>"Not like I'm asking you to chew glass or anything. All y'gotta do is keep sti..." Dean trails off, and Sam raises his eyebrows as if to say yeah, exactly as his brother seems to remember what level of disaster he’s tempting fate with, here. Sometimes Sam wonders what he’s going to do for food when he’s on his own, whenever that may be, but usually he doesn’t bother to worry about it. Surely when it’s necessary he’ll be able to cook, right? That’s how things work - you can’t do something, but when you get desperate enough you figure it out.
Then again, as far as being on his own goes, that’s the least of his worries.
>"Just drain the pasta. If you can screw that up I'm dumping you at the pound and getting a puppy. Bitch."
Sam rolls his eyes, trying to hide his half-smile at his brother’s nonsense, does his best to turn it into a playfully-skeptical little scowl. “You don’t even like dogs that much, jerk.” Sam’s the one who’s always wanted a puppy, not Dean. Or, Dean’s never really seemed to want one; he’s pretty sure his brother’s not really one for pets. Which makes sense - taking care of Sam was probably pretty much the same thing as having a puppy, when he was younger... he’s probably tired of having something to take care of.
He eyes the pot of boiling water and noodles, then looks back at his brother. He doesn’t voice his worry over handling hot, boiling pots of water - obviously it’s just as risky as stirring the sauce would be, possibly even more risky, as far as physical damage to his person goes, anyway. Still, maybe he can manage it.
He puts the colander (the noodle-strainer thing, as Dean would probably say, but Sam prefers to use the proper names for things, at least mentally) in the sink, grabs at the pot holders (they’re mismatched and sort of over-the-top, one with assorted brightly-colored vegetables all over it and the other one with horribly ugly flowers in some kind of mustard-and-puke color scheme, but they came with the place and they’ll keep him from burning his hands off, at least, so whatever) and carefully takes the pot over to the sink, pouring the noodles-and-water out and silently praying he doesn’t end up with third degree burns.