Rating: PG - Gen - teen!chesters
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Beta: Thank you Kat! (& tammylee)
Summary: When Sam and Dean are hungry they become Macgyver-Like with a squash.
Once the clock passed the witching hour on a school night, Sam didn’t care about much aside from getting some sleep.
The sticky door of the rental took two slams before it locked into place behind him. He made sure the second slam was loud enough to wake up anyone who might be home. Sam hated coming home to an empty house but he hated coming home to a sleeping one even more.
“Practice ran real late and then we all got stuck cleaning up the gym.” Sam tossed his backpack in the corner and unzipped his coat. “Then I missed the dumb bus.”
And lunch. Sam rubbed at his aching stomach. And dinner.
The dim gold lamps at each corner of the velour couch made for a pleasant attempt at ambiance along with the muted metallic wallpaper. If someone were inclined to light a stick of incense and put on a Rolling Stones eight-track, it would be easy to pretend it was another decade all together.
“Is there any pizza left?” He asked halfheartedly. “I brought in the mail.”
The mail was any newspapers that weren’t picked up quickly enough by their rightful owners next door.
Sam dropped it in the pile along with all the unopened others.
Ever since dad had found a job one state over, Sam hadn’t seen much of him outside the occasional phone call to make sure the rent was paid on time. No glorious scent of food greeted him from the kitchen, but the dark living room flickered with the dull glow of the television. Dean had been working odd construction jobs while they stayed the remainder of Sam’s junior year.
By the time Sam got done with his day, his brother was usually crashed in the back bedroom trying to get some shut eye before he had to hit the road with the work crew at the crack of dawn. Sam peered over the back of the sofa half hoping to see Dean conscious for a change.
“Are you awake?”
Dean drowsily flipped the channels in a steady beat that couldn’t possibly allow any useful absorption.
“Nope.” He yawned. “I’ve been in bed for hours. Out like a light.”
“Is there anything to eat around here?” Sam ducked down to check if they had anything stashed in the cupboards. “Everything in this stupid town closes at 5PM—“
“Got nothin’.” Dean stretched the length of the sofa and collapsed in on himself. “’Cept that thing.”
Sam paused in his frenzied refrigerator search.
The small kitchenette had been built onto the unit long after the days of disco had died. Because of an uninspired architect and no budget to speak of, the result was a long row of blaring fluorescents that lit up the beige and browns of the rest of the shabby décor like a badly lit porn set. There was only one table and it had only one object sitting directly at its center.
Sam approached it slowly.
“W-What is that?”
“Huh.” Sam crouched to study the misshapen thing at eye level. “Where’d you get it?”
“Some old lady across the street.” Dean left the station on Japanese women’s wrestling. “It was raining. She had all these groceries. She lost her front door key. I happen to be awesome.”
“You jacked her lock?”
“I facilitated her entrance.”
“I thought little old ladies handed out a shiny quarter or a cookie for that kinda thing.”
“Well, this one gave me some mutated disgusting—“
“It’s a squash.”
“—vegetable thing that could maim someone if I threw it the wrong way.” Dean reconsidered his words. “Or the right way.”
Sam pulled up a chair and took a seat. Rotating the grotesquely shaped gourd to its side, he considered its elongated form and blotchy yellow and orange skin. The absurd length and bulbous end of it reminded him of some child’s exaggerated rendition of adult anatomy.
“Ya know, this thing kinda looks like a—“
“Dr. Seuss’s cock?”
“—sorta diseased fairy out of some screwed up fairytale from back in the Grimm days.”
His brother clenched his jaw as he forced himself up onto his feet. With a moment to experience the lack of household heat in nothing but underwear, he gave up on shivering and started moving towards the sink. Dean’s stride was broken with a harsh groan and a heavy limp.
"What happened to you?” Sam studied the colorful pattern of bruises that disappeared up the thigh of Dean’s boxer shorts. “You get stuck pouring concrete again?”
“No.” He searched counter for a semi-clean glass. “My boyfriend beats me but we just co-signed a lease for a PT Cruiser together so there’s no way I can leave him now—”
“You know what I think?” Sam hefted the substantial weight of the plant in his hands. "We could wrap this up in some foil.”
“Uh, put it in the oven and uh, see what happens?”
“It’s not gonna perform a freakin’ magic trick, Sammy.” Dean twisted the faucet until the water ran clear enough to drink. “45 minutes at 375 isn’t gonna change that into something cool.”
“I think it’s an acorn squash.” Sam rotated it in his fingertips. “Or maybe it’s one of them butternut gourds or a spaghetti thing?”
Dean considered the implications doubtfully as he grimaced around a gulp of cloudy water.
“I’ll tell you what it’s not?”
Sam sighed shortly.
“It’s not a Christmas present.” Dean growled. “So just cut it open and eat it already.”
Sam sat back and looked his brother in eye.
Dean broke eye contact first and self-consciously crossed his arms over his bare chest. Turning sheepishly towards the empty refrigerator, he absently rubbed at his injured leg.
“Everything tastes decent if you put butter on it.” Dean murmured. “Lots of it.”
Sam slid out the largest and sharpest knife out of the drawer. Lining up the awkward vegetable on the counter he made sure to dissect the thing right down the middle. The discovery of brown sugar, garlic and a withered lemon in the drainer made the butter smothered gourd start to sound like an even better idea. Toss some stale pizza crusts on the side and a glass of orange juice and this party was going to include a three-course meal. Grabbing a warm can of beer from the floor, Dean dropped into a seat at the table to observe. Sam stuck his hand into the questionable oven to gauge if the old gas hookups were good for anything besides potential asphyxiation.
“So,” Sam asked. “What’s with your leg?”
“Luggin’ some steel bar around all day.” Dean gnawed at his lip. “That shit gets heavy.”
Sam glanced back down covertly at his brother’s bruised skin.
All he had wanted was for someone to be awake so he could bitch a little about the load of trig homework the new teacher’s assistant was doling out. Maybe complain about how the coach always over did it on the warm ups when everyone was already tired from doing track.
Sam handed him a bag of ice covered with a hand towel.
“Third time this week.”
“Yeah.” Dean rubbed a thumb across his forehead. “Don’t tell dad.”
Sam cracked open a beer for himself while Dean gathered back up a smile. Getting up unsteadily, he made his way back to the warmer climate of the sofa muddled with half their blanket ownership.
“Ya think if I help out that old lady again she’d give me something else for my trouble?”
Sam cursed aloud with him as his bad leg made hard contact with the back of the sofa and then the floor.
“Maybe she’ll let you borrow her walker?”