marie_de_sade: (0)
*I guess for those who speak French there is some mild language.*

***

“Jamais de poisson et verre,” Dean says smoothly, looking neither at the waiter or the menu, instead his eyes are locked on the blonde sitting across from him.

“Um,” the waiter furrows his brow before scribbling something down on his notepad. “Okay.”

His date giggles and takes a tiny bite of the complimentary bread sticks. “I didn’t know you were so suave.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, uh…mon petite.” Dean blanks on her name but she doesn’t seem to notice, just blushes and gives him a dreamy stare for the hundredth time. Dean might be only a couple marks away from failing French but he realized that the key to impressing people was to speak with confidence. He’s brought plenty of people here who ooh and ah at how smart and worldly he is.

The waiter returns and places the lady’s quiche down on the table and then quickly returns to the table with Dean’s dish. On the plate is a cut of what looks like salmon covered in a light brown sauce and topped with a yellow-green crumble. The waiters just stands there and waits for Dean’s reaction, hoping to have chosen the right thing and Dean just stares at…whatever is on his plate.

“Oh, I used to eat pistachios by the handful when I was a little girl,” his date says cheerily.

“Pistachios, right.” Dean pokes his fork into the dish. “That will be all, homme.”
The waiter rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment of Dean’s horrible French.

The next morning, Dean wishes her a “beau nuit” before he sneaks out of her window.

***

A few Saturdays later he’s on his way to pick up a new girl, Jenny, when his cell phone starts ringing. He lets it go to voicemail because this is one date he wasn’t going to miss for anything, Jenny was the cheerleader he had been trying to bag for months. But just as Jenny climbs into the passenger’s seat his phone starts ringing again and then twice more on the way there.

“Hello?” Dean answers tersely.

“Dean, I need you to come get me,” Sam tells him on the other end.

“What? No! You’re supposed to sleep over at that nerds house.”

“Conrad’s parents are fighting,” Sam whispers. “I want you to come get me.”

“No way.”

“Please, Dean,” he begs.

“I have a date, Sammy.”

“Bring him along,” Jenny says suddenly.

“What?”

Jenny gives him a sincere smile. “Why not? I don’t mind.”

“Jenny doesn’t mind,” Sam mildly taunts.

Dean is silent, drumming his free hand against the steering wheel. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I bet he’s adorable.”

That’s how they end up in his fancy French restaurant with Sam, in his baggy jeans and wrinkly t-shirt, sitting next to his date and telling him all about his next science project.

Their server comes up to them, not the meek waiter he usually has but a stern looking woman with her hair pulled tight into a bun.

“What can I get for you this evening?”

Dean decides that he can still turn this night around and puts on his best French accent. “Je vu de putain.”

The waitress pales a little before her lips turn into down into a sharp frown. “Pardon?”

“Dean,” Sam lean in and hisses. “I don’t know what you're trying to say but that is not it.”

“I just asked for some putain. You know, putain,” Dean explains but each time he says putain the waitress’s expression turns a little more sour. “It’s uh, fries and um gravy…”

“Oh,” the waitress’s eyes turn from disgust to contempt. “You mean poutine.”

“Yeah that!”

“Well, sir, this is a real French restaurant not a dinner on the outskirts of Montreal.” She taps her pen against her notepad and Jenny doesn’t quite manage to hold back her laugh. “So you’ll have to order some actual food.”

“Madame,” Sam speaks up. “Mon frère veut le pot de feu, s'il vous plaît.”

“Très bien, monsieur,” She nods and gives him a look far nicer than she’s ever given Dean. They watch her walk away in silence, Dean seething on the inside at being shown up by his little brother.

“Sam, you speak so well,” Jenny smiles at the young boy. “Do you study French in school?”

“No, sometimes I read Dean’s textbooks when he leaves them lying around.” Sam shrugs.

“You’re such a little cutie,” she laughs. They begin chatting while Dean resists the urge to kick his little brother under the table for messing up his date.

“Here.” The waitress drops Dean’s bowl onto the table, some of it ends up splattered onto his shirt.

“Hey!” Dean snaps but she’s already long gone. “You ordered me soup, Sammy? I hate soup.”

“I don’t know a lot of food names,” Sam says, cutting into his steak (which Dean is going to have to pay for). “And I wasn’t going to make a fool out of myself ordering something unless I know how.”

Jenny breaks out into laughter at Sam’s sass. Dean nearly reaches across the table and strangles him.

***

The car is deadly silent on the way home, perhaps for the other two it’s a comfortable quite but Dean is seething on the inside. Jenny practically had a date with Sam instead of him and on top of that his little brother made him look like a complete idiot. He almost considers just driving off as soon and Jenny shuts her door but grudgingly gets out and walks her to her door.

“I had a really nice time,” she smiles as she unlocks her front door.

“Awesome,” Dean mumbles.

“I was right, your little brother is adorable.” Dean wants to shoot back maybe he’ll take you to prom then but his nods stiffly and turns to leave. Jenny grabs his hand and tugs him back before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a really good bug brother.”

“Thanks,” he says surprised.

“Maybe next time it can be just us though.” She leans in again and brushes her lips against his before she rushes back inside.

Dean walks back to the car with a smug smile on his face, Sam’s already moved to the front seat. He takes one look at Dean’s new found happiness and tells him “Le français est la langage d'amour.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”
From:
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.