Sam and Dean got a present from @creatorofuniverses!
I think they loved them…
Tag: whiskey
December 16th excerpt:
Dean smirked, not above the chance to brag on his accomplishments. “I’m a tracker,” he said proudly, jutting his chin out. “So long as Sherlock gives me some idea what we’re searching for, I can lead him right to it. Just like I coulda told him, if he asked me, that one of his missing glasses is in the back of that cupboard pushed behind everything else, the other is mixed into his lab equipment, and the last is right above our heads.”
Pointing in time with each of his declarations, Dean indicated where all the missing cups were in the flat, and on the last, with his arm pointing overhead, he nearly stumbled over, losing his balance when the room went sideways.
Lestrade and Sherlock followed Dean’s finger in each direction he pointed. While Lestrade was confused by the final location, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, knowing the glass hadn’t been left on the light overhead. That left the flat upstairs as the only remaining option, the place where John Watson slept. And evidently did more than sleep.
December 13th excerpt:
To say that Lestrade was bemused by all this would be an understatement. Now he was holding up two fingers. Evidently he couldn’t lift his middle finger as high as Dean wanted it independently, so the first one hovered just behind and above Dean. And while Lestrade was far from matching Dean’s level of drunk, his own whiskeys encouraged him to have a little fun.
Lestrade let his index finger curl in to gently settle on Dean’s head, mussing the teeny spike he’d styled it into.
Artwork by @mogadeer!
December 7th excerpt:
The placid, darkly amber liquid in the glass called to him. There was enough in there to fill a hot tub at Dean’s scale. Surely one drop wouldn’t be missed, more than enough for him to enjoy another cup of It.
Dean put a hand on the glass to help keep balance as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the rim and the drink calling for him beyond it. When it proved to be taller than he’d estimated from a distance, part of him started working on a solution, wondering if he could get a grip on the rim and pull himself up to fill his foil cup. The effort of holding himself suspended in midair like that didn’t put him off, knowing he had more than enough upper body strength, but the slick rim might prove to be difficult to grip.
Lestrade blinked in disbelief when he realized what Dean was after. Clearly the fella wanted a refill of his own, and planned to get it on his own. Watching his first attempt fail, Lestrade could practically see the wheels turning in Dean’s head and had a fairly good idea of what his next move might be.
December 6th excerpt:
The glass of whiskey was on Lestrade’s half of the table, guarded closely by one of the DI’s hands, but it hadn’t been picked up yet for a sip since being refilled. Dean gave himself at least five minutes before Lestrade remembered it, and started to edge towards that side of the table. Between Sherlock’s rambles and the drink buzzing inside him, Dean had an unnatural level of confidence in his ability to go unseen. The glass was only a little taller than he was, clearly he’d be able to reach the alcohol level inside to fill his cup again.
He’d earned this whiskey, dammit.
By the time he was halfway across the table, Dean had managed to tune both Sherlock and Lestrade completely out in lieu of his mission for a refill.
December 5th excerpt:
Realizing Lestrade had already helped himself to a second glass, Dean sent Sherlock a glare for failing to be a host and providing more whiskey.
With his options narrowed down to either interrupting Sherlock mid-story or securing his own second glass, Dean decided on the latter. Lestrade had that same glazed look that John adopted when Sherlock really got on a bend.
December 4th excerpt:
“I take it you have a few questions before you go,” said Sherlock curtly, setting down the glass he’d finally tracked down.
“I do, yeah…” Lestrade made a move to take the drink Sherlock poured, but the first thing the detective did was tilt the glass so that the drink was within reach for Dean. By the pointed gaze Sherlock was giving him, it was clear to Lestrade that he was being shown exactly who was first priority here. Lestrade couldn’t contest that either, so he sat back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for Dean to take his drink first.
November 30th excerpt:
Not one to be left out of even the chance of a drink, Dean immediately jumped back into the conversation, waving a hand over his head to be sure they were paying attention to him. “I’ll take a whiskey! Neat!” he ordered, remembering exactly how to say it from a childhood spent watching his father go to bars and months spent at Bobby’s house, sneaking shots of whiskey when the adults weren’t paying attention.
August 26th excerpt:
“Dean…” Jacob began, exasperation touching the edge of his tone again. He frowned when he craned his neck back and saw that he was rapidly losing what attention he had. “Waitasecond,” he called, trying to snap Dean out of it before he really conked out.
He tried to squirm out from under Dean’s hand, but the loose grip around him combined with the dead weight to keep him right where he was. He muttered a curse; if he got stuck there, he would have to wait until the whiskey wore off and Dean woke up. That could take a while.
The Lounge || Advent of the Deans (3 of 5)
The little Dean bristled when he saw Dean looking at his Sam. “Don’t even think about grabbing Sam like that!” he commanded bossily, making his taller counterpart smirk in amusement.
“Oh?” Dean drawled lazily, claiming the seat directly behind the tiny bar set up for them. “And I’m guessin’ you’ll be the one stopping me, shortstop?” He winked at the new Sam in the room, letting him know it was all just a joke, and Sam nodded back, relaxing a little as he walked closer to the pair of Deans.
“Yes, I will,” Dean snipped back, pointedly taking his stool at the miniature bar just in time for a tiny glass of whiskey, complete with ice and a nearly-microscopic napkin, appear in front of him, courtesy of the bartender. It was quickly followed by an equally small slice of apple pie and fork made for it, and a mug of beer, looking the size of a quart next to Sam. “I trained up Jacob, didn’t I?”
Jacob snickered quietly at that. He didn’t even have an argument for it. ‘Trained’ had become a word that suited him pretty well, when it came to the tiny brothers that had perched on his shoulders mere moments ago. He’d learned to listen especially carefully to their quiet voices, always ready to accommodate them if they needed it.
He received a beer of his own, along with a silent smirk from the bartender, and almost went off his train of thought for a moment. He couldn’t place who the guy was like he had with Dean.
“If this Dean is anything like you are, I don’t know how much luck you’ll have training him,” he commented with a shrug. Jacob didn’t have to grow up with the little guy to know how headstrong he could be.
“Besides. He probably already knows how to fix a car, I just had to take the class to fix up the Impala.”
Dean arched his back pridefully. “I’ve rebuilt that car from the ground up before,” he bragged shamelessly, wiggling his fingers at his smaller self. “With my bare hands.”
Little Dean scoffed, and tossed back his whiskey, eyebrows going up when he tasted it. Unlike the whiskey at Bobby’s, which was likely home-brewed or from a box, this was top shelf stuff. It went down smooth as ice, and didn’t burn his throat.
“Another!” he declared, slamming the glass down on the bar and looking hopefully at the bartender.
“Don’t go reliving the other night,” Sam hissed.
Brothers Apart 