Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

E/O Challenge: Pinch. 2 x 200 word drabbles about making do. #1: Why Sam can't bear to eat pie. #2: Sam lacks the correct ingredients.

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Feeling the Pinch

"Necessity's sharp pinch!" - 'King Lear', William Shakespeare

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A/N: Why Sam can't bear to eat pie. Teen!chesters. Set pre-series. 200 words.

Pinch Point

"When it comes to the pinch, human beings are heroic" - George Orwell

Sam walked into the small kitchenette to discover Dean devouring a pie.

What a hypocrite. He always gets so cranky when I help myself. No wonder we never have enough food.

"You gonna eat that whole thing yourself?" he asked through pinched lips. He couldn't believe his brother had been holding out on him.

Dean started. "It's way out of date, but seemed a shame to waste it," Dean explained, a little defensively. "Besides, Dad's back and this time he's got money."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"You want some?" Dean called after him.

Sam stopped, his eyes caught by the sight of the squalid room's filthy sink. "You said you'd already eaten," he muttered, thinking back to the slightly stale cereal they'd finished off last night.

"Hmm, what was that?" asked Dean, licking apple sauce from the metal foil.

Sam inspected the pile of washing up. Just one bowl.

He wondered about all the times Dean had somehow "found" them food, yet he struggled to remember the last time he'd actually seen his brother sit down and eat with him.

"Nothing," answered Sam through a sudden lump in his throat. "Eat your pie, you deserve it."

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A/N: Sam lacks the correct ingredients. Set season 9. 200 words.

Taken With a Pinch of Salt

Dean found his brother searching through the bunker's kitchen cupboards. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd make us all something for dinner for a change," explained Sam from the depths of the larder. "I'm just checking we've got the right ingredients."

"Okay," Dean chuckled, thinking he'd play along but reserve judgment on actually eating the result. "What d'you need?"

Sam peered myopically at his recipe. "Er, eggs?"

"Oh no, those are salamander eggs," cried Castiel, grabbing the box from Sam's hands. "I only put them there for safe keeping; they hatch when the shells break."

Sam shook his head that this was his life. "Milk?"

"Yep." Dean sniffed the contents of the carton with all the instincts of someone well-versed in the vagaries of motel refrigerators. "Nope, that's off. Really off."

"Flour?"

Dean inspected the grey-speckled powder dubiously. "Do they still sell this brand?"

"At least we've got butter," sighed Sam.

"Er, no. Don't be using that," stammered Dean hurriedly, turning a surprising shade of red.

Sam stared for a long moment. "You know, I'm not even going to ask," he said finally.

"And... a pinch of salt."

"Yeah, I reckon we've got enough to cover that," laughed Dean.

(;,;)