kellifer | Three things...

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1. Since I am a lameass who totally failed at sending anyone ANYTHING this year, I am offering for Xmas timestamps or alternate POVs of anything I have written. C'mon, all is fair game. If you don't usually request something, go ahead. I will then aim to post them all between the 23rd-25th December.

2. I was meaning to have Robot!Dean done for Xmas but I am just not. HOWEVER, I am willing to post the first part of it, but think very carefully and then answer this poll (I just typed pole first... ha!):

[Poll #1500080]

3.

apieceofcake just ROCKS my socks. I now have a Supernatural fridge magnet, fridge calender and Winchester and snowman adorned card. *glees*

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Date: 2009-12-22 02:59 am (UTC)

From:

kellifer-fic.livejournal.com

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"Pumpkin pie is like, the last proof that there is someone out there watching over us," Dean says, licking his fingers and then smacking his hands down on the diner table in front of him. Admittedly, pumpkin pie is more a Thanksgiving thing but bless Alma and George Jones and their literal Mom and Pop diner just down the road from Dean's bar with year-round pumpkin pie.

Sam with one of his hands occupied with his own fork and the other with fending off Dean's as he tries to pillage the remains of Sam's own pie, serves him right for always eating slower, merely treats Dean to an exasperated glance.

"You want another slice hon?" Alma asks, swinging by their table. It's three in the morning and Dean thinks that possibly all-night diner's are another sign.

Especially for guys that have to work the late shift and have brothers with nothing else to do.

"I'd love a slice you naughty minx," Dean says with a smirk and makes to smack Alma on the backside. She giggles like a girl as she darts out of the way.

"So hey, I got you something," Dean says and pulls a package out of his jacket pocket. It's wrapped in paper with the words no peeking repeated over and over on it which made Dean laugh when he saw it.

Sam puts down his fork slowly and then drums his fingers on the table with an exasperated expression. Sam didn't need to sign to communicate what he was saying. You said no presents this year, ass.

Dean shrugs and shakes the package. "Cost me a whole dollar. I swear," Dean promises. Sam rolls his eyes and takes the package, unwrapping it carefully like he's going to do something girly and recycle it or some crap.

When he's done he just blinks and looks at Dean.

Dean had seen it when he was in the dollar store, that wasn't a lie. Sam ran through notebooks like no one's business because he couldn't risk speaking these days and his sign language was a mongrel mix of what they could learn off the internet and a shorthand they'd developed together which basically meant he couldn't really speak to other people, even deaf ones.

When Dean had seen the cheap imitation etch-a-sketch that was the size of a notepad with an attached pen he'd grabbed it.

Sam reaches across the table and taps the back of Dean's hand with two fingers.

Alma appears again with a frown on her face. "Sorry hon, all out I'm afraid," she says as she refills their coffee cups and then disappears out back.

Sam looks down at his pie, still half-unfinished then at Dean again and smiles. He pushes his plate at Dean.

Thanks.