515 words of Trent teaching Full Metal how to make his (in)famous hot sauce.

Prompt: "I also want to know the back story on Trents cooking! And maybe a story about the trouble Trent and full metal get into?" (Review from Hockey_92 on Chapter 14)

Written for my 2019 Summer Prompt Challenge on Ao3.

Cooking

Trent and Full Metal were a combination of crazy that rivaled on Sonny with…well anyone not Ray. Even Sonny had begged off when he'd heard the battle plan for this particular activity.

"Okay, now the chilies." Trent pointed, knife in hand, at the pile of red, orange, and green slices on the counter. Full Metal quietly obeyed, grabbing the pile with his bare hand and throwing it into the bubbling pot on the stove.

Somewhere, likely a bar, Sonny was shaking his head at Full Metal's gullibility. Full Metal didn't see it though, so he kept touching the peppers without gloves.

Trent pointed to the spice bottles next, "Now throw a bunch of that shit in. Enough to make the water change colors."

"What color?" Full Metal started dumping in spices by the tablespoon.

"Red." Trent rolled his eyes, "We're making hot sauce. If it isn't red, it's not good." If one were to ask literally any member of Bravo about that exact question, they would all have the same response.

~* Never taste Trent's Hot Sauce. *~

Full Metal had ignored this advice when it was given though, so he deserved the suffering coming his way. Bravo would not be sympathetic, but Brock would provide commentary upon request.

Snarky commentary.

"You got it, boss." Full Metal continued sprinkling in his seasonings until the pot of peppers and water was the color of blood. A brownish red that when set to boil would look reminiscent of a witch's cauldron. Candy-eating children not included.

Trent continued cutting peppers and a few onions. Full Metal added them as he pushed them across the cutting board. If one asked Trent how many peppers he put in his hit sauce, he would shrug, because he never counted.

When he finished, the pot was covered and left to simmer. It would be hours before the hot sauce would be finished. It would be ten minutes before Full Metal touched his eyes and had to be driven to the ER.

In those ten minutes, the following occured:

"So what d'ya put the hot sauce on when it's done?" Full Metal asked. Trent smiled, a touch manically, before going to his fridge. He opened it with a flourish.

Two racks of ribs lay on a shelf, wrapped in cellophane and redder than the cauldron's brew cooking on the stove.

"There is nothing, nothing, worthy of my hot sauce, but ribs." Trent pointed a finger at Full Metal, "I ever hear you used it for something else, I'll gut you."

Full Metal chuckled, nodded, "What about burgers?"

"No one would find your body." Trent clapped him on shoulder. His lips quirked up in a smile, "How 'bout a beer while we wait?" He pulled two from the fridge.

"Sure!" Full Metal jabbed his thumb towards the bathroom, "But the pepper fumes are killing me, I'm gonna go wash my face first."

Trent cracked his beer open, sipped the amber liquid as he waited by the counter. When a scream sounded, he sighed, closed his eyes, "Forgot to tell him to put gloves on."

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