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[ITK] Crunchy peanut butter
Jul. 19th, 2009 09:31 pm[Set in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
where_youfindme. Dean is about eighteen, Sam is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likely_evil, and John and Mary aren’t binding on any muse.]
Dean was making breakfast.
It was a lazy Saturday in the Winchester house, and Dean, who usually wasn’t up before Mary was getting ready to make lunch, was standing over the stove making pancakes. It was one of the few things he could cook, and while he knew that his mother would know he was up to something, he wanted everybody shiny and happy before he dropped his little bomb. And really, it only was a little one.
Sam wasn’t home—he had crashed at a friend’s house after going to a late movie the night before, and he wanted to tell Sam on his own anyway. This whole set up was mostly for his parents benefit. Mostly? He was hoping that good food would make them a bit more amendable to his current proposition. He was flipping the first batch of pancakes when his mother’s voice came over his shoulder, and he could tell by her tone that she was expecting the worst.
“Alright. What law did you break?”
He glanced back at her and flashed her a lazy grin. “Can’t a son get up early on a Saturday and make his parents pancakes?”
“Not this son,” she replied, moving closer and placing one hand on his shoulder gently, while the other leaned over to look at the pancakes he was making. “What’s going on, Dean?”
He leaned into his mother’s touch a bit before turning back to look at her. “Let’s wait till Dad gets up. I don’t want to have to explain it twice.”
Mary was quiet for a moment, before nodding, and starting to move towards the cabinet again, pulling her jar of peanut butter off the shelf, and then grabbing the syrup. “I’ll set the table.”
( *** )
903 words
where_youfindme. Dean is about eighteen, Sam is likely_evil, and John and Mary aren’t binding on any muse.]Dean was making breakfast.
It was a lazy Saturday in the Winchester house, and Dean, who usually wasn’t up before Mary was getting ready to make lunch, was standing over the stove making pancakes. It was one of the few things he could cook, and while he knew that his mother would know he was up to something, he wanted everybody shiny and happy before he dropped his little bomb. And really, it only was a little one.
Sam wasn’t home—he had crashed at a friend’s house after going to a late movie the night before, and he wanted to tell Sam on his own anyway. This whole set up was mostly for his parents benefit. Mostly? He was hoping that good food would make them a bit more amendable to his current proposition. He was flipping the first batch of pancakes when his mother’s voice came over his shoulder, and he could tell by her tone that she was expecting the worst.
“Alright. What law did you break?”
He glanced back at her and flashed her a lazy grin. “Can’t a son get up early on a Saturday and make his parents pancakes?”
“Not this son,” she replied, moving closer and placing one hand on his shoulder gently, while the other leaned over to look at the pancakes he was making. “What’s going on, Dean?”
He leaned into his mother’s touch a bit before turning back to look at her. “Let’s wait till Dad gets up. I don’t want to have to explain it twice.”
Mary was quiet for a moment, before nodding, and starting to move towards the cabinet again, pulling her jar of peanut butter off the shelf, and then grabbing the syrup. “I’ll set the table.”
( *** )
903 words
