HOMG SECOND Who: Beth and Dean What: Dean is ridiculously worried about his little brother and Lizzie gets ridiculously fed out of the deal. When: February 27, 2006 5:28 PM Where: Beth's apartment in Lawrence, Kansas.
Beth mumbled as she hit her elbow while opening the door. It was fair to say that she did that every day she came home, whether the door was locked or not. It was kind of pathetic. Out of spite, Beth kicked the door and hmph’d at it, as if she was somehow triumphant over the annoying block of wood always in her damn way. The second she was inside the door, however, she looked back and cocked her head to the side. Hadn’t she locked that in the morning? Sure, she was known to forget doing that sometimes, but this morning she was sure she’d locked it…
The welcoming smell of food being cooked was her answer. Yeah, she’d locked the door, but Dean had welcomed himself inside regardless. It wasn’t like a typical burglar stopped halfway through the crime spree in order to break out the kitchen gear and make his victim a grand meal. That would’ve been the best burglar ever. It definitely beat cooking for herself, which usually equated Beth calling in pizza or Chinese or Thai. Mmm, Thai. She’d have to hint that to Dean for the next time he came down to do some stress cooking. Then again, there were only a few days a week when Dean wasn’t around to do that stress cooking. He made too much for himself, so he’d been pawning off all of his food onto her. The only rule she’d made around her apartment was that he wasn’t allowed to watch the Food Network. She had One Tree Hill to catch up on.
She took off her jacket and hung it up in the closet before Dean’s cat came out to greet her. Goddamn, that cat followed him everywhere. It was about a day away from being surgically attached to Dean’s hip, like that old security blanket he’d carried everywhere when he was still a kid. Raggedy old thing. The cat meowed at her before dashing back off; tail in the air, toward the kitchen, and Beth willingly followed it. The kitchen was wafting with the smell of homemade meals, and Beth made a “yummy!” noise as she entered the kitchen. “So what’s on the menu today, El Deano? No more Mexican for a few days, please. My stomach still isn’t quite settled from all that damn spice you shovelled onto my plate.”
Beth paused, lit up a bit, and sat down in one of her chairs at the table. “Well, if you’re wearing a Sombrero and one of those really ruffly shirts, I might be persuaded.” Beth knew he was stressed, the entire Winchester family was, and with due cause, but she sort of saw it as her place to try and cheer Dean up when he had the chance to be light-hearted. Dinner was one of those times.