Rating: PG - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers:" SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: “For reasons unknown to man,” Dean patiently explained. “There are random days when the average individual supersedes his own physical mediocrity and for a brief span of hours... becomes hot.”
Sam watched on suspiciously as a lollipop was slid across the counter along with his change.
It wasn’t one of those flat globs of cheap sugar on a stick either. The tiny quaint shop had some heavy duty handmade productions with weird designations like buttered popcorn, green chili pepper and coffee cake. Although the smiling elderly woman behind the register didn’t know him, she had for some reason handed over one of the expensive candies for free. He waited until they were back out under the sunshine before deciding he was going to eat it right then and there. Peeling off the noisy wrapper, he stuck the significantly sized thing in his mouth. The pleasing taste on his tongue was vaguely surprising.
It was a pretty decent facsimile of a real life watermelon. It was also Sam’s personal and undisclosed most favorite artificial flavor in the entire world.
The long potentially boring Monday was turning out to be a total win in the luck department.
He paused in his enjoyment when he abruptly recalled the extra blueberry pancakes he’d inexplicably received at breakfast. There was a lag in his step when he also remembered, not one but three, individuals gladly opening doors for him over the course of the afternoon. He’d even had to turn down one overtly polite man on a crowded bus that was trying hard to give up the last seat. Just as he was considering the strange succession of events, a cop loitering on the park sidewalk gave him a small nod and a friendly greeting touch to the tip of her cap.
Sam nervously waited until they had moved a good distance away from the cheery officer of the law before he decided to wonder his thoughts out loud.
“Why the hell is everyone being so nice to me today?”
Walking at his side, Dean’s shoulders hitched in a laugh before venturing an answer.
“Maybe yer having a ‘hot day’.”
Sam searched the cerebral vocabulary book he’d spent the years filling with his brother’s own brand of terminology. There was a hot dang, hot rats and a hot hole, but there was definitely no hot day on file.
“A hot what?”
“For reasons unknown to man,” Dean patiently explained. “There are random days when the average individual supersedes his own physical mediocrity and for a brief span of hours… becomes hot.”
Sam couldn’t remember having heard his brother sounding quite so eloquent before.
“So… what?” He looked down at his hands as if he would be able to see some kind of warm appetizing glow. “I’m hot today?”
“I have no idea.” Dean shrugged. “My overexposure to you and your stupid face has rendered me completely immune to any phenomena.”
Sam accepted the reasonable logic behind that.
“However?” Dean added. “Your hair for once doesn’t look particularly retarded and you didn’t leave any nature trails behind after you shaved this morning.”
“It’s a baffling science, Sammy.” Dean sighed. “After many years of research I’ve only found a few correlations myself.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam asked. “Like what?”
“Well, for instance? On certain occasions I have a higher than average return rate on ‘Have a Nice Day’ with the qualifiers of: honey, sugar or babe.” Dean said. “Such events frequently include forms of extreme body language.”
Sam kind of wanted to ask what extreme body language was but decided that there were too many children around.
But he had to admit, his brother was definitely onto something. His brows rose in thoughtful deliberation as the pure and simple facts came together. There had to be a commonsensical explanation for the sudden overnight increase in his curb appeal. The idea of accidentally appearing more likeable for no good reason was an interesting concept. He covertly looked his brother up and down to see if he could spot anything that might be considered unaccountably attractive.
Nothing there but the usual. If anything, Dean’s jeans were riding a little low on the sloppy boxer short revealing side. Sam frowned when he realized that was because the large familiar jeans weren’t Dean’s at all. He gave his relation another pass to see if there was anything he might have missed. Just some skinned knuckles, muddy boots and a grease stain on his back from changing the oil yesterday. The unseasonably temperate autumn sky had made them both ditch their jackets, so the pasty sight of more of his brother’s white skin wasn’t exactly a prize to behold either.
“But I only get these atypical results when I wear a certain T-shirt.”
“A T-shirt.” Sam repeated doubtfully.
“Quiet Riot.” Dean told him.
Sam had a sudden vision of his brother behind a podium in a crowded lecture hall gesturing seriously to a power point projection. He could even see the ascending bar graph of ‘type of concert T’ vs. ‘times successfully laid’. However, he knew of the faded gray shirt in question fairly well. He also knew the typical variety of women his brother deemed doable weren’t usually foaming fans of the 1980’s glam metal band. Considering his own machine washed and battered glory, he began to wonder if his brother wasn’t hitting on quite the right variables in his admittedly acute observations.
“Also?” Dean amended. “Quiet Riot’s power can be increased with that weird aftershave we stole outta that men’s room in Chicago.”
The nature of the job took them to all sorts of places and usually his brother would call them what they were. But Dean was determined to keep calling that bathhouse out in the cleanest and most attractive neighborhood of the city a ‘men’s room’ until the day the sun went out. Sam seemed to remember his brother also taking off with as many of the high end condoms his jacket could carry from the overflowing supply of the male only establishment. Sam thought of the serene blue bottle filled with designer scent that made his brother make a face every time it was detected.
Those ‘men only’ kinda guys were always onto the good stuff.
“Live it up.” Dean suggested. “Damn days come around like a leap year.”
Flexing his fists, Sam stood a little straighter and decided all good scientific theory warranted objective experimentation.
He looked over just in time to catch a flower vendor watching him pass by. Feeling recklessly bold, he winked at her like he never would otherwise and felt his face go red when she blushed. Sam tried sending a smile straight at a couple of backpack toting college coeds walking in their direction. To his utter shock they both immediately exploded back with grins of their own, their tight mutual airspace collapsing in on itself as soon as they’d passed. Over his shoulder there was a rushed whisper of exchange that Sam recognized as well as anything else.
Screw all the late night graveyard nonsense. They were hitting a bar tonight no question. This right here was like strolling through a pleasant episode of the Twilight Zone.
The dizzying moment of revelation was interrupted when the candy in his hand was removed. Sam watched resentfully as the mostly used gourmet confection went right into his brother’s mouth without even a courtesy rinse under a water fountain. The ten year old inside of him begrudgingly admitted that there had only been one between the two of them and Sam had already had half.
But the grown adult in him just wanted his fucking lollipop back.
“What about your hair?” Sam demanded.
“It never figures in.”
“Dunno.” Dean grinned around the stick. “Guess mine always looks awesome.”