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Toothbrush or The Little Things That Kill

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This story is No. 8 in the series "Road to Morning". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Getting to know each other without the threat of certain death looming over their heads takes more work than they thought it would. (Road to Morning ficlets)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Buffy-Centered > Theme: Friendship(Moderator)FaithUnbreakableFR1367,48299215,71122 Apr 109 Feb 13No

Red, Green, Blue

A/N: Eh, it's been a while. Sorry about that. But from here on it, I should manage regular updates on this series again. Pinkie Promise.

This one is another example of how I start a story planning one thing and then it ends completely different. This was not what I wanted!

Enjoy.

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Red, Green, Blue

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It was only funny the first ten times Buffy came out of the bathroom to complain that her toothbrush tasted like beer and Sam-breath. She never quite could define what exactly ‘Sam-breath’ was, but she insisted that it wasn’t pleasant.

Sam, predictably, glowered.

Also predictably, the glowering usually started a bitch fight over who had taken whose toothbrush, and why couldn’t the other one get one that was not green in the first place because therein lay the root of all their problems. They both had the same generic poison-green toothbrush and neither Sammy’s big brain nor Buffy’s super powered awareness of her surroundings seemed to be enough for either of them to remember where they put their toothbrush the last time they’d used it.

Hence the mix ups. And the beer flavor. And Sam-breath. And bitching. And bickering. And, God, it grated on Dean’s nerves.

So, one a sunny afternoon in late June, the oldest Winchester officially had enough. When Buffy stomped out of the bathroom brandishing a toothbrush (whether it was hers or not was kind of the question of the day), he finally took action. They’d had a late night the day before and only just gotten up half an hour ago. He was hurting all over and there was only so much PMSing he could stand, especially from his brother who did not, despite all evidence to the contrary have ovaries.

“Okay bitches,” he snapped as he rolled to his feet, grabbing his keys with one hand and the slayer’s wrist with the other. “Enough.”

Sam rolled over on the bed to pick up the remote and turn off the show Dean had been watching, before saying, “Thanks, dude.”

Big brother glowered. “I’m not doing it for you, Samantha. I just can’t hear the TV over your whining.”

With that, he dragged Buffy out the door and toward the nearest drug store where he dragged her toward the dental hygiene articles and ordered, “Pick one.”

“Why do I have to pick a new color?”

“Because Sammy picked his when he was three.” Which wasn’t altogether a lie. Dean had thrown the green one at Sam and told him that it matched his dumb face. Then Sam cried and kicked him in the shin. John bought the green toothbrush anyway and Sam had been young enough to forget how he’d come to be the green-toothbrush-guy. Sam was okay with that. That was basically like picking it himself, wasn’t it?

“But I like green. It matches my eyes, see?” She batted her eyelashes at him to emphasize her point.

“Sam green, Dad black, me blue. Pick. A. Color.”

She glowered at him for a moment, which, after a lifetime of Sam’s bitchface, wasn’t all that impressive. Then she sighed and turned towards the rack of toothbrushes with a little pout that did not do anything to Dean’s stomach whatsoever.

Okay, so his best friend type of person, who just happened to be a woman, was hot shit. And he looked. Sue him, he’s going to hell anway. In, what was it now? Ten months? He got to be a lech.

He kept looking for a whole two minutes while Buffy stared at toothbrushes like they contained the secrets of the universe. “How do I pick a color?” she finally asked, sounding defeated.

The hell? She could kill all kinds of fugly without batting an eyelash and toothbrush colors gave her pause?

“How’d you pick green?”

She batted her lashes at him again in lieu of a proper answer. Okay. He got it. It matched her eyes. Je-sus. Since Buffy insisted that her underwear match her shoes, he was perfectly content to accept that as an answer and not ask about it.

“What colors do you like?”

She shrugged.

“Yellow?”

Headshake. “Too bright. Like the sun.”

O-kay. Someone had just lost their California-card and all tanning rights.

“Orange?”

“Do I look like a pumpkin to you?”

No comment. “Purple?”

“Why not pink? You’re such a man.”

He scowled. If she kept this shit up, he was gonna buy her a hot pink toothbrush and then make sure to drop a red sock into the machine the next time she washed whites. See what her toothbrush matched then.

Speaking of, “Red?”

She stopped and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Like what?”

He sighed explosively. An old lady passing them by glared at him, then at Buffy and then at the family planning shit on the other end of the aisle. He grinned at her, all teeth. She blanched and hurried away, taking a cloud of sauerkraut smell with her. Bitch.

“Balloons? Flowers? Fire trucks?”

She didn’t look convinced. But she wasn’t saying no either. Why was he going to such troubles over a toothbrush again? Right, peace and quiet in the mornings and evenings. Amen.

“Poppies, lollipops, fuck me pumps, ladybugs, tomatoes, raw meat, Superman’s cape, Spiderman’s butt, the Red Cross, rabbit eyes.”

He takes a deep breath and racked his brain for anything else that came in red, studiously ignoring the one thing they both thought of first when someone said red. She knew the one word he wasn’t saying and as he fumbled for more innocent things – things that weren’t blood -, she took pity on him with a roll of her eyes and simply picked up the red toothbrush, stalking away.

They hit the register right behind the Sauerkraut lady and Dean made a point to whisper dirty things just loud enough for her to hear and Buffy let him, giggling occasionally. He was gallant enough to pay for her toothbrush and even held open the door for her. Never say he didn’t know how to get a woman out of an hygiene-article-induced sulk.

He gave the Sauerkraut lady the finger as they peeled out of the parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later a red toothbrush lay innocently next to a green and a blue one above the sink with both Buffy and Dean staring at the little gathering pensively. Sam, whose shower had been cut short because of their invasion into the bathroom, squeezed past them on the way into the bedroom and absently remarked, “Welcome to the family, Buff.”

She blinked after him stupidly before turning to look at Dean, asking for an explanation. He shrugged, tapped the red toothbrush once and then went back to his SciFi marathon.

In peace.

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