It's Sunday and all the texts are gen

[1sts]

texting meme You’ve got your TFLN, you’ve got your sexting, now here’s the meme for all those gen texts, phone calls, voicemails, pictures of your cats, and whatever else your little heart can come up with, because who doesn't like a little old fashioned friendly texting. (Or enemy texting, if that's more your bag.) instructions: What it says on the tin! Leave a comment with your character, include preferences, a start, absolutely nothing or whatever you want. Run around and reply to others. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Comments

Sam Winchester | Supernatural (S2) | ota

[escapedestiny]

[surfaceshine]

lol hangovers are for mortals

hrksgkj YOU

[escapedestiny]

I'm so happy for you. Bring me pills.

no YOU

[surfaceshine]

look all i'm saying is you don't seem to think i know anything until after you're seeing double

you should listen to me before the puking starts next time

or always

[escapedestiny]

"Listen to you always" is bad advice. The number of times we've been arrested would probably double.

Also since when do you know my limit better than I do? it's not like my getting drunk is something that happens a lot

[surfaceshine]

since i'm always sober after you're doing karaoke

admit how godlike i am and i'll bring the aspirin in

[escapedestiny]

[If Sam could convey a groan through text, he would.]

Oh god I just remembered the karaoke. Thanks for reminding me. Promise me you didn't record any of that.

Your alcohol tolerance does not qualify you as godlike.

[surfaceshine]

why would i lie to you

not on its own maybe but my general awesomeness fills the gap

[escapedestiny]

Fine. You're godlike. Now will you prove it by bringing me aspirin and destroying that karaoke evidence? Wipe it from existence, Dean.

[surfaceshine]

think i'll hang onto the video a while, and also that text

[Although, that is definitely the sound of a familiar car door opening and closing. He was definitely texting from the car parked outside.]

[escapedestiny]

[That text is pretty much what Sam had been expecting from him, and since he hears Dean in the parking lot outside, he doesn't bother responding. In fact he drops his phone onto the bed and hides his face in his pillow. And yet keeps an arm outstretched, hand open with palm up, clearly hoping for Dean to lay the aspirin there the second he's in the room. It's another expectation he's pretty sure will be met-- Dean enjoys being a jerk to him, sure, but he also takes care of him. Being his big brother, Sam's pretty sure both of those things are hardwired into his DNA.

While waiting, Sam silently wonders what the hell he even sang last night, debates with himself whether or not to ask Dean. Does he even really want to know? ...Yes. Of course he does. For better or worse, easy or complicated, Sam has to know things. Sort of the reason for the drinking anyway, wasn't it? To quiet down his brain and infernal curiosity, to forget about all the unanswered questions regarding nursery fires and mind powers and coming wars, what all that might mean for him, what all that might mean for Dean.

Yes, and clearly the drinking had worked so well considering all of that shit is still swirling around inside his head, now accompanied by a pounding headache. Good job, Sam. Really. Well fucking done.

He groans.]

[surfaceshine]

[Sam, Dean has always known, is one hell of an overachiever. Honestly, thinking himself in circles should be an Olympic sport and Sam would lead the geeksquad to gold on that alone. Maybe he'll write a letter, he thinks, which is his way of coping with the same exact things Sam is trying to outrun. One of them is drunk already which means Dean can't be, not right now, so he just thinks really, really stupid things to try and fill the space and keep the rest out.

Thinking only gets him into trouble.

Dean steps into the hotel room and closes the door relatively quietly behind him, makes sure it's locked, because yes of course taking care of his hungover kid brother is hardwired into his DNA, what kind of a speculation is that. It's only that the key word there is brother, which means that Dean drops his keys with a loud clatter on the table beside the door, but then he doesn't immediately deliver the aspirin bottle. No, first he crosses to fill up one of the little plastic complimentary cups with water, and then he opens the damn package, because he's just that awesome. It's three of the pills from inside that finally make it into Sam's waiting palm, followed by nudging the bottom of the full cup against his knuckles until he takes it in such a way that he won't immediately dump it over.]

Alright, William Hung, don't choke on this. You've still got puke breath and I'm too pretty to settle for that even this early in the morning.

You think you can keep anything down yet or is offering you a donut a waste of perfectly good deep fried awesomeness?

[escapedestiny]

[The clatter of keys brings an audible wince, but otherwise Sam doesn't complain. Mostly because he knows relief is coming. He lifts his face from the pillow and sort of squints at Dean for a second. Then at the pills in his palm. Then at the water by his hand. Right, moving is needed now.

He takes in what his brother says as he sits up, gives a soft snort of a sarcastic laugh in response to the puke breath comment. With that and the mildly annoyed expression on his face, the meaning there is as clear as if he'd said the words: Yeah, thanks, I'm aware.

Pills are taken, entire cup of water is downed because Sam's mouth feels and tastes gross. At this point he rubs at his forehead with his palm, taking Dean's question into consideration. His stomach feels empty and settled, the water had felt good. Neither it nor the aspirin seemed to be threatening a reappearance. He nods slightly, barely a movement.]

Yeah. Uh-- the first thing.

[Yes to the donut. No to it being a waste. He hopes, anyway. He can always tear at it slowly and eat small pieces. Worse comes to worst, he'll leave the rest of it for Dean. It's not the optimal food to help with a hangover: eggs would have been good, or something green and leafy. But it's not the worst, either. It's something.

With his answer given, he looks at the empty cup in his hand and slowly rises from his sitting position on the bed to go refill it, and maybe brush his teeth for a second time. He comes back to his earlier musing as he moves, decides to chance more embarrassment.]

Should I even ask what I sang?