“I don’t feel good about this,” Sam says softly. The food is good, better than he’d thought it would be. It actually beats most of the crap they eat at diners.
“Yeah, well, nobody likes coming to soup kitchens,” Dean replies, “we ain’t here to have fun.”
Sam shakes his head. “No, I mean – these people are hungry, Dean. They have nothing. I mean, if we really need food that bad…”
“We what?” Dean asks. “Steal food? Money? Credit card fraud? That’s how most of the people here get by, too. We deserve it just as much as they do.”
“Maybe.”
*
“This sucks,” Sam muttered.
“Free food, dude,” Dean replied, “don’t go looking at gift horses, or whatever they say.”
“Dad’s supposed to be taking care of us. That’s his job.”
Dean slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I’m here, Sammy. I’ll take care of you.”
The bread was going stale, but Sam was starved, and when Dean handed half his share over without a word, Sam couldn’t quite make his mouth work to say thanks.
*
There’s a small group of people – men and women, probably only Sam’s age – in one corner, playing cards and laughing.
“How much money do you think they have?” Dean asks, eyes glittering.
Sam groans. “Dude, you’re not going to hustle homeless people!”
“I know, I know.” Dean grins at him. “I’m kidding, dude.”
They polish off their meals, Dean practically licking the plate.
“Man, that was awesome.”
Sam watches the line. It never seems to get any shorter.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
Dean wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Sammy, you saved this world. All these people? They wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. If anyone deserves free goddamn food, it’s you.”
*
“Excuse me?”
A young woman, college kid maybe, stopped them on their way out, a plastic bag in her hand.
Sam hid behind his brother instinctively. Was she a monster? Had they been made?
The woman handed Dean the bag.
“It’s not much,” she said quietly, “just some essentials. Bread, some rice – microwave rice – some cookies and things.”
Dean actually looked touched, and Sam clung to his brother’s arm, looking at this girl, who’d probably never missed a meal in her life.
“Thank you.” It was Sam who spoke up, smiling a little.
“God bless,” she replied.
Sam followed his big brother out the door, and wondered if maybe Dad was right. They hunted so that people like her could be safe.
*
“Sir?”
Dean is unsuccessfully trying to chat up one of the volunteers – Sam’s pretty sure they have rules about fraternising with clients, but his brother’s nothing if not determined – and Sam takes his second cup of coffee, wonders for a moment if he’s about to be told off.
The young woman absolutely isn’t missing half her face, and she definitely isn’t after Sam presses on his hand scar. He looks guiltily down at his cup.
“Uh, sorry, I…”
“It’s okay,” she tells him brightly. She’s pretty, blonde, and she smiles, a mouth full of well-kept and daily-brushed teeth. “I just wanted to give you and your friend this.”
“My brother,” Sam says absently, taking the box from her.
“If there’s something you can’t use or don’t eat, let me know, I can give it to someone else…”
Sam surveys the contents – rice, pasta, Oreos (and Dean’s going to cream himself over those), some fresh vegetables (probably from the community garden), a few canned things.
They’ve eaten a hell of a lot worse.
“This is amazing,” he says sincerely, “thanks.”
She smiles. “God bless.”
God hasn’t put in an appearance, not even for the fucking apocalypse, and Cas…
“God bless you too,” he says.
Maybe God is gone, and certainly Cas is, but the world’s still here, and that’s not going to change, not if him and his brother have any say in it.
Sam hands the box to his brother, isn’t surprised when he claims the Oreos for himself, and they head out to their shitty little stolen car, and Sam swears that Roman and those big-mouth bastards are going straight back to Purgatory.
FILLED: Breadline Pt 2/2
“I don’t feel good about this,” Sam says softly. The food is good, better than he’d thought it would be. It actually beats most of the crap they eat at diners.
“Yeah, well, nobody likes coming to soup kitchens,” Dean replies, “we ain’t here to have fun.”
Sam shakes his head. “No, I mean – these people are hungry, Dean. They have nothing. I mean, if we really need food that bad…”
“We what?” Dean asks. “Steal food? Money? Credit card fraud? That’s how most of the people here get by, too. We deserve it just as much as they do.”
“Maybe.”
*
“This sucks,” Sam muttered.
“Free food, dude,” Dean replied, “don’t go looking at gift horses, or whatever they say.”
“Dad’s supposed to be taking care of us. That’s his job.”
Dean slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I’m here, Sammy. I’ll take care of you.”
The bread was going stale, but Sam was starved, and when Dean handed half his share over without a word, Sam couldn’t quite make his mouth work to say thanks.
*
There’s a small group of people – men and women, probably only Sam’s age – in one corner, playing cards and laughing.
“How much money do you think they have?” Dean asks, eyes glittering.
Sam groans. “Dude, you’re not going to hustle homeless people!”
“I know, I know.” Dean grins at him. “I’m kidding, dude.”
They polish off their meals, Dean practically licking the plate.
“Man, that was awesome.”
Sam watches the line. It never seems to get any shorter.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
Dean wraps an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Sammy, you saved this world. All these people? They wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. If anyone deserves free goddamn food, it’s you.”
*
“Excuse me?”
A young woman, college kid maybe, stopped them on their way out, a plastic bag in her hand.
Sam hid behind his brother instinctively. Was she a monster? Had they been made?
The woman handed Dean the bag.
“It’s not much,” she said quietly, “just some essentials. Bread, some rice – microwave rice – some cookies and things.”
Dean actually looked touched, and Sam clung to his brother’s arm, looking at this girl, who’d probably never missed a meal in her life.
“Thank you.” It was Sam who spoke up, smiling a little.
“God bless,” she replied.
Sam followed his big brother out the door, and wondered if maybe Dad was right. They hunted so that people like her could be safe.
*
“Sir?”
Dean is unsuccessfully trying to chat up one of the volunteers – Sam’s pretty sure they have rules about fraternising with clients, but his brother’s nothing if not determined – and Sam takes his second cup of coffee, wonders for a moment if he’s about to be told off.
The young woman absolutely isn’t missing half her face, and she definitely isn’t after Sam presses on his hand scar. He looks guiltily down at his cup.
“Uh, sorry, I…”
“It’s okay,” she tells him brightly. She’s pretty, blonde, and she smiles, a mouth full of well-kept and daily-brushed teeth. “I just wanted to give you and your friend this.”
“My brother,” Sam says absently, taking the box from her.
“If there’s something you can’t use or don’t eat, let me know, I can give it to someone else…”
Sam surveys the contents – rice, pasta, Oreos (and Dean’s going to cream himself over those), some fresh vegetables (probably from the community garden), a few canned things.
They’ve eaten a hell of a lot worse.
“This is amazing,” he says sincerely, “thanks.”
She smiles. “God bless.”
God hasn’t put in an appearance, not even for the fucking apocalypse, and Cas…
“God bless you too,” he says.
Maybe God is gone, and certainly Cas is, but the world’s still here, and that’s not going to change, not if him and his brother have any say in it.
Sam hands the box to his brother, isn’t surprised when he claims the Oreos for himself, and they head out to their shitty little stolen car, and Sam swears that Roman and those big-mouth bastards are going straight back to Purgatory.