a weighty request [dated for 1/22]

[puckandpie]

Not only have I been asked to bake pies for Dean Winchester's birthday, but I've been asked by Derek and Dean's husband, a real life actual angel. Derek asking me would have been enough for me to say yes, of course, but being surprised by an angel had made thinking of any other response absolutely impossible.

Again, not that it was really on the table to begin with.

I have two and a half days to get them all done and I'm not really worried, but I have work tonight and I'd like to film and edit something for my vlog at some point tomorrow so I need to get started. I'm elbow-deep in the mix for the salted caramel cookie pie when I hear a light knock on my door.

"Oh, one second!" I call out, quickly wiping my hands on my apron after I set the bowl aside and hurrying to the door.

I feel a smile break across my face when I see who it is, immediately holding the door wide to let him in. "Jack! Hi! Come in."

Comments

[puckandpie]

"Since when do you have an opinion on Kanye??" I ask, not quite able to keep the surprised squeak out of my voice. From when I'm from, I'm pretty sure Jack couldn't name a single Kanye West song if held at gunpoint.

And-- "Beck? Beyonce lost to Beck? What-- Were there riots? Screaming in the streets? Did the entire music industry rebel? And I'd like say I'm surprised that Shitty Knight has terrible taste in music, but I'm not. He best have kept his opinion to himself or I'm guessin' he got no more pies for at least a week."

[eatmoreprotein]

I don't really have an opinion on Kanye other than that he seems like a jerk. I couldn't name a single song of his, and probably wouldn't recognize his voice if I heard it. And then, as predicted, Bittle goes on a long judgemental rant, and I lift up onto my elbows and look over at my shoulder at him with a placid expression.

"You done?" I ask when he's finally done talking. "Judge not lest ye be judged, Bittle."

[puckandpie]

"But-- Beck!?"

Some part of me knows Jack's probably right. That not everyone is blessed to have exceptional musical tastes, but... well, honestly, it's just unfathomable. Maybe I can pretend he never told me. Maybe I can pretend if I never heard it, it never happened. And it didn't anyway. Not in this universe.

"Go to sleep and don't tell me anything else," I decide then, giving his leg a squeeze. "And I'm gonna pretend I'm dreamin' all of this myself. Let me have my illusions, Jack."

[eatmoreprotein]

"Mm, okay. Keep dreamin', Bittle," I mumble, basically sprawling across his lap as I let the exhaustion overcome me. I feel comfortable here, warm and safe, and I hope that Bittle will just let me sleep here. "Your queen was still dethroned by indie rock, but okay."

And then my eyes slip shut, breathing starting to even out. The last thing I remember is sighing out the word thanks before sleep takes me.

[puckandpie]

"Oh my goodness, I will not have such blasphemy under my roof," I reply, somehow managing to keep my voice to barely a whisper despite the righteous outrage boiling just under my skin.

Jack's completely sprawled now, face in the cushions and legs stretched across my lap. Even relaxed, his calves are nothing but muscle and I'm essentially trapped on my own sofa. It's not uncomfortable though and there's some part of me that's so, so pleased and so strangely honored that he feels comfortable enough to do this.

Of course, it's probably just all that medication, but still. It's a nice thought.

Letting out a quiet breath, I lightly pet his leg and settle back, looking at the fall of his eyelashes across his cheeks, his face utterly relaxed. And I smile, just a little. "Sweet dreams, Jack."