A/N: I don't know about anyone else, but after 4.20 I could really use something light to keep me from wallowing. Oh, boys. So I'm revisiting the early days - back in S1, when their biggest worries were daddy issues and finding the thing that killed their mom, and Jess. The good old days. This story is not yet complete, but it shouldn't be dragged out for too long. This was meant to be a quick fluff piece, but it grew a quasi-plot. :)

Thanks go to LdyAnne for her alpha, typo-spotting and encouragement!

Disclaim: The boys aren't mine, but you can be sure if they were I wouldn't be as mean to them as Kripke is.

Haiku! (God Bless You)
Prologue

"The cow is noble, and good with extra onions; I like it bloody."

Sam Winchester didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He was dangerously close to both, but the latter only a direct result of the former. None of this was exactly Dean's fault, but that didn't make it any less funny. He watched with misleading serenity as his brother's jaw muscles worked like crazy and a vein popped out on his forehead from the apparent strain. Everything is fun and games until someone has an aneurysm, he thought.

"The air in springtime, it is filled with the sweet scent," Dean continued, a dull red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. He plopped the menu down, sliding it to the edge of the table and finished, "Of cherry blossoms."

"Say what now, hon?" Maxine, the waitress, asked, appearing both dumbfounded and horrified. She held the pencil mid-air, as if uncertain how to proceed.

Not that Sam could blame her.

"He'll have a burger with lots of onions, rare. And he'll also have the cherry pie for dessert," Sam interpreted. It was an educated guess, really, but he was getting good at this. He quirked an eyebrow at his brother, barely biting back a shit-eating grin. "Probably with ice cream. Do you want ice cream, Dean?"

"Nothing would delight, my tongue like vanilla bean – yes, yes to ice cream." Dean rested his arms on the table, bending to thump his forehead on them, the picture of abject misery.

"Ooookay." Maxine scribbled on her pad, giving the top of Dean's head a long, pitying look before she turned to Sam. She leaned slightly, speaking out of one side of her mouth, "Is he like the Rain Man or something?"

"Or something."

"Toothpicks fall to floor, I cannot count them at all," Dean said, voice muffled but cranky. "Ask and I will maim."

Since Dean couldn't see, Sam gave Maxine a wide, bright smile. It was enough to distract from the (unbeknownst to her) very real threat to her health and well-being. No need for them to bring any additional attention onto themselves. He suspected his brother regretted his own suggestion to get food, but Dean's loss was Sam's gain. He only wished he could manage to get Dean waxing poetic recorded somehow. Unfortunately, Dean thwarted his every attempt. Sam figured it was because the first thing Dean would have thought of if their roles were reversed was documenting it and then sharing with any and everyone. His brother knew almost every trick in the prank book.

"And what about you, sweetie?" Maxine asked, now trying not to stare at Dean. She mostly failed, a mix of fascination and awe alternating on her features. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have the chicken salad sandwich, please, with the soup of the day," Sam said, keeping his smile cheerful. "Thanks."

Maxine scooped up the menus, mouthing 'Is he okay?' and waiting for an affirmative before heading toward the kitchen. She muttered something about some days being weirder than others.

Now that he could relate to. Their lives were strange anyway, but this latest thing was bordering on ridiculous. All right, it had long passed ridiculous. He'd only been away a few too-short years, but he hadn't missed the insanity. Or the lying, cheating, stealing and grave-digging.

And while it was never going to stop being about fifteen different kinds of hilarious, Dean's weird predicament was also slowing them down. His brother might as well be speaking like Yoda, which left most of the personal interaction up to him. Probably all from now on, judging by Dean's state of aggravation at trying to order dinner, which, yes, Sam could've stepped up and prevented. Maybe next time. If they ever figured out how to handle the bigger issue, Sam had to hope it wasn't going to involve any exorcisms or spoken rites. It wasn't like Dean could help with that while he was stuck spouting baffling haiku.

But, hey, at least they were on the right track now, and that it wasn't what he'd initially thought it was. That was a huge relief to him on a personal level.

"She's gone," Sam said, wiping his expression clear of all humor. "It's safe to come out."

In response, Dean jostled his head, pulling his right hand from under it to give Sam a one-fingered-salute.

"Hey, man, you were the one who wanted a dinner break. Didn't I offer to bring something in again? I could have sworn I did. After what happened at the library, I would have thought you'd jump on the slave labor idea to avoid seeing people."

Dean added his left middle finger to the salute, resting his forehead on the table instead. "You try to be nice, but I know what's going on. Disingenuous."

Wow, not only was that one not very existential, but Dean Winchester had uttered a five-syllable word. Maybe this all wasn't really a curse but a secret blessing, Dean showing the brains Sam knew he had. He decided it would be in his best interest not to suggest that out loud to his miserable brother. Of course, he also couldn't really deny that Dean was partly right. He was, in fact, enjoying himself at Dean's expense. So sue him, he was taking advantage of a rare opportunity. He was only human.

"Like you wouldn't be enjoying every minute of this if it were me," Sam said with a soft snort. He glanced around the restaurant, spotting a few recognizable faces. He nodded at Dr. Markinson staring at them from a nearby booth. He smiled at the man, then looked back to his brother. "But you gotta calm down, Dean. I know you're frustrated, but as long as you stay cool people are just going to think you're quiet, maybe a little weird. That's not too far off from the truth anyway."

Finally sitting up, Dean gave Sam a look that would have killed anyone else. His lips were pressed together, as if to keep himself from speaking any more barely understandable poetry. Actually, that was exactly what Dean was doing. He picked up the plastic dessert menu holder, flipping through each page like it was the most important and fascinating thing on the planet.

It was going to get real lonely real fast, Sam realized with a pang, if Dean truly stopped talking to him until this was over. He didn't like that thought, both for what it meant about his life now and his life as it had been only a few months back. He'd left his friends easily enough, but Dean he'd miss. Dean he had missed. He frowned and said the only thing he could to alleviate the sudden darkness of his thoughts.

"And I'll bet now you wish Dad had given us more than latitude and longitude."

Abusive haiku was not forthcoming, but Dean chucked the dessert menu at him. It caught him on the left cheekbone. He supposed that meant he'd just taken a proverbial pie to the face.

&-&-&