MAN OF LETTERS
WOW: Hand. Dean is often accused of not appreciating books. This is totally not the case …
200 words
Disclaimer: I don't own them!
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Sam looked up from the Babylonian text he was studying as Dean strode into the bunker's library.
"Hey dude," he exclaimed; "what're you doing here?"
"Looking for a book," Dean replied economically.
Sam glanced around him at the nine thousand two hundred and forty seven books in the library - and yes, he had counted and catalogued them all at one time or another.
"Looks like you've come to the right place," he grinned.
"Ha-frickin'-Ha," Dean replied; "okay then, Smartass, I'm looking for the Galdrastafir – you know, that 11th century almanac of Icelandic Mythology you were looking at the other day. So, stow the smart comments and give me a hand to find it."
Sam blinked. "Dean, I didn't think you …"
He was interrupted by Dean's triumphant 'HA!' as he found his prize.
"Dean, I've gotta say, you never fail to surprise me, I'd never have had you pegged as a fan of Scandinavian sagas!"
Dean hefted the massive leatherbound tome up under his arm and stared at Sam. "What? You don't think I'm gonna read this crap, do you? The leg on my sideboard's broken – and this thing is two and a half inches thick – perfect size to prop it back up."
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