Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 26: A Knock at the Door

[justinedelarge]

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 26: A Knock at the Door

Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 1365
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and plot.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty? The genesis is in the way Sam and Dean make their feelings for each other physical. This story has dirty talk, all the feels you can handle, infinite love and even a plot that develops into a nail-biting narrative, with the best kind of hurt/comfort.
Chapter Summary: Dean realizes he's made a terrible oversight, and takes steps to rectify his error immediately. A knock at the door changes everything.

Request: Comments and encouraging feedback are really appreciated. If you read my fics and like them, please take a moment to let me know. This will encourage me to write more for you.

Part of what Sam and Dean loved about staying at Bobby’s was that Bobby knew the value of a home-cooked meal. John kept them fed, technically. Take-out Chinese, microwave pizza, pasta in cans and boxes, and bagged salads as a concession to Sam, but the only thing John could actually cook was hamburgers.

Charred black, grey on the inside, tasting of salt and black pepper, hamburgers.

Bobby was no chef, but he could make simple food well.

While Sam and Dean were in the shower, he made up fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans.

When the boys came into the kitchen, hair still damp, Bobby was using tongs to flip chicken in two ancient cast-iron skillets an inch deep in bacon grease, and hollering at John, who was trying to help by doing the mashed potatoes. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, are you TRYING to make glue? Just—just stop.” John let go of the spoon with which he’d made several vigorous passes through the mash.

Bobby grabbed the spoon. “Do not beat the damn thing. You do that, it gets gummy. Idjit.”

He took up the hand masher. “You mash them. That’s why it’s called mashed potatoes. See the linguistic fucking connection? Mash. Not beat ‘em with a goddamn spoon until the whole thing seizes up like an engine run dry of oil.” He shoved the masher deep into the pot of potatoes several times. “See? You add butter and milk and salt. And you mash it.” Bobby glanced at Sam and Dean. “It’s a wonder you boys made it to puberty.”

Sam and Dean could not hide the smiles on their faces. Their father made absolutely disgusting mashed potatoes.

John walked away from Bobby and his beloved potatoes, and examined Sam’s face and hands. “See? It’s working already.” Sam’s skin was much clearer, the bruising having faded remarkably.

Sam beamed. “Yeah?”

Dean clenched his jaw. The way Sam lit up when John paid attention to him made sense, given how many years they’d been at each other’s throats, but it still rankled.

John patted Sam’s cheek, his white teeth flashing as he smiled. “Yeah.”

Sam and Dean set the table, and John and Bobby brought the food out. Sam noticed a portion set aside on the stove. He raised an eyebrow. “That’s for the others.”

Sam paused. “The ones outside?”

Bobby nodded. “Yep. Zack, Bosie and Big Lou.”

“Why don’t they come eat with us?”

John and Bobby looked at each other. “Well,” John began. “They’re...guarding.”

“So, what, you bring them plates of food?”

“Um… yeah. Basically.” Bobby scratched his head.

“They should come eat inside like regular people.” Sam was firm. “If they have to guard us, they can guard us from in here.”

John and Bobby came to an agreement without saying a word. “Well, alright then,” Bobby said. Set the table for three more.”

John went out to get them, and Sam set three more places at the long dining room table.

The three hunters came in, clearly grateful for the warmth of Bobby’s house, with the central heat on and a roaring fire in the fireplace.

Bobby passed the giant bowl of mashed potatoes to his left, first scooping out a generous portion. The platter of fried chicken made the rounds, as did the buttered green beans.

Once everyone had full plates, Bobby spoke. “Before you heathens take a bite, I’m saying grace. After a fashion.” Bobby bowed his head, and a fluent stream of Japanese came out of his mouth.

Dean stared at him. “Bobby?”

“It means thank you for the damn food. “ His eyes shone.

Everyone dug in. Dean took a bit of chicken thigh and groaned. “Bobby. I love you.”

Zack, the lanky hunter, chewed, swallowed and said in a drawl, “Is that paprika?”

“Too easy.”

Zack took another bite of chicken, juice running down his chin. “Wait…hang on…chipotle?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Bobby couldn’t hide his pleased grin.

Bosie ate quietly, but when she looked at anything at all, she stared at Sam.

He caught her looking at him, and when he met her gaze, she looked away, embarrassed.

The third hunter ate his food at a lightening pace, refused seconds, and excused himself. “Gotta check the perimeter.”

John shook his head. “Big Lou. Takes things kinda seriously.”

Sam, not usually one for fried food, ate like a starving man. He cleared his first plate in minutes, and loaded it up again.

Under the table, Dean bumped his foot against Sam’s, smiled at him over a bite of mashed potatoes. “You’re in a good mood.”

Sam wiped his mouth. “Feeling a lot better.” His eyes met Dean’s. “Almost 100%.”

Dean swallowed, his eyes suddenly bright. “That’s great.”

The expression of relief on John’s face was almost heartbreaking—as was the fear underneath. Once Sam was mostly recovered, he would have no excuse to not tell him the truth.

Dean casually slipped his hand under the table. “Dad, pass the potatoes?” Everyone’s eyes automatically moved to John, and Dean took the opportunity to squeeze Sam’s thigh, and shoot Sam a private look.

~

Bosie and Zack cleared the plates and started in on the dishes. John and Bobby disappeared into Bobby’s den.

Dean tugged Sam into the hallway leading to Bobby’s library. “You really mostly better?” He toyed with the hem of Sam’s t-shirt.

Sam nodded, leaning closer towards Dean. “Yeah. My ribs don’t even hurt anymore. I’m sore, yeah, but it’s a lot better. My arm still hurts…” Sam looked at his cast.

“Oh, Sam.” Dean shook his head, his thrill at Sam being nearly ready disappearing in the face of the epic magnitude of his failure.

“What?”

“I’m so lame.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe I… Jesus. Come here.”

Dean pulled Sam into the living room, sat him down on the couch, ran into Bobby’s den and came back clutching a handful of pens.

“Oh no.”

Dean grinned. “Oh yes.”

Dean sat cross-legged on the couch, put Sam’s cast in his lap, and began to draw.

On the way outside, Bosie leaned over the couch, and thrust a paper bag at Sam. “Here.”

She walked outside with Big Lou, not looking back.

Sam opened the bag. It contained a giant bar of Hershey’s Chocolate with Almonds.

“You’re totally sharing that, right?” Dean kept drawing, eyes fixed on the cast.

“Maybe.” Sam peered up at Dean through his thick eyelashes.

“Dude. You’re SO sharing that.” Dean’s tongue darted out, swiped across his lower lip in that totally involuntary way that happened to drive Sam crazy.

“Yeah. I’m sharing.” Sam glanced at his cast. “Did you… is that a penis?”

“Come on, Sammy. I’m a guy. Guys draw penises on casts. That’s what we do.”

Dean concentrated hard, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, drawing a shape in red pen.

“Devil’s trap? On my cast?”

“’S right. In case a tiny demon happens to crawl up your arm.”

Sam smiled. “Dean.”

Dean looked up.

Sam mouthed, “I love you.”

Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Sam’s hand.

There was a loud knock at the door.  Everyone in the house snapped to attention.

Bobby looked through the peephole, and relaxed visibly. He opened the door.“It’s alright. It’s just Reggie.”

When Bobby saw the expression on Reggie’s face, though, he tensed up again.

“Where’s John?” Reggie’s eyes were wild.

John emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Hey, what’s—“

Reggie pushed his way into the house, grabbed John by the arm. “Come on. Both of you. Outside.”

Sam and Dean stared at each other. Sam started to shake.

“It’s alright, Sam.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s knee, and stared at the front door. “It’s gonna be fine.”

~

“You have to come with me. Right now.”

“Reg, it’s 10 at night. What the hell is so—“

“I found Spivey.”

Bobby and John looked at each other in confusion.

“Well, he ain’t exactly hard to find. We left the bodies in the warehouse. Made it look like a meth deal gone wrong.”

Reggie spat out his toothpick.

“I found him. Alive.”

Master post with chapter links

Comments

[sammichgirl]

Uh-oh. Spivey, that cannot be good. I knew Azazel wouldn't kill him. :(

John and Bobby's banter makes me smile. Like they're brothers, too. In a sense, they are, brother hunters.

Love Sam's sweetness, it's so fresh and open, even with what he's been through.

[deezy-y.livejournal.com]

And the plot thickens...
Dean drawing penises on Sam's cast...classic.
Looks like someone has a crush on Sam. :)

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

Someone drew Sam's arm in a cast with the doodles on it. And I just realized I forgot who it was! Remind me your Tumblr account, and I'll post it and tag you.

[deezy-y.livejournal.com]

I just joined up again. It's deezy-y. Please let me know if there's anything that you could recommend following. I never really got into it the first time around so I want to make an effort now. Thx.

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

I posted something for you and tagged you in it. :)

[deezy-y.livejournal.com]

Saw it, thanks. I'm slowly finding my way and appreciate the help. :)

[lilithrain.livejournal.com]

Oh that stuff with the mashed potatoes just gave me a fit of giggles.
Once everyone had full plates, Bobby spoke. “Before you heathens take a bite, I’m saying grace. After a fashion.” Bobby bowed his head, and a fluent stream of Japanese came out of his mouth. I think I have an idea how that might have went too.
Well shit just hit the fan. (Spivey alive).

[justinedelarge.livejournal.com]

I used my own personal opinion about how to properly make mashed potatoes in this chapter. Had a roommate that used to use the mixer, and made frickin' nasty, gluey mashed potatoes. Ugh.