Rating: PG - Gen - Humor
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Everyone has at least got one thing.
Sam jiggled the key into the lock.
It was the closest they really had to that pleasant but tired feeling of coming home. Opening a motel door that had their stuff in it while they where gone for almost a week sure came near the mark. The room might not have been theirs but everything in it that greeted them when they walked in was. Sometimes that was good enough for Sam.
The stack of clean clothes. Some old magazines. A scattering of earmarked books and a couple of towels that had followed them around. It was nice to do that visual inventory as you got to toss down your duffel bag.
There was even the small fridge to raid in the tiny kitchen that not only boasted a double sink, but a small two coil stove top. Thirsty and hungry, Sam swung the squat ice box open and was pleased to find they had actually left something behind for themselves. He pulled out and shook a carton of milk.
It would be nice to get a good night sleep in a bed and maybe even sleep in tomorrow. All morning. Maybe even until noon.
"Aw Sam, don't."
Sam froze at the agonized tone in his brother's voice.
Dean's pained expression shifted into worried disgust.
Sam blinked. "What's your problem?"
"Don't 'what's your problem' me. You know exactly what I mean!"
Sam honestly had no idea what the fuck his brother was talking about.
"That!" Dean prompted in distress, looking pointedly at the milk container.
He suddenly broke out into a smile. He had completely forgotten about this thing of his older brother's. Dean didn't have a ton of pet peeves, but the ones he had were pretty weird. Sam tipped the milk to the side to look at the little digital print of a month, day and year.
"It only expired two days ago Dean--"
"Yeah, that's 48 hours! They put dates on those things for a reason!"
Sam slowly tipped the carton up to his mouth just to watch Dean's agitation level rise the closer it got. He lowered it to watch Dean sink back down into his seat, then raised it again to watch him stand back up--
"Quit it Sam!!"
"Relax dude." Sam laughed. "Look? Scary milk, going down the drain..."
Dean scowled at him, settling back into the brown and beige motel chair when it seemed safe to assume Sam was headed to pour the rancid death milk into the sink.
Sam started chugging it.
He almost sprayed it back out when he saw his brother cover his face.
"I hope you puke." Dean said from behind the palms of his hands. "I hope you die from some mad cow milk disease."
Sam shrugged as he finished it.
"Maybe after I make some of those eggs I saw in there--"
"Or some of that old old yogurt."
"Now yer just being mean." Dean murmured to himself while he angrily sorted his things out of his bag.
Sam looked down at the now empty carton in his hand.
It did kind of taste a little funny.