Without A Trace >> Dean Winchester

12 | Tequila's Warm Embrace

"She drank to drown her pain, but the pain learned how to swim."

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Chapter 12 | Tequila's Warm Embrace

Narrator's P.O.V.

THE TRIO NEVER THOUGHT they could appreciate fast food more than they thought they would. Fast food is heaven, they thought. This conclusion, of course, was arrived not merely with a flick of a wand. While they sat on the library devouring their take-out, they reminisce the scene just an hour ago. It just so happened Dean decided to make spaghetti, saying it was time for him to show off his, quoting, "manly skills". Both the younger Winchester and brunette knew it wouldn't end well, as his so called spaghetti turned out like a dog barfed up on a plate with chunks elegantly decorating the side of plate, which were supposed to be meatballs. Both Sam and Clarissa gagged at the bland, horrible taste, but kept a half-hearted smile for the sake of Dean's willingness to cook.

It was that moment when they knew not to let the older Winchester in the kitchen.

After the whole dinner fiasco, Clarissa took this opportunity to practice the song she was currently writing. As she strummed the guitar chords repeatedly trying to find the right tune, Dean peeked his head from behind and with a curious tone much to her dismay, asking what she was doing. But secretly, all what Dean wanted was her company.

"I'm writing a song, Dean. Now butt out."

Dean bored his his into Clarissa's, studying her intently. As if she was a puzzle, an enigmatic one at that, she was confusing. While he continued to stare at her, his sudden silence creeped the brunette.

"Hey, creep. Done with the staring?"

"Impressive, Peanut! I didn't take you for a lyricist!" He suddenly exclaims, eye's filled with adoration.

"Looks can be deceiving."

He giggles, making her face him. "Is that the song you were singing back then at the motel room?"

Heat crept up to her cheeks, embarrassed about that whoopsie moment she had with Dean when she called him Ken Doll for the first time. She clutched unto her guitar more tightly, as if she was ready to bang Dean in the head with it as a weapon. "Shut up you, jerk!" She shrieked, whacking the back of his head, which only had Dean sniggering.

"Will you ever let me listen to it?" Dean asks.

"Who knows." She smirks when Dean leans closer, obviously wanting to keep a conversation with her.

Honestly, I'm not ready to reveal any of my music just yet—and this douche pressures me to do so. Maybe when the right time comes.

Then then then knew it was time for them to stick their noses back to the books and laptops when Sam came in, ready for more researching for any cases that practically yelled 'supernatural' to their faces.

Dean yawned, stretching his limbs.  "Why don't you get us some beer huh, Peanut? I could use some."

"Get your ass up as do it yourself."

"Peanut?" Sam repeats, now looking up from his laptop with a smile on his face.

"Shut up, Sam." They both say in unison, and Sam innocently raises his palms in a surrendering motion, stifling a chuckle with a smug smile. Dean's want for beer is gone as all he wanted to do was to wipe that smirk off Sam's face. Maybe whack him in the head while at it.