tifaching | 'Shine

Title: 'Shine
Characters: Dean, Sam, OC
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 900
Summary: Dean discovers the backwoods wonder known as apple pie moonshine.

“You want white lightnin’ or apple pie? Ma just made a fresh batch.”

Dean didn’t answer right away; that was a question that deserved some thought. After careful consideration, he asked, “Can’t I have both?”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, wandering away to take a seat by one of the plastic covered windows. No way was he eating or drinking anything produced in a dirty backwoods cabin with a still out back.

The bearded old-timer behind the two barrels and a board masquerading as a bar stared at Dean and sucked noisily on his one remaining tooth. “Think you can handle both, do you son?”

Dean stared back, offended. He could understand the old coot asking about the liquor. Well, no he couldn’t actually but did he look a man who couldn’t handle freakin’ apple pie? “Do I look like a man who can’t handle freakin’ apple pie?” he queried, raising his eyebrows and spreading his hands. He’d been on a self-imposed apple pie break since Burkittsville, but now he was jonesing to jump back on the apple pie horse. Or something.

“You’ve had ‘shine before, have you?” The old man was staring past Dean now, at Sam.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied with a grimace. “And so has my brother.”

“Don’t look like you enjoyed it much.”

“Well, we’d like to give it another try,” Dean replied, cutting Sam off before he could get started with his bitching about how Dean had told him it was water. Sammy never could take a joke.

“You’d like to give it another try,” Sam argued. “Now that Dad’s not around to beat your ass when you’re so hung over in the morning that you can’t get out of bed.”

Dean couldn’t help it; his gaze shot to the door. He and Sam had been hunting their father all over the country, but it’d be just like the old man to turn up when Dean was about to do something he had expressly forbidden. All that was visible through the tattered screen door was a mangy dog industriously licking its privates and Dean visibly relaxed.

“Humph,” the old man muttered. “If you’re worried about your Daddy catching you drinkin’, maybe ‘shine ain’t the best beverage for you.”

“I was twelve,” Dean informed him, “and yes, my father blistered my behind. But dude, I’m twenty six. I think the days of my dad having a say in what kind of liquor I drink are over.”

“Twelve.” The old man looked at Sam. “And that would have made you…”

“He told me it was water,” Sam bitchfaced.

Dean snorted and leaned an elbow on the bar, nodding at the mason jars lined up on it. “What do you say you serve me up some white lightning and apple pie, barkeep.”

The barkeep grinned and pulled a jug from the shelf behind him. He grabbed a jar and filled it with a caramel colored liquid.

Dean stared at it doubtfully. “That doesn’t look like the moonshine I had before.”

“Figured we’d start with the apple pie. If’n you had the white lightnin’ first you wouldn’t have been able to taste this and it’d be a shame to miss it. Ma’s best batch this year.”

Dean picked the jar up and took a sip. Then he took another, groaning as he swallowed. He turned to look at his brother with an expression of stupefied joy. “It’s like alcohol and apple pie, Sammy. It’s alcoholic apple pie!” He held the jar out. “Come on, try it!”

“I’m not falling for that one again. Last time, my water went down like paint thinner.”

“Your loss, Francis,” Dean took another swig that emptied half the jar, “because this is awesome!”

“Dean, take it easy,” Sam cautioned. “It might taste like pie, but it’s still moonshine.”

Dean gulped down the last of his drink and slammed the empty jar on the board. “Fill ‘er up,” he said with a grin.

“You might want to listen to your brother, and slow down a bit, son. This ain’t cider you’re drinkin’ here.”

“Dude,” Dean said with all seriousness. “In my long and varied history of alcoholic consumption, I’ve never even heard of this awesomeness. I may never get back here and I’m drinking up while I can. And I’d like a couple of jugs to go, if you’ve got ‘em.”

The barkeep refilled Dean’s glass and disappeared into the back room for a minute; reappearing with two gallon jugs. “Here you are.”

Dean grabbed them and headed for the door. “I’m just going to put these in the car now. It’s remotely possible that later on I might be in no shape to remember them.” He gave his brother a glare as he passed by. “And this one is jackass enough to forget them on purpose.”

Sam grinned unapologetically and gave Dean the finger. “I’m the one who’s going to be carrying your drunk ass out of here later if your past moonshine exploit is anything to go on.”

“Twelve, Sam,” Dean reminded him.

“Hangover from hell, Dean,” Sam reminded him.

Three hours later, Sam hauled his brother out of the bar and dropped him roughly into the Impala’s passenger seat. “You’re going to be sorry in the morning, asshole.”

Dean stared at Sam with eyes that struggled to focus. “Sammy,” he slurred, “this apple pie is freakin’ worth it.”