DONUT-GASM
Written for the Spn_BigPretzel Big Splat challenge on Livejournal
There's a case and there are donuts. Dean's only focussing on one of these things...
Disclaimer: I don't own them
xxxxx
It had been a quiet time in the supernatural world.
Over the past month, the Winchesters had dealt with a couple of bog-standard haunting jobs, a poltergeist who turned out to be a racoon trapped in the basement and a monumentally stupid troll which had been eating livestock in Wyoming.
To say that both Winchesters were currently suffering from a lack of motivation was a understatement…
Not to be deterred, this particular morning found Sam sitting across the bunker's table from Dean checking out new cases on the internet.
"So, reports of cattle mutilations in Des Moines?" He mused.
"Hmm…" came the response.
"A family hounded out of their home by unexplained activity in Boulder?"
"Mmm-hmm…"
"Twelve sightings of a red-eyed black dog in Salt Lake City?"
"Whatever…"
"Three mysterious disappearances linked to a donut shop in…"
Dean was on his feet, pulling his jacket on. "What are we waiting for? These people need our help!"
xxxxx
Six hours later, the brothers stood outside the colourful frontage of 'Dumpy's Donuts', a small, recently established unit at the unfashionable end of the Main Street in Marlborough Creek, Pop 2,100.
The town was small enough that three disappearances would be considered a major crisis, and Dean could not be happier.
"Sam, look," Dean was practically salivating as he eyed the store's modest frontage. "Two hundred varieties!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean; focus. There are three missing people."
"Well, yeah. Of course, that sucks," responded Dean; "but that's no reason not to sample some of the goods while I'm here. I mean, there's gotta be some benefits, right?"
"Whatever," Sam snorted; "you knock yourself out. Check out the store – I'm gonna look round the town and talk to a few people."
Late that evening, the Winchesters met up in the local diner. "…oh man, you should see this place," Dean gushed; "two hundred varieties! D'you now they do a white chocolate and lime donut. Who'da thought those go together? But, man – it's like, total barely-legal food porn. Then I tried the almond crunch and the berry blast. Damn! My tongue thought it had died and gone to heaven. Even the coffee and macadamia nut donut was a taste sensation, and coffee-flavoured stuff isn't even my favourite dessert, but … damn!"
Sam stared blankly at Dean, waiting for his brother to draw breath. He jumped in when he got his chance.
"Dean? The case?"
Dean looked up from his donut ponderations.
"So," Sam began; "I discovered from talking to a few of the townsfolk that the dude that disappeared last week was a server in the donut shop, and the other two were regulars there."
"Okay." Dean replied hesitantly.
"Dean?"
"That'll explain why they had a vacancy then."
"I guess," Sam replied.
"So I applied for the job," Dean continued.
"You what?"
"I applied for the vacancy server's job in the donut shop," Dean explained; "and I got it."
"You got a job?" Sam stared wide-eyed at his brother.
Dean shrugged. "Good way to get close to what's happening here?"
Sam had to concede that was true.
"Besides," Dean continued; "surrounded by two hundred varieties of donuts every day? That's not work, that's paradise."
Sam blinked, staring at Dean in mute astonishment.
"You do know that if you're working in the donut shop, you're not supposed to eat all the stock?"
Dean scoffed dismissively, "who's to know," He grinned.
"Well, the owner? Replied Sam, "when he does a stock take?"
"Oh, unknot your panties," Dean smirked; "if I'm going to have to work this stupid case, I'm only going to be in the job for a few days. Anyway, what's wrong with having a few perks on the job?"
xxxxx
A week passed and Sam would be the first to admit that he was amazed Dean had managed to go the whole week without being fired for eating half the store's stock. Every night, Dean came back to the motel with a bagful of donuts which he then proceded to sit and munch his way through, making the most offputting happy noises as he did so.
"So this one's peaches and cream, and it's awesome. But not as awesome as the cookies and cream, I mean that one's seriously orgasmic. I don't know which one I like best, the cookies and cream or the salted caramel. But then the triple chocolate cherry blast is freaking cool too…"
Suddenly, Sam really missed Dean talking incessantly about the impala.
But a week had passed, and Sam realised that they were no nearer to solving the case than they were when they arrived in Marlborough Creek. Dean might be working at ground zero in the donut store, but it was fair to say his focus wasn't on the case. He also realised that if they didn't reach a conclusion soon, he might be rolling Dean back to the bunker. A dozen donuts every day had to be having some sort of effect, and not a good one.
Sam vowed to step up his investigations the following day, see as it seemed Dean was going to be no practical help at all on this particular job.
xxxxx
The following evening, Sam waited in the motel room for Dean to get back. His investigations had borne fruit, and that was at once useful and scary.
He didn't have long to wait before Dean barrelled through the door.
"Sam you wouldn't believe; they've only launched a mint choc-chip donut Sam, and holy crap. They're like total, minty-fresh oozing food sex bliss!"
Sam grimaced. Those were not words he ever wanted to hear coming out of his brother's mouth.
"Dean, the three dudes that disappeared…"
"Mmmphhh?" Dean turned to face Sam, his mouth stuffed with half an almond caramel donut.
Sam sighed.
"The three dudes that disappeared. I spoke to their families again, and guess what?"
"Hmmph-wha?"
"All three of them were obsessed with the donuts from this store. I mean, like, addicted."
"Mmp… *gulp* … "well, I'm not surprised, they're freaking awesome!"
Sam shook his head in exasperation. "No Dean. My point is, the three dudes got addicted to the donuts, then they disappeared."
Dean nodded. "Okay…"
"YOU'RE addicted to the goddamn donuts," Sam snapped.
Dean paused and looked down at the half-eaten strawberry yoghurt donut in his hand, mere seconds before Sam snatched it away from him.
"HEY!" Dean yelped in wounded indignation; "I was eating that."
"Not any more," Sam snorted and binned it, ignoring the kicked-puppy look on Deans face as his eyes followed its trajectory into the trashcan.
"All the vics piled on loads of weight because they were eating mases of donuts and…" Sam paused; "Dean, what are you wearing?"
Dean looked down. "These?" he confirmed, plucking at his sweatpants; "these are my sweatpants. I had to put these on 'cause all my jeans have shrunk in the laundry. I told you that you were running that machine too darn hot!"
Sam sighed and knuckled his brow. He was sure he could feel a migraine coming on. But he was also pretty sure he knew now what he was dealing with.
The one good thing about their latest predicament was that every night Dean would come down from his day-long sugar high, crash out on the bed and fall into an exhausted sleep-coma. That night, confident that he wouldn't wake his snoring brother, Sam crept out of the motel and headed down to Dumpy's Donuts. He had a few supplies with him, among them a silver knife. If he was right in his belief, he'd be needing it.
It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for in the store's dank basement; a pishtaco's lair, complete with three bodies at various stages of draining, one he recognised from the missing posters as the dude whose recent disappearance had put the case on the Winchester's radar.
Sam crept through the shadowy room, hiding behind stacks of shelves laden with bags and bags of donut ingredients.
And that's where he saw him; the store's owner – Dumpy, he presumed, resting in post-prandial contentment in a tattered armchair.
Sam crept silently through the cobweb-strewn gloom toward the dozing figure until he was close enough to strike.
The creature's eyes shot open in shock at his sudden presence, and its slimy fat-sucking proboscis shot out reflexively. It leapt to its feet, but Sam was too quick, barrelling it into the corner of the room, and pushing it into chokehold against the wall.
"Selling your crappy donuts and fattening people up for the slaughter, right?"
"Nothing crappy about my donuts," it wheezed; "all local ingredients, plus that extra something special – a bit of Peruvian magic to make them extra moreish."
"You're getting people addicted, so they'll fatten themselves up?"
The Pishtaco grinned momentarily before it's face twisted into a mask of anger, and its proboscis shot out, narrowly missing Sam's throat.
Sam wasted no further time now he knew the truth and skewered it through the neck with the silver knife, watching impassively as it slid lifelessly to the floor.
As Sam made his way back up from the basement into the store, he thought how Dean would be back here tomorrow, stuffing his face with what remained of the donuts. He needed to finish the job…
xxxxx
The following day, the hazy late-morning sun was filtering through the motel's windows as Sam sat at the table, drinking his coffee and catching up with the latest hunter news. Dean had already headed out to the store to start his shift, but Sam wasn't expecting him to stay long.
An hour later, he heard the Impala pull up outside the motel window and feigned surprise as Dean let himself in, looking slightly shell-shocked.
"Forget something?" Sam enquired.
"The shop," Dean muttered; "it burnt down last night."
"Oh crap!" Sam exclaimed; "what about the owner?"
"No sign of him," Dean sighed. "Sam, my donuts have all gone up in smoke. Where am I going to get them now?"
"Don't know dude," Sam replied, trying hard to mask his smirk; "perhaps you need to give them up? Go back to pie?"
"But … I only got round to trying one hundred and twelve of the varieties. There was a red velvet and cream cheese one that had my name on it today…"
"Not any more apparently." Sam replied, trying to sound sympathetic and failing miserably.
Dean plopped into chair and groaned. "I'm hungry!"
"Well, I was just going to start preparing lunch," Sam announced brightly, as he got up from the table. "D'you want some?"
"What is it?" Dean asked.
"Cold turkey salad," Sam replied.
Dean's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"You might want to get used to it," Sam grinned; "I've got a feeling you'll be getting a lot of cold turkey in the next few days!"
xxxxx
end