Dean smiled, happily ignoring his brother as he rambled on about which jobs they should take. He wasn’t actively
listening to Sam—well, maybe he did ignore half of what his brother said most of the time—but the chips in his mouth were too delicious to ignore.
It was a shame this small town was the only place to get them. Stocking up on the small bags of chips seemed like a good idea.
“Hey, do you know how long the expiration for chips is?” Dean asked out loud. His brother only answered with silence.
He looked up from his place on the bed to see the pinched look Sam was giving. It was a look he was used to seeing—pursed lips, glare, and knitted eyebrows. The works.
Dean had affectionately dubbed it as ‘The Bitchface.’
“Have you been listening to
I’ve said?” Sam asked, a frown working itself onto his face.
“Of course I have, Sammy!” Dean replied in mock offense. “Something about an old lady dying… mysteriously?” The look did not change on his brother’s face.
“Not mysteriously then?” Sam sighed heavily, eyes returning back to whatever newspaper article he had in his hands. If his hands weren’t already occupied, surely they would be on his hips.
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