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Jasper Jones Poem

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Okay. The hell is that crap?

He turns the crinkled, ugly paper in his hand looking for any hints what douchey bastard could possibly have written such shit, why and what the hell it means.

And how it happened to cut surface with the inside of his trousers pocket.

„Samantha, you've been tryin' to be new Byron,“ he shouts over his shoulder towards kitchen. He hears a clong from there, telling him that it was the right direction his voice was aiming at.
Bobby's gone probably buying more booze or flying to Disney World, crap like that- he forgot. Thing is, Sammy and he are both alone in old man's house and even if they weren't- Sam's too much girl to not have written this.

„What do you mean?“ He could hear the innocence practically dripping from his brother's voice.

Fishy.

He crams the old paper in his fist, because he likes it pretty with some more wrinkles. With …show more content…

He probably wants to add some fancy-ass tea to the poem-writing. For good measure.

Dean snorts at this thought.

„I mean this.“

He hands him the Da Vinci Code, getting a confused look in return. Okay. Still wearing innocence, then. He could work with that.

With the concentration of a true Stanford-dropout Sam regards the cryptic text.

„Who is Agneta,“ he asks with a glance to Dean, who's already made himself comfortable on the not so comfortable chair at the table.

„Dunno. What kind of name is that anyway?“

He just gets a glare from Sam.

„Maybe you should tell me,“ Dean continues. „Since you've written it, you girl. You crushin' on her?“ A second later he adds, „On him?“ Just to annoy his baby brother.

Sam answers with a lift of his eyebrows and a Wikipedia entry, „blablablaabla, Dean.“ He ends with a particulary reproachful stress on his name. Like it was some kind of disease.

Screw you, too.

„And Dean,“ Sam gave him the poem back, „Just for your information: I didn't write this.“

„Bitch.“

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