Chapter Text
You’re sitting at your desk at a job you can’t stand. The sun is shining from the other side of your window. Your computer says it’s in the high 80s outside, but you’re stuck inside for another 7-ish hours because capitalism sucks and you have no choice but to feed the corporate machine.
A podcast you follow mentions a game called “Anywhere but Here”. It’s exactly what it sounds like, but you’ve never heard daydreaming described as a game before. You decide to play. After all, you’re bored out of your gourd and will probably start crying if you watch the clock for another second.
In your imagination, you teleport to a worn-out gas station out in the middle of nowhere.
You step outside with a box of Red Vines and a pack of Twizzlers in one hand and a 32 oz. Cherry Coke in the other. It’s hot and the air is muggy. It’s a good thing Dean fixed Baby’s AC. Otherwise, you’d probably melt into the leather seats.
You start to walk out to the gas pump where Dean is finishing filling up the Impala when Sam steps into stride beside you.
“Do you want to trade seats?”
“No, you need the leg room,” you say.
“So do you,” he says.
While that’s technically true, he is taller than you, so you’re not sure you’d feel comfortable taking his place riding shotgun.
“We can switch off at every rest stop,” he says.
You nod, “If you’re sure.”
Which reminds you: you pause and dig your ear buds out of your pocket. “These are almost out of batteries. We can use mine,” you say, trading out his set for yours and handing him the left bud.
“Thanks,” he says as he places it into his ear.
“Any requests?” you ask, syncing them to your iPod. (Sam and Dean are closer to your age in earlier seasons, and your current generation of iPhone didn’t exist in the early 2010s.)
“Whatever you want,” he says.
Is he too tired to care, or does he actually trust your music tastes that much?
Arrogant Worms it is, you think to yourself, hoping he’ll find them as funny as you do.
It will be quite the whiplash after you’ve been listening to some sad Ed Sheeran songs. It’s time to switch it up with songs about taxidermy zoos, credit card fraud (he would know all about that), and vegetarian zombies.
Soon, he might be ready to chuck your iPod out the window, but it’s worth the risk. You don’t have to play all of their music, just a few classics that live rent-free in your head.
You settle into the front seat and fasten your seatbelt as the rest of the crew does the same. Dean’s driving, Sam’s in the back left side, and Cas is in the back on the right.
“Anybody want some licorice?” you ask, offering up your newly opened Red Vines and Twizzlers as the Impala merges back onto the road.
As the candy is passed around you say, “I wasn’t sure if you guys liked Twizzlers or Red Vines, so I played it safe and bought both.”
“I like Red Vines,” Sam says, pulling two pieces out of the bag, “They’re softer and don’t taste like plastic.”
“Now hold on just a minute,” Dean says, looking back at his brother via the rear view mirror, “America runs on Twizzlers, okay? When kids go trick or treating, they get ‘em in little wrappers. You don’t see parents handing out Red Vines on Halloween. Plus, they make better straws.”
“You can drink soda through Red Vines,” Sam says.
“Red Vines don’t fit into soda cans,” Dean says, “and pouring a Dr.Pepper into a cup defeats the purpose.”
“Red Vines actually have a black licorice option. The closest Twizzlers ever gets is chocolate, which is a crime against humanity.”
You saw black licorice Twizzlers at the gas station, but you’re enjoying this conversation too much to correct him.
“Everybody likes chocolate, and everybody likes Twizzlers,” Dean says, “Now, everybody can have both at the same time. And don’t get me started on the different kinds. You got the pull-apart ones, the fruity ones with the filling, they even sell them in little bite-sized pieces.”
“Because they’re trying everything possible to distract consumers from realizing that it’s not even real licorice,” Sam says.
“Technically, neither brand is actually licorice,” Cas chimes in, but Sam and Dean are too busy trying to prove each other wrong to hear the angel’s comment.
You don’t say anything in an effort to stay in both brothers’ good graces. The truth is, you like both kinds. (Otherwise, you wouldn’t have bought them.)
You just like to listen to Sam and Dean argue, as long as it’s not about anything serious. You can’t wait to ask them about Coke versus Pepsi, but that’s a conversation for another day.
Your coworkers pull you out of your daydream and back into reality as everyone stands and shuffles into the conference room for your bi-weekly meeting that should be an email.
The clock on your computer says 9:30. You’ve only been at work for half an hour.
Why is it only Tuesday?