They Say What They Say

Title: …of champions
Author: Laylee
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None
Rating: G for Gen
Summary: Four meals in four states.
Warnings: Slight spoilers for season 3 overall.
Note: Written for the picfor1000 2008 challenge.



In a diner in Alabama Dean orders eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, hash browns and a side of pancakes.

"I'll have the same," Sam says to the waitress. He scowls at Dean who's looking at him mockingly. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean replies as he smiles beatifically at the waitress. She giggles and blushes, just like they all do.

Fifteen minutes later Dean is shovelling bacon and pancakes into his mouth as Sam checks his news alerts on the laptop while he picks at his eggs and toast.

"Looks like there's a poltergeist in Okalahoma," he says, clicking on a link.

Dean grimaces. "I hate poltergeists."

"That's 'cause you always piss them off and they throw things at you."

Dean wrinkles his nose and Sam takes a sip of his coffee. It's good and strong, just how he likes it when he's drinking it black with breakfast.

"You going to eat all that?" Dean asks, pointing at Sam's bacon with his fork.

Sam looks at Dean and then looks at the bacon on his plate, laying there among the wreckage of his eggs and hash browns. He purses his lips, considers his options for a moment, then takes a piece of bacon and shoves it in his mouth.

"Yes."

~*~*~

In a roadhouse in New Mexico there are burgers and fries, chocolate milkshakes and pie.

There'd always be pie if Dean had his way, to the exclusion of everything else.

Strangely enough there's also a salad; a little bowl of lettuce and tomato, cucumber and carrot with the dressing served on the side.

"You ordered a salad?"

"Yes, I ordered a salad."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"You ordered a salad?"

"So?"

"Christo."

Dean flips him the bird and concentrates on his lunch, occasionally poking at the salad with a fork but mostly ignoring it. Sam takes a bite out of his burger, nibbles on a couple of fries and slurps his milkshake. He tries not to look at Dean, but it's hard to ignore the darkening bruise on his brother's cheek and the cut marring his bottom lip.

"Stop it."

"Dean, I…"

Dean looks up from his food, his eyes hard. "It's not your fault, Sammy, so stop it."

"I didn't have to hit you."

"Yes, you did."

Sam stares at his plate, swallowing uneasily. "I didn't have to hit you so hard. I had the situation under control. I didn't… I didn't have to hit you so hard.

He flinches as Dean's fingers wrap around his wrist.

"You did what you had to do," Dean says. "There was no other choice and if you hadn't…"

"I coulda…"

"No, you couldn't, so stop it."

Dean fingers tighten on Sam's wrist for just a moment before he lets go and picks up his burger again. He takes a deliberately big bite out of it, following it with a handful of fries. After a moment Sam follows suit and even manages to smile a little when he feels Dean's boot nudge his under the table.

~*~*~

In a restaurant in Arizona, they order steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and beer.

Dean shuffles around in his seat, trying out different positions and kicking Sam more than once as he attempts to get comfortable.

"Dude, quit it, would you?" Sam snarls after Dean kicks him again.

"Shut up, Frances. You try sitting when you can't bend your knee."

"I told you to look out."

"You told me bupkis and now I can't sit straight."

Sam raises his eyebrows, but the murderous look Dean levels at him has him reaching for the bread as he stifles the laughter welling inside him. He slathers butter on a roll while Dean continues to shift around, muttering under his breath as he positions his leg to take the pressure off his injured knee.

The arrival of their dinner saves Sam from having to make further comment about his brother's inability to duck on command and for the next few minutes the conversation dies as they eat. Dean's steak is practically a cinder, just the way he likes it, while Sam's is rare and tender and the best thing he's eaten since the last best thing he ate.

After a while Dean says, "How's your steak?"

"Good," Sam replies. "Real good. How's yours?"

"Not bad at all."

"That's good." Sam nods, takes a sip from his beer. "Yeah, that's great."

~*~*~

In a room at the Mermaid Inn, Idaho, Sam dumps Twinkies and Ring Dings, sour bears and beef jerky, Pringles, Oreos, beer and chocolate milk on the table.

"Dude, chocolate milk?" Dean hefts the carton and looks at him askance.

"I like chocolate milk."

"Yeah, if you're ten. Real men drink beer."

To illustrate his point Dean snags a beer, pops the top and throws himself onto the bed nearest the TV. He grabs the remote and channel surfs until he lands on some sporting event, takes a long pull on his beer and belches.

Sam refuses to take the bait and finishes unpacking the snacks, stowing the food in the kitchenette cupboard and the drinks in the fridge. That done he moves into the bathroom, washes up and changes into sweats and a t-shirt. He emerges a few minutes later to find Dean sacked-out on his bed, the bottle threatening to tip out his lax fingers as he snores softly. Sam takes the beer, setting it on the nightstand, and removes Dean's boots before pulling the comforter over him. Smiling softly, his fingers linger on the nearly faded bruise on Dean's cheek for just a moment before he picks up the remote and shuts down the TV.

Sam pours himself a glass of milk and fetches the Oreos, setting them on the table next to his laptop. He pulls his journal out of his bag, flicking through the last few days of research until he finds a fresh page. He takes an Oreo and dunks it in the milk while he waits for the internet to connect.

He's still got time, he tells himself. And the answer is out there somewhere, stabbing at him like an invisible knife. He will find it; he's got to. There's no other choice.