AN: So, this one's for a bit of light relief. Shits & giggles, literally.
Dean sat with his shoulder to the window, his arm behind Gen along the top of the booth seat. He was wearing last night's clothes but was fresher than he had been in months. He'd pulled Gen into the seat beside him and seemed to be – short of doe eyes, gushing compliments and some cheesy double-entendre – doing all the gestures a boyfriend would do. She was taking a while to get used to it.
Sam was taking his time, somehow, getting to this little diner a few doors down. They'd already turned the waitress away once before Sam slid in opposite them. Dean, finally picking up the menu, chucked him a happy "Hey". Sam duly returned it, but for some reason when Gen said "Mornin'" she couldn't keep it straight: Her eyes immediately darted and her lips disappeared.
"Hey," Sam answered with the cheesiest teeth-chewing grin she'd ever seen. She barely got a chance to eyebrow that off before their waitress appeared again.
As soon as she'd gone, Dean pulled out the paper and started studying the obituaries. Gen wondered if he was actually avoiding Sam, who was wearing that grin like a prize turd.
"You alright there?" she asked, taking the bait since she was too uncomfortable to shake it off.
"I'm gooood," he purred, the little shit.
"You fuckin wanna go?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Innocence feigned, more grinning.
"The carpark's right there."
"Yeah? Right now?"
"Let's go little one, we can fit in a spankin' before your egg'n bacon."
They both made to stand, all jutted chins and cheeky, but Dean finally chimed in, "Woah kids. Oookay, okay. Don't make me get involved." He pulled on Gen's arm and faced the table properly to say to Sam "But that's the last time I save your smart ass."
Sam laughed it off and seemed to get back to normality, but Gen was realising it was going to take some time before this relationship reconfiguration would sit easy for her.
Coffees arrived, and Sam asked "So, what's in town?" as he glanced at Gen over his steaming cup.
"Yeah-yeah. I think there's a banshee," she blew on her too-hot drink, "… which might be nothing, or nothing bad at least. But it sounds like more and life was quiet, you know, so it was just what was next."
"Okay, cool," Sam shrugged. "How d'you hear about it?"
"Jeez it was so far removed," she put her cup down and leaned back. "I was checking out the local historical society to see if they had any useful texts on anything, coz it was that quiet, and this school group is going through. I heard some kids talking about the incident and they were arguing. This boy had read about it, recognised this girl's surname, and had asked her if her uncle'd had a heart attack - the report said heart attack - and she was all "Yeah, well, it wasn't a heart attack, it was a curse and my aunty saved him coz our great-great-great aunty told her."
"Her great-great-great aunty?" Dean checked.
"Yep, three 'great's. Anyway, the guy, who was totally crushing on her by the way, paid her out for believing in curses-"
"-OMG, what a douchebag!" Sam mocked.
Gen mocked his Valley-girl right back "-I know right? Well, Jenna just owned that jerk. Got all up in his face and laid down the truth. For rella."
"I don't think I can stand you two doing this much longer," Dean moaned. He looked at Gen with something between pleading and warning. To which she replied by giving her coffee and long noisy slllllurp.
"Aw, fuck," he rubbed his face while Sam smirked. The food arrived and they all tucked in. Gen and Dean had gotten the same – deep-fried kitchen – and Sam had gotten salad, steak and eggs.
"Anyway, it seems like the banshee is a family friend, but I'm curious about what kind of heart attack would look like a curse."
"Why was it even in the papers," Dean asked, cheek full of bacon, "if it's just a heart attack?"
"He was the first patient of the town's new ambulance service," she cheerily quipped and popped some hashbrown. How's about that.
The brothers both made faces at the randomness of that luck as they munched on their food. They all took a few moments to get some grub into themselves.
"I like how you've bought a garden for your cow and your chicken," Gen gestured with her knife. "It's so rustic." She was beginning to think she wouldn't be able to manage a normal conversation with Sam ever again, the way they kept stirring each other this morning.
"Yours should come with a casket," he mumbled.
"Bitterness gives you cancer," she squinted her eyes into a shitty smile as she chewed.
"Bite me."
"Cancer again!" and then she thought better of it and made an effort. "Is it good though? Yum?"
He went along, thank goodness. "Yeah, the dressing is a bit unique, but it's all good."
And so the banter and chat kept on. Sam tried not to look when Dean's arm slip down her back, or notice when his hand was on her thigh, but he couldn't help watch her tense at those things and then soften when she looked at his brother. At least twice, he saw them lock eye contact, Dean breathing in her presence and Gen sighing out her tension, and it was like catching a flitting radio frequency.
After Sam had gone to pay, as he waited for them at the door, he saw Dean tell her something – probably along the lines of ignoring him - and kiss the side of her head as they left the booth. They looked easy together. As temporary as their luck ever was, Sam decided to back off a little, play nice, and give her a chance to get used to their good fortune. She was, after all, one of his favourite people.
And to that point, once they were heading out to the Uncle's farm, Gen found Sam in the backseat, ready to go. She leaned down to look at him through the window and he smiled kindly, which she quickly and gratefully returned.
Straight road was soon ahead and behind, and they settled into the hour-long trip, watching the farmland roll by under a batch of steady, grey rain. Dean had reached out for Gen's hand and she'd smiled at him goofily coz he really didn't have to do that but it was nice. After about half an hour, Sam piped up, finally.
"Uh, guys," he shuffled in his seat. "I got a bit of a situation here."
"What's up?" Dean asked.
"I think that salad was a bit dodgy."
Gen looked back at him. "You okay?" His colour seemed good, he wasn't sweating.
"No, I'm not too bad, but if you see a bathroom you should pull over."
"You gonna puke?" she quizzed.
"Nnnnope," he winced, twisting in his seat again. She looked at his seat, dread dawning.
"Dean… yyyou need to drive faster."
"Sam, there's nothin out here for miles," he was glancing in the rear-vision mirror. "It's totally rural. And raining. You want me to pull over by a bush? Or just head for the forest?"
"Uh," he squirmed, gripped his seatbelt, "I think… I think it's mostly gas… at the moment."
Gen turned around again "You wanna use a safety word or some-ooooooohsweet merciful Jebus!" she put her hand over her mouth and nose. Dean pre-emptively wound down a window and leaned into the spraying breeze, thankful the rain was coming down on Gen's side. Sam wouldn't move a muscle. If he could help it.
Gen quickly cranked her window down too, just enough to keep from getting really wet. "Did you exorcize a cannibal?!"
"I'm sorry! It was the salad!"
Dean got a hint of the pong, "Oh my-" and tried to comment, "My GAHD! Sam! You're gonna die Sam!"
"Are you dead? Are you dying ass first?" Gen asked.
"Don't make me laugh!" Sam was mortified, both sets of cheeks fighting to hold it together. He needed his diaphragm to be still.
"You're killing the meat before you eat it right?"
"Cut it out Dean."
Suddenly Gen had a flash of their date at the fancy restaurant, the fart jokes that had irked the woman beside them, and how toe-tinglingly brilliant it was to make Dean laugh. Sam could save himself: there would be no mercy from her. Especially since it began to sneak around the fabric of her sleeve. It was very effluent.
Gen held her arm over her face like Count Dracula, to block the reek, and put on an accent to match. "Arr you sure, Samuel, it vos da salad? Vy ar-ent you puking it up? Hhhow did it get to your aaarse so kvickly?" Intense eyebrows.
"Please, stop Gen!" Sam wheezed, beginning to edge his hand under his backside.
Another stench hit her. "Oh Sam! Again?!" Gen turned back to her window, sucking in the wet air. "What crazy diet are you on? Can you finish it, please?!"
"I didn't go again!" he whined.
She whirled around to glare at him. "It has layers?"
Sam was laughing sadly now, and Dean bit down on his grin, but Gen wasn't holding back. "Good God. We're stuck in a box with the Willy Wonka of farts… Dean, we're gonna blow up into giant turds and he'll have to roll us back to the motel."
"It was the fucking salad," Sam bawled to the ceiling. "The dressing came from a fucking hex bag!"
"You do have a ridiculous diet Sam," Dean yelled into the wet wind. "What crazy celebrity thing're you trying now?"
"Some new suppository diet," Gen worked on it with him.
"Nah… Sam, would never shove crap… up… his ass," Dean considered.
"No-no," Gen agreed. "No, it's all natural-"
"Stop the goddam car," Sam barked, undoing his seatbelt.
"Ohshit," Dean muttered and did what he was told. But it wasn't the emergency he expected. Sam got out of the car, more awkwardly than usual, and stormed down the embankment in the rain, to a fairly dense patch of shrubbery. Inside that, and the hazy rain, there wasn't much that could be seen or heard, even if you tried. Thank goodness.
"Honey, I forgot how good you were with fart jokes," Dean smiled at her longingly.
"You too, sweetheart. But then when have we had so much inspiration," she replied. "Poor guy. That was fucking rank. There's gotta be a brown cloud back there." They giggled.
Minutes later, Sam trudged back up to the car, opened the door and squeaked into his seat, huffily shaking rain from his hot head. Gen and Dean, though, had sympathetic faces.
"You okay?" she asked again. "Do you want to go back? It's no problem."
"No," Sam huffed, "I think I'm pretty much done."
Dean nodded, and wondered "Still got both your socks?"
"Nope."
"Youch," she muttered. "Well, well-managed there man. That was rough."
"Thanks," Sam sighed, and he truly meant it.
They drove on, the wet weather keeping up.
"Soo," Sam broke the silence, feeling like a little sport, "what's involved in a suppository diet?"
Gen turned and smiled at him before taking on a scientific seriousness. "Ahem. Well, I imagine… you begin your day with a nice nutritious, warm broth enema. And then you just… snack in the afternoon."
"Snack? On what?"
"Oh, you know, grapes… olives…"
Dean helped out: "Cherries… sultanas…"
"Yeah… maybe the odd baby carrot," Gen added. Everyone pretended they weren't grinning.
"Bananas?" Dean asked. How could he resist? Sam scoffed at that one.
"Phwoar that's a lot of fffffibre," she considered. The brothers chuckled. "Although, there is a smaller variety of banana-"
"Oh yeah?" Sam asked in mock hopefulness, giggling gently.
"Yeah, but really, I think it's just shorter. It's got the same…"
"Thickness?" Sam offered.
"No, there's a word…. Girth," Gen said. She reached over to gently touch Sam's knee in confidential advice: "It's called a Lady Finger."
The boys lost it there, both bursting before Gen said "And between you, me and the Chinese Gooseberries, I hear someone can't get enough fibre…" she nodded at Sam furtively. "Hey Ffffriday... Where you been?" And then she covered her face with a hand, hardly believing herself. Sam and Dean had already dissolved into silent laughter.
"You realise," Sam struggled, "Uhuh-huh, you realise we're talking about shoving food up my ass, right?"
"Don't shove sweetie. And it's because we care, Sam. That ass is very precious to us," Gen assured him. Then she winced, pretty sure she got another suspect whiff. "You sure you're all done there?"
"Sorry, the laughing probably got me."
Gen reached into her bag and pulled out a small pack: "Mint?"
"OKAY!" Dean cried, wiping his eyes, "Enough! Mercy! I can't see to drive!"
They let their giggles subside as best they could as Dean slowed the car into the bends of the forest. "Oookay," Gen conceded in falsetto, "okay, yes," she cleared her throat sensibly, "We're probably going to a sombre conversation." At that same moment an ambulance silently pulled out of a driveway before them, a station-wagon close behind. Sure enough, it was the driveway they intended to use.