Four Things Sam and Dean Don't Agree On/title> </head> <body> <div align="center"><img src="../images/fourthingssamanddeantitle.jpg" height="110" /></div> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> 1. smell<br /> <br /> Sam's out of deodorant, so he decides to borrow Dean's. When he finds the little black bottle with its blunt silver cap, however, he can't help snickering. "Dude, you use Axe?"<br /> <br /> "Yeah," Dean says from where he's ostensibly using the laptop to research kitsune and is probably just using Google Image Search to look at pictures of Gillian Anderson's breasts instead. "Why?"<br /> <br /> "I dunno, I just didn't think you were the kind of guy who needed to boost his man-mojo with 'Axe Deodorant Stick--keeps you smelling like--" here Sam actually breaks into a laugh, "man candy.' 'Essence'--'it's good, it's bad, it's exactly what she's looking for?'"<br /> <br /> "Hey, it was on sale, okay?" Dean's eyes are still trained on the screen, which means he's lying, which makes Sam crack up even harder.<br /> <br /> "Do you think this stuff actually works?" Sam snorts.<br /> <br /> "I don't see you rollin' in girls, man," Dean mutters. "Shut <i>up</i>."<br /> <br /> <br /> 2. sight<br /> <br /> The first time Sam sees Jessica, her hair is tangled and unkempt, and she's in fuzzy pink pajama pants and flip-flops. He's not sure he's ever noticed her before. Then again, it's Intro to Humanities, which has over a hundred students, so it's not surprising that Sam knows only the people in his section. Outside, she drops her glasses and then nearly steps on them; Sam fetches them for her and carefully puts them back on her face, since her hands are full with her books.<br /> <br /> "Thanks," she says resignedly. "I hate these things, but I didn't have time to put in my contacts this morning."<br /> <br /> "Slept in?" Sam asks.<br /> <br /> "Hungover," she admits.<br /> <br /> The first time Dean sees Jessica, she's wearing these teeny shorts that barely cover her ass and some kind of equally tiny shirt that has a slit down the middle, the better to show her cleavage. She doesn't seem like his brother's type at all; he's always liked the nerdy, dark-haired girls with the Coke-bottle glasses who like to read books. Maybe college finally flipped some kind of switch in his brain.<br /> <br /> Dean knows he woke them up, that they were probably sleeping tangled up in bed together and dreaming their normal, picket-fence and 2.5 kid dreams. But hey, Dad's gone, Dean's still here, and Sam's done dreaming now. Time to get back on the road.<br /> <br /> <br /> 3. hear<br /> <br /> After 300 miles of listening to the same classic rock, Sam finally manages to convince Dean to stop by a Radio Shack and spend ten of his hard-earned dollars ("You won it betting on the races." "Hey, still my money!") on a cassette adapter for Sam's Discman.<br /> <br /> "It's good music," Sam insists, rifling through his CD wallet.<br /> <br /> "Yeah, that's what you said in tenth grade," Dean mutters, "when you made me listen to <i>Matchbox 20</i>." He spits out the band name like the way he'd say "baby killer."<br /> <br /> Sam still likes Matchbox 20, but he's not about to say that, so he clicks a reasonably recent album into the Discman because it's about time Dean heard some 21st century music. As soon as the minor key piano starts, though, Dean makes a face.<br /> <br /> "What is this," he complains, "that Beethoven shit?"<br /> <br /> "<i>No</i>."<br /> <br /> "Man, this blows."<br /> <br /> "The song hasn't even started yet!"<br /> <br /> As soon as Chris Martin starts wailing <i>How long before I get in? / Before it starts, before I begin?</i> Dean gives Sam a tortured look and says, "Turn that off."<br /> <br /> "They've won Grammys!" Sam protests. "They've sold 10 billion albums!"<br /> <br /> Dean smacks Sam in the side of the head without even taking his eyes off the road. Sam sputters, then sulkily selects a Blue Oyster Cult cassette.<br /> <br /> <br /> 4. taste<br /> <br /> Dean maintains that college did something terrible to Sam's tastebuds because Sam doesn't know good food from dogshit anymore.<br /> <br /> "Dude," he says when Sam tosses the plastic 7-11 bags at him, "what's this?"<br /> <br /> "Fruit," Sam explains patiently. "Apples. Bananas. Maybe you've seen pictures of them."<br /> <br /> "Where's the chips?" Dean demands, rifling through the bag as if Pringles and Slim Jims will suddenly appear underneath the Red Delicious. "Dude, where's the Corn Nuts?"<br /> <br /> "Fruit is good for you," Sam presses on valiantly. "It has vitamins. Fiber."<br /> <br /> "You," Dean says, pointing a serious finger at his brother, "are never doing the shopping again."<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> 5. touch<br /> <br /> "It's okay," Dean assures Sam, "'cause it's us."<br /> <br /> "That doesn't make it okay." Sam's words are muffled in the pillow, but he knows Dean can still hear him, because he's Dean.<br /> <br /> "Hey." Dean props himself up on one elbow so that he can look down at Sam. "It's like I've always said, man. We're different. We don't play by their rules."<br /> <br /> "This isn't <i>their</i> rules," Sam insists.<br /> <br /> "Hell if it isn't," Dean says, and grabs Sam by the hair and kisses him.<br /> <br /> <br /> <p align="center"><a href="../fanficbody.html">Back</a></p><br /> </body> </html>