaking out the newspaper. “This is funny—”
“Funnier than the Shoemaker-Levy collision with Jupiter?”
Having spent the better part of an hour in their own silences, Dean wasn’t expecting that many words in a row all at once. Let alone whatever the hell those words were supposed to mean in conjunction with one another.
“The comet.” Sam qualified. “Ya know, the one that cult thought was a spaceship so they all committed suicide?”
Dean wondered why he even bothered trying to figure out why his brother found those particular things at all hilarious. He attempted picking out the obvious keywords and still came up short on the amusing punch line.
“You don’t remember?” Sam’s gaze drifted skywards in fond recollection.
“Yeah, I guess.” All these questions were distracting. All he wanted to do was get to his own equally stupid point. “Some rock hittin’ somethin’ somewhere—“
“The headline read: Jupiter Radios For Help!”
Dean nodded as he vaguely recalled the very copy of the World Weekly that his brother was referring to. It had even had a photo of the distressed planet on the cover with a lot of panicked exclamation points. The only reason he remembered it at all was because Sam had loudly laughed right in a crowded check out line with a lot more appreciation than Dean thought the amateur photoshopper deserved.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s great stuff, but listen to this—“
“Remember that website that kept a 24hr webcam on a chicken that scratched out lotto numbers?”
“Sure, but none of ‘em ever hit—“
“Oh! Oh! What about that dry cleaner down in Texas that thought she could see the visage of Mother Teresa in some dirty hospital sheet?"
“Okay, that’s just nasty—”
“Claimed it cured the sick.” Sam said thoughtfully as he studied the boring but modestly mesmerizing red checkered table cloth. “They put it up at a traffic light but a cop had to take it down after a few bike messengers wiped out into some Mexican tour buses.”
Dean briefly enjoyed the absurdity of that in the privacy of his own head before he decided to try again.
“Uh-huh, but I’ve got a—“
“You know what was the best ever tho?”
Dean slumped back, clutching the edges of his newspaper in stifled frustration.
“What?” Sam demanded.
“Dunno.” He responded shortly. “Nothing.”
Crossing his knees, Dean settled with his coffee and noisily flipped to the morbid perusal of lost pets. The ‘best ever story’ hung unspoken over the table as Sam pushed half a bagel into his mouth.
“It’s that bulldog that can skateboard right?” Sam guessed.
“Whatever.” Sam dismissed the denial with a hand as he tipped back on the legs of his chair. “I saw that on YouTube like 100 years ago—“
“Not even close.”
“Alligator eaten by a boa?”
“Electric blanket eaten by a boa?”
Skimming some filthily coded escort ads, Dean was relaxing in the palpable escalation of aggravation coming from across the table. Speculating broadly what the extra double B in a sequence meant for Single Black Female might signify, he was rudely interrupted by having the entire paper ripped out of his hands.
Sam quickly found the front page, his gaze flickering up from the curt yet solemn headline. He cleared his throat to read it aloud.
Snagging the last unguarded piece of bagel off of his brother’s plate, Dean frowned slightly at the alarming cream cheese to bread ratio.
“...Cold Wave Directly Linked to Temperature.”
“I’m tellin’ you.” Dean said. “Those guys are onto something.”
His lame bemusement was interrupted by a firm hand slamming down between them. It was a check for $4.13. Their waitress had given up on her waning faith that they would remove themselves before the non-impoverished dinner rush arrived. Dean glanced at his watch auspiciously. The hour had come for them to inconvenience someone else somewhere else. Sam was already up and ready to go. The gutter press was still in his hands however, the inner pages as irresistible as the finest junk food.
“Check out page ten.” Dean suggested as he dug out his wallet. “There’s a picture of Lindsay Lohan's new tits.”
“I’m not so sure...” Sam reluctantly admired the photo. “This reporter suggests she was in a hospital to get over a 90 day cocaine diet.“
“Ya see that?” He pointed with a smile. “That’s what I call news.”