Travel Tuesday: Watershed on Peachtree in Atlanta has undergone a number of changes, but new chef Joe Truex knew not to mess with Scott Peacock’s legendary fried chicken. Brined in buttermilk and fried in ham hock-flavored fry fat, the crisp, golden, utterly addictive chicken is now served both at lunch and dinner on Wednesdays—and sold out usually by 7:30pm.
***I highly recommend downloading the app that is related to this site and ESPECIALLY getting the Fat Bombs cookbook that the author of this site published this year. It has every kind of fat bomb under the sun and most are dairy free!
you examine the chicken nuggets. they are crisp, a perfect golden brown, seemingly expertly breaded. all are strange polygonal shapes, each unique and special in their own way. you soon discover these are “dino nuggets”. the smell is that of… well, chicken nuggets. you can feel the heat from them. a flawless temperature. your mouth begins to water. you need these chicken nuggets. your hands reach to grab some. but they are swiftly swatted away.
you look up to see who slapped your hand from the nuggets. it is a vendor, and an angry one at that. before you can ask him why he seems so irate, he points at a sign. you read the sign.
DINO NUGGETS. $0.70.
you will have to buy nuggets in order to enjoy them. you nod. how much money do you have? you check how much money you have. $0.69. do you know what that means?
your lip begins to quiver. tears begin to well, threatening to pour out in an endless stream. you knees begin to shake, and soon enough your legs give in. you collapse onto the ground, sobs now erupting from your body. there is a polygonal shaped hole in your heart. you can feel the room spinning. reality is slowly unraveling. everything you know or have felt up to this point is meaningless. you can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t live anymore. do you know what that means?
Sam waits. He sips at his peach iced tea and picks at his crisp chicken Caesar salad.
Dean and Cas aren’t half so subtle as they think they are. Sam can tell that they’re holding hands beneath the table, though he knows that they don’t think he so much as suspects.
Sam’s not that oblivious. He’s almost offended that they think that he could have missed the longing looks, the stolen kisses, the noise coming from Dean’s bedroom some nights-
Well, he really could have done without the last one, please and thank you.
But the point is: Sam is not oblivious and he hasn’t been for a while. There’s no confusion tying his stomach in knots, no wondering ‘why did Dean bring us to a nice restaurant instead of a rundown diner’, no anxiety over whatever ‘bombshell’ Dean is obviously gearing up to drop.
Sam’s just excited. It’s been difficult, pretending not to notice Dean and Cas ‘sneaking’ around, trying to subtly give them space to be a couple without making it obvious he knew. Sam’s never seen his brother so happy; he’s never seen Dean so in love.
And he knows his brother. Anything that makes Dean this happy has to scare the shit out of him.
Sam can’t say for sure if Dean’s scared because Cas is a guy (or at least is wearing one) or if it’s because Cas isn’t human, or even because Cas is it for Dean in a way that even Lisa wasn’t.
In any case, it wasn’t something Dean was ready to let Sam know, and Sam wasn’t willing to risk butting in and accidentally stomping all over something so important.
Now finally - finally - it looks like months of playing dumb and frequent trips to the library were paying off.
“So,” Dean says. He clears his throat and studies the wood grain on the table. Sam waits.
“So,” he prompts, when it seems like Dean won’t continue.
“Dean and I-” Cas starts, only to be interrupted by Dean.
“We, uh… Cas and I have something we want to tell you,” Dean says. Dean shoots a quick look at Cas, who responds with a gentle smile. It’s just a slight upturn of his lips, but there’s a fondness in his eyes that would’ve given the game away right then and there even if Sam didn’t already know.
Sam can’t help but smile.
He remembers when he first saw Cas staring at his brother that way, years ago. It’s kind of reassuring to see that that look hadn’t wavered.
“Oh?” Sam says, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. Cas squints suspiciously, but Dean’s apparently too nervous to notice.
“Yeah,” Dean says. He clears his throat again. “Cas and I… we’re together.”
It’s all Sam can do to keep a huge grin from breaking out across his face.
“Like… together-together?” he asks. Dean looks up from the table, red dusted across his cheeks and climbing up his ears.
Dean takes one look at Sam and Sam can’t help it; he grins broadly, barely stifling chuckles as Dean goes from suspicious to shell-shocked.
“You knew,” Dean says accusingly. “How long?”
“A few months?” Sam hazards a guess. Cas looks surprised, darting a glance from Sam to Dean. Dean just stares, open mouthed, then pulls his anger around him like a shield.
“And you didn’t say anything, Sherlock?” Dean grumbles, bristling with righteous indignation. Sam gives him a pointed glance.
“Neither did you.” Sam sips his tea. Dean’s irritation visibly dissipates. He rubs the back of his neck with the hand not currently holding Castiel’s beneath the table.
“Guess not,” Dean mutters. Sam takes pity on him.
“I’m happy for you,” he says. He looks at Cas. “For both of you, I really am. You two are great for each other, and I’m happy you were comfortable enough to tell-”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Dean says, his face bright red. There’s a smile tugging at his lips, though, nervous and embarrassed, and Sam grins.
“It’s the truth, though,” he says. Cas gives him a small smile, gratitude in his eyes.
“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says. He gently tugs his and Dean’s joined hands up to rest on the top of the table and looks proudly at their entwined fingers, like he can imagine no greater happiness than being allowed to openly hold Dean’s hand.
Dean looks at him, then at their joined hands on display for all to see, and just smiles and squeezes Cas’s hand.
Sam feels like he just witnessed a miracle. He’s grinning so hard he doesn’t think he can drink his tea, grinning so hard he feels like his face might split open.