Dean Winchester (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} _jerk) wrote, |
Once he's done with the burgers (it's better to eat them quickly: that way they're just lukewarm and greasy. Giving yourself time to taste the actual ingredients is a mistake) he sloughs the boot off with his free foot, kicking it across the room where it lies on its side looking slightly forlorn given the overall lack of clutter (Sam's obviously tidied up, despite Dean's protests that he likes his side of the room that way) and sprawls back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in the hope it will prove more interesting than his whiny bitch of a brother. It doesn't, and there's a weird sour taste from the burgers (didn't swallow fast enough, then) and... yeah, this sucks.
Frowning, he sets about making things less sucky. Which means turning on the radio, and fiddling with the knobs until it's bye-bye freaky-ass hallelujah fire-and-brimstone nonsense and hello semi-decent classic rock, and then heading to the bathroom to retrieve one of the beers - fine, two of them. Not that Sam deserves one; they can't afford a room with a refrigerator, of course, so he's using the bath as a makeshift cooler. Things could be worse, and he's a resourceful bastard because he's had to be. He doesn't think about why they spend money on beer rather than supplementing their diets with something other than fast food, or why he's listening to music that's probably older than he is. It's the way they've always done things, and he's a creature of habit. Even if those habits are less his and more John's.
When he returns it's with less of a cacophony because he hooks the door shut with a foot rather than slamming it, hands full of beer, and he drops into a seat on Sam's bed rather than his own, tilting one of the bottles towards his brother. “So. What'cha doing?”