automated joke machine (dreamingwriter) wrote in justasmattering,
automated joke machine

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fic: The Weight of the Casserole

Title: The Weight of the Casserole
Author: dreamingwriter
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam/Becky/Understood!Chuck
Warnings: Nothing I think! Maybe language.
Spoilers: Not really spoilers for any episode, but this verse was written after 5x09.
Disclaimer: Supernatural would probably begin to rot our teeth if I owned it.
Summary: How long do you think it'll take him to notice that we took over his kitchen? (Becky and Sam share a moment.)
Author's Note: Second in the Furniture verse, the first being You Can Move the Furniture, though Casserole technically happens first. Still dedicated to bubbles83 and fledmusic for being awesome all the time and for encouraging this. This isn't as long or as fluffy as the first one, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Becky's fantasies used to be filled with hunting, Sam, and various food items. She never really thought about her future, except for the part where she thought she'd find her Sam, even if the real Sam was out there. Except for the part where she was so crushingly lonely that hiding behind samlicker81 in chat rooms helped. Supernatural and every aspect of the fandom helped, offered a chance to forget her future for a while.

But she had never thought that she would be standing in Chuck Shurley's, Carver Edmund's, kitchen, watching Sam Winchester pull the refrigerator from the wall so they can paint over the white space, feeling so overwhelmingly satisfied.

Sam tugs the appliance further into the room, wiping his forehead with paint flecked hands. It's more surreal to her then things have been since she swore in kindergarten that it would snow and four days later, in early November, class was canceled. And, at least at the moment, there is no licking.

"How's that?" Sam asks. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows and he picks up his paintbrush, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Great," she says. "You get the top half, I'll do the bottom." Becky dips her roller in the pale yellow color she bought to liven up Chuck's kitchen. It's the most recent in a series of tasks that have all but moved her in with him, but she can't see it as a bad thing. Chuck hasn't noticed yet, has been lost in the world of being a Prophet a lot lately, and it's worrying. He still eats, sleeps, and talks, but he's starting to look threadbare instead of his usual worn.

She won't let him fall apart, so she paints with Sam, the third part of their functioning unit, and pretends she can't hear the rumbling snore Chuck makes when he's beyond exhausted.

A touch on her shoulder brings her back to the kitchen. She looks up at Sam, whose hand is resting on her t-shirt. His hair falls in his face as he blinks, studying her. After a second, he grins. "How long do you think it'll take him to notice that we took over his kitchen?"

Becky laughs at him and it feels good to release amused puffs of air. "As soon as he recovers from being the mouthpiece of the Lord."

Sam shakes his head, smile softening the line of his jaw. "Nah, it'll take him months and then he'll wonder what home makeover show we signed him up for." He swipes his brush over the last blank spaces on the wall.

"Want to make it a bet?" Sam looks startled until he nods, mischief lighting something in his eyes. Smirking, Becky thinks it's almost unfair. She's been half in love with Sam since she picked up the Supernatural books and all this time with Chuck has been nothing if not informative. She knows he likes eating waffles, not pancakes, trimming his beard in the early afternoon, and sighing about how he should fix the place up. (There have been several references to Castiel exploding, but she really doesn’t want to think about that when she wipes dust away from the ceiling fan.) He gets trapped under the alcohol, but she can see his quirks resting under the surface of his skin.

"Shake on it," Sam says, taking her hand. "What do you want if you win?"

She considers it for a half a second. "I want a meal with all of us: You, me, Chuck, Dean, and Cas. I don't care how you get them here, but I want to see if they're really as bad as you say they are."

The grip on her hand tightens and Sam looks away. "Uh-" he starts, sounding pained and awkward and she squeezes his hand back. "You know I haven't told Dean."

"Yeah," Becky says softly. "But I'm sure he'd like to know."

Sam snorts. "I don't think he's all that interested in my love life, Becky."

"You wonder about his," she returns, blinking at him incredulously.

Sam flushes, but shakes his head. "It's different. I mean, Cas is the angel who pulled him out of Hell, so it's kind of understandable that Dean's interested in him. It's weird that Cas is a guy and that he even cares about that, but it's not..." He sighs. "It's not the same."

"Sam," she says, stepping into his space, her hand still tucked in his grip. "Dean won't care, you know he won't. He'll be happy if you are."

His eyes close and it's strange that she knows he's thinking about really acknowledging something good in his life. She can hear it like she's reading Chuck's words aloud the way she did for years before she even began to think that the Winchesters were real. "Yeah," he whispers.

When his eyes meet hers she smiles. "What do you want if you're right about Chuck?"

"Pancakes on waffle day," Sam says and he looks lighter. "If it really takes him that long, he deserves it."
Tags: character: becky, character: sam winchester, pairing: chuck/becky/sam, television: supernatural

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