Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Windfall

I had a delightful weekend with my pals jinkamoo (all the way from Japan) and urdsama (all the way from the West coast). Major over saturation and long hours of Dean Show Watching/Aggressive Lounging/Eating Awesome Stuff/And Not Much Sleeping has left me in a dazed happy yet confused state. In the dizzying 72 hours of whatnot, we didn't get our collective shit together long enough to see the Transformers again but I did get a dark red ROXY hoodie which makes me feel 16 years old when I wear it. Also, I now have a lime green vibrating Japanese Hippo bath toy. It's either the most useless bath accessory ever, or the most weirdly disguised self sex aid device I've ever seen. Either way, Japanese products still remain some of the freaking wackiest on the planet. ♥

I had a completely relaxing rad weekend...

...however, this muggy ass 90 degree weather really needs to go fuck itself.


Title: Windfall
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Sam contemplates his older brother's annoying good traits.

“You know why it is so awesome to be me right now?”

Sam rolled the window up to cut some of the highway roar and wondered how to approach that question. Nothing immediately good came to mind and what did was likely to earn him a savage raised knuckle punch to the arm that he didn’t want. Besides, he was too busy fantasizing about the half left meatball hoagie that was sitting unattended in the back seat.

His brother had saved it for the next stretch of highway that wouldn’t yield much besides gas station food for the rest of the afternoon. Eating a glazed slab of cellophane wrapped fruit pie with a shelf life of nuclear grade plutonium was just fine in a pinch but it was best avoided when possible. Sam had of course put down his entire sandwich like it had been the cure for cancer. A couple hours down the road and now he had nothing to show for it besides feeling like he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He did feel something however. The familiar resentment of his brother’s habitual forward thinking always felt fairly unpleasant.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Dean graciously offered.

Leaning his forehead on the glass he crossed his arms over his stomach to pretend his hunger pangs away. His brother’s ability to restrain himself along some avenues of life had always been thoroughly annoying. He could remember it as far back as he could remember anything. For instance, whenever they had gotten to the movies as kids Sam always got handed some cash to buy whatever overpriced crap he wanted to stuff his face with. No matter how careful he thought he was with spacing out the consumption of his stash he never quite made it to the roll of the credits with any Sno Caps left. But no, not Dean. Whatever allotment of minor luxury his parcel of cash used up was barely even touched. As a matter of fact, Dean would sometimes still have Twizzlers left over to spare a full 48 hours after they’d left the theatre grounds. The plastic red dye no. 5 licorice might have been freaking gross but Sam still felt a deep jealously at their inexplicable lingering presence. Even if the sickening fake strawberry tang made him gag he would still feel like an uneconomical asshole every time he caught his brother with another one hanging out of his mouth.

“Okay, four guesses.” Dean tried.

He looked over at Sam uncertainly when he finally realized all he was getting was silence.

“Five?” He hopefully further amended.

Once there had been a nice real Halloween out in Massachusetts. Sam remembered that one vividly as it had been the first time he’d experienced an autumn outside the unspectacular static plains of the Midwest. It had also been the first time he’d ever had the chance to hit the streets with all the other kids dressed up like their favorite cartoons.

When that cold night started all the stories he read about headless horsemen and the fables of New England all suddenly made complete sense. The sight of thick forests, narrow winding roads and the soft rotting smell of fallen leaves was like finding out that something you thought was make believe was actually real. The candy situation amongst all those old wood houses complete with glowing jack-o-lanterns was pretty remarkable too. But Sam knew that in the face of such incredible good fortune he still had to maintain some level of frugality in order to prolong the buzz. He had to be better than sparing. He had to be sensible to the point of unreasonable. In astonishing acts of self restraint he managed to control the consumption of the hoard of chocolate he knew he would never again see in his lifetime.

“Dude.” His brother shifted around behind the wheel in exasperation. “Why won’t you play with me?”

“You are awesome because you haven’t taken a shower since last Tuesday.”

“Nope.” Dean grinned. “Two left.”

“You said I had five—“

“The rules say three.”

A week after that glorious spree of trick-or-treating Sam began to deeply admire his own strength of will. He knew with absolute conviction that he had reached a state of self-possession greater than maybe any other boy had on the planet. Limiting his candy intake even further, it wasn’t until almost three weeks had passed that the pillowcase was sadly filling with more wadded up wrappers and little else. Down to lint covered candycorn, he wistfully thought of the span of another year that had to pass before such another bounty could again be achieved. Eventually, he had turned the sack inside out on the forlorn hope that there was something he’d somehow over looked. Sorting through nothing but chocolate smeared plastic he had noticed a shape under his brother’s bed.

The sight of another pillowcase shoved beneath the mattress was intriguing. Pushed almost out of sight, it was hidden along with a shoebox filled with some rolled up magazines that Sam had seen plenty of before. Feeling brave because Dean had actually not been home at the time, he had been curious to see what meager scraps his brother had left in comparison to his own. The suspicious weight of the bag had made him grit his teeth before he turned it upside down and let its insides spill out over the carpet. Staring down at the heap in stunned disbelief, Sam thought at first that his brother’s stockpile from the holiday hadn’t even been touched.

However, upon closer inspection the supply wasn’t completely intact.

All the low tier second rate stuff was missing. The Smarties, the loose ribbon mints and even lame boxes of raisins were nowhere to be seen. The load of paper dots, jolly ranchers and Pixie Stix were all history. But all the good shit was all still right there. The full on non-mini sized Hershey bars. Industrial length Kit Kats. Bags of malt balls. Huge rolls of sweet tarts heavy enough to beat a guy with. Foil packages of shredded bubble gum. A sack of peanut butter M&Ms. An entire sealed multi-packet of Twix. Interspersed with all the mind boggling goodness were enough cherry Blow Pops to last a year. Sam still recalled thinking he might as well have just found buried fucking treasure in a sparkling brass hinged chest instead of about twenty bucks worth of processed sugar.

Rubbing a hand through his hair, he cleared his throat and let his second guess go.

“You are awesome because you can’t spell the word 'necessarily' correctly even if someone put a gun to your head?”

“True enough.” Dean conceded thoughtfully. “I could tattoo it on my ass and I’d still fuck it up—“

“Are we done yet?”

“No, you got one more.”

Snack counters at the movies. Gratuitous holidays. Afternoons in junk food littered theme parks. Small gifts from friendly adult strangers. It was a lifetime of landscapes that provided types of gratification that a normal person was supposed to use up and regret not holding on tighter for a little bit longer. No one was supposed to cherish things like they were theoretically ought to.

“I don’t know.” Sam slumped down far into his seat so he could rest his head. “I give up.”

Dean smacked the dash in triumph as if the act of disinterested surrender equaled some kind of victory. Digging into his jacket, he pulled out a small piece of paper with the fine computer print of dates and numbers on it. Sam narrowed his eyes on what he knew was a mildly costly but wholly worthless lotto ticket.

“You’re awesome because you’re not gonna win one million dollars?” Sam hazarded.

“No.” Dean corrected. “I’m awesome because this right here? This sucker was bought on one of the luckiest days of the year.”

Sam searched his mental rolodex for the month and the current day having any possible significance and came up short.

“What’s so great about today?”

Dean shook his head in a gesture that suggested that Sam was somehow retarded enough to have almost slept right through a miraculous combination of Christmas, New Years and a particularly kick ass 4th of July.

“It’s Gene Simmon’s birthday.” He explained. “Turning 57 this year! Man, time flies don’t it?”

Sam ran his thumb up and down the smooth nylon strap of his seatbelt as he stared at the green blur of forest that lined the road. It was truly an auspicious day indeed. But if it was all going to be such a sure fire thing he figured he might as well go ahead and ask the really important question.

“So what are you going to do with all that money?”

Dean considered it for a moment before he offhandedly shrugged.

“Could use some new tires.”

The memory of all that damn candy sitting uneaten under that bed came zooming into crystal clarity in his mind. It would figure that a guy like Dean would ponder scoring a colossal windfall like a state lottery and then get vaguely excited by the notion of getting brand new tires with it. He supposed his brother wasn’t exactly all that adept in every form of forward thinking. At least when it didn’t directly involve something with a magnificent fat content. The reminder of delicious grease made him wonder how that sandwich was doing back there in the back seat all by itself.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam ventured. “Are you going to eat that—“


He sagged further in his seat and miserably tightened his arms across his aching belly. Glancing up at the next passing green sign, he made the grim calculation of just how many hours stood between them and the next possible source of food. It was just far enough away that he seriously weighed the possibilities of his long term survival. But he knew that his brother was onto something regardless of how well his uncanny discipline functioned. Sam thought Dean was pretty fortunate even if those lucky numbers wouldn’t give him much more besides a sigh of disappointment. It wasn’t an easy thing to realize when it was worth waiting for something.

In fact, it was pretty cool if you could find anything worth waiting for at all.
Tags: gen, sam pov, spn one shot
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