so i basically wrote a crack fic where everythings kinda happy and content and the oscars are on and sam wants to watch them
"I’m not gonna watch it with you, Sammy."
"And why not, Dean?"
Dean sighs and he makes a face at his brother. “You know why not.”
"Come on, Dean, it’s just the Oscars. You can sit through- "
"Three hours of crying people in stupid clothes and ‘in memory of’s? I don’t think so."
"You used to like them."
Dean scoffs and skirts around the Devil’s Trap painted above the doorway into the kitchen. “What the hell are you talking about? I did not.”
Sam raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, so some of the people there are pretty hot. What can I say?"
Sam shrugs. “You could say ‘Yes, Sam, I’ll watch the Oscars with you’.”
"Yeah, but I don’t want to."
Sam rolls his eyes and stands in front of the fridge as Dean reaches for the handle. There’s no doubt in his mind that Dean could move him if he wanted to but Sam has plenty different exorcisms memorized and Dean knows three things: the start to each of them, that Sam knows them, and that he isn’t afraid to use them.
"Just watch the Oscars with me," Sam pleads. "Come on, Dean."
Dean stands with his hands on his hips in the attitude of teenage girl sass and tells him, “You are such a girl.”
Sam tilts his head hopefully. “That’s not a no.”
"Goddammit-" Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine. Fine. I’ll watch the Oscars with you." He walks straight through the door of the kitchen.
Well, tries to.
"Dammit, Sammy, let me out."
Sam laughs and pulls the remaining piece of apple pie from the fridge. Dean watches in silent fury from his place stuck in the Devil’s Trap. “Don’t you dare, Sammy. Don’t you do it.”
"Do what?" Sam asks, taking a bite.
"The Oscar for Best Male Actor goes to…"
The announcer on the screen slides the card out of the envelope. Sam will never admit that he’s thrumming in anticipation.
"Leonardo di Caprio!"
Sam chuckles. “Well would ya look at that.”
"Mm-hmm," Dean says. "Looks like Di Caprio finally got that Oscar."
His voice is casual. Innocent.
Too casual. Too innocent.
Dean looks over, eyes wide and face comfortably neutral. “Yah.”
"Did - did anyone - was there something supernatural involved in this?" Sam asks carefully.
"What?" Dean snorts. "No, of course not."
"Did… did Leonardo di Caprio sell his soul for that Oscar?"
Dean won’t meet his eyes. “How would I know? Maybe he did. I’m not a crossroads demon.”
Sam puts his head in his hands. “How long does he have left?”
Dean sighs and his facade drops. “Ten years.”
"That’s pretty generous."
"What can I say? I’m a nice guy," Dean says, spreading his hands. "Demon," he corrects after a thought.
"Wait, wait. You did this?" Sam asks. "But you’re not-"
"Dude." Dean fixes him with a look. His eyes flicker black for a second. "I’m a Knight of Hell. I can do whatever the fuck I want."
Sam lets his head drop back onto the back of the couch. “Dammit, Dean.”
Dean chuckles. “I got to make out with Leonardo di Caprio.”