Sam is at the table in the kitchen, finishing his coffee and
picking at the last of his just-the-wrong-side-of-crispy bacon, when Dean comes
bounding into the kitchen. And he is bounding,
that’s the only word for it, except perhaps skipping
or – Sam would never say it out loud because it would absolutely guarantee An
All Original Dean Winchester Ass-Kicking™
– but Dean’s basically prancing.
“Mornin,’ Sammy,” he says, flashing a wide, toothy grin and making
a beeline for the coffeemaker. He’s just wearing his nasty-ass robe and there
are honest to god slippers on his
Sam stares at him. He frowns, looks over his shoulder in the
general direction of the front door, then back to Dean again. “Did you go out
Dean frowns at him, starting to pour out his cup. “No? Why?”
“Uh, because,” Sam says. “You’ve got your I Just Got Lucky
Then something completely unexpected happens. Dean blanches.
Sam’s confusion is only growing; this is not at all the
reaction he’s used to. Normally Dean can’t wait to divulge the gory details,
just to try and make him squirm. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t – what are you talking
about,” he sputters, his eyes wide and rather hunted. “This is, this is my, my normal face.”
“C’mon man. We’ve been living in each other’s pockets for a
couple decades here. I know that face.” Sam starts looking at him, really
looking, and then yep: there’s the shadow of a hickey, just peeking out from
the collar of his t-shirt.
Sam’s about to needle him about it when Cas comes into the
kitchen. “Good morning,” he says.
“Hey, morning Cas,” Sam says briefly, then looks back at
Dean. He’s intent on resuming his interrogation, but then he stops.
Dean’s looking at Cas with panicked eyes, and his face shifts
from white to red so fast it doesn’t even bother stopping at pink.
“What…” Sam starts, then he looks back at Cas, frowning.
Everything seems fine; he looks normal.
But then Sam notices that his tie is on backwards.