Served Cheap, Yet Delectable
"That's fucked, man," Dean says. "What did I ever do to you?"
It is hot and wonderful and something Sam ordinarily would never eat, but he's rolling it around in his mouth presently and staring with smug eyes at the now-empty baking sheet sitting atop the stove.
"It was my last one, you sonuva-"
"Don't insult Mom," Sam cuts him off, his gob still full of cheese, sausage, and pepperoni - the "deluxe" flavor, he's pretty sure the red box boasted. Mmm...deluxe.
Dean narrows his eyes, but his mouth snaps shut and he just stands there and scowls at Sam, his eyes drifting back to that same baking sheet, sadness falling through the green like the embers of a dying fire.
"It was my last one," Dean repeats quietly. Sam feels a stab of guilt. "Why, Sammy?"
Because, Sam thinks.
"Why?" Dean asks again, but Sam can barely hear it. It's barely a breath, really, and Sam's soul is aching like a thoroughly abused limb.
Your face, Sam thinks, because Dean would say it to him, if the situation were reversed.
He shifts on his huge feet, stares down at his boots.
"'Cause," Sam says petulantly, swallowing the last of it down. It's gone now.
"Are you five?"
Hey, that's Sam's line. Or something like it. Maybe not five, but a single digit, always directed at Dean in a demeaning fashion.
"It was there," Sam replies. "And don't act like you don't know."
"Like I don't know what?"
He knows. Sam knows he knows, he can see it in his brother's averting gaze, and that same rage that he felt right before he snatched the last tasty morsel off the sheet shoots through him yet again.
He walks over to his duffel bag with purpose, rummages through it for the tainted garments and holds them up for Dean to see.
"Look at them."
Dean's eyes seem spy something incredibly interesting on the carpet. "I don't-"
"Look at them, Dean."
Dean looks at them. Sam huffs a great irritated huff as he stretches his white boxer briefs between his hands, displaying the waistband which reads, in big block Sharpie-drawn letters: SAMMY.
Dean raises his hand to his mouth to hide his smirk of delight, but his eyes are twinkling like mad. "Was afraid you'd lose them," he says, his voice muffled.
"No, you weren't!" Sam squawks and Dean gives it up, laughs a big belly laugh, laughs it up until tears stream down his face. Laughs and laughs like a laughing bastard.
Then sobers. Clears his throat. Wipes his eyes with the back of a terse hand.
"Still no reason to eat a man's last Bagel Bite," Dean says.
Sam sniffs and pats his own belly with an oddly large hand.
Revenge is a dish best served cheap, yet delectable.