i know the end, supernatural [ 3 ]

070. happy birthday

tw: physical violence (what else is new(, allusions to/mentions of rape/sa

Libby and Evie try to quickly make their way to the door.

"Hey." They're stopped by their dad's voice. "You know, you two really don't have to go get your own birthday cakes. I can do it. You guys hate talking to people, anyway."

"No. No, we-- we wanna go get the cake." Evie assures.

"Yeah. Plus, you just supplied three children a shit ton of cake, so--" The shorter girl is cut off by the now six year old girl screaming, it quickly being followed by the youngest set of twins yelling.

"Yeah, there's that, too." Evie nods.

"So we-- we're gonna go." Libby says. "You have fun with your little demon spawn." She smiles. "Go, go, go." She pushes her sister, the two running to the garage.

"Right." Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Be careful!" He yells out.

+++

"Ooh, what about this one?" Evie asks, pointing to the red velvet cake.

"Ugh." Libby grimaces. "We should get alcohol, too."

"We're only turning 18." Evie whispers.

"Yeah, and we have fake IDs, dumbass." Libby whispers back.

"I think you're turning into an alcoholic." Evie says.

"Why? Cause I like drinking during celebrations? Not an alcoholic, E." Libby says, the two keeping their voices low.

"Okay, well, keep it that way. A. we barely have anything to ever celebrate so that keeps your drinking to a minimum. B. I don't need you turning into Dean."

"Ew. Don't even risk manifesting that." Libby shivers.

"Well..." Evie shrugs.

"God, now I'm never drinking again." Libby groans.

"Sorry, sweets." Evie unapologetically apologizes, brushing past her sister to the selection of junk food.

"I fucking hate you." Libby huffs.

"Can't hate your favorite sister." Evie grins and Libby rolls her eyes.

"Let's just get snacks, cake, and get out of here, hmm?" Libby prompts.

"So pick a fucking cake." Evie whispers.

"I don't like any of them." Libby whines and Evie rolls her eyes. "Why are we even looking? We have a-- a mom at home who makes excellent baked goods -- including cakes. Why didn't we ask her to do something?"

"Cause she has enough shit going on." Evie says. "She can't waste time baking cakes."

"She makes us breakfast, lunch, and dinner 50% of the time." Libby points out. "Well, 25%. Other 25 is dad, third 25 is a teenager or young "adult" cooking, and the last 25% is takeout... or starvation."

"I just don't want her to feel pressured." Evie mumbles, a small pout on her face as she browses through the cookies.

Libby stares at her sister, rolling her eyes after a moment.

"You really gotta get that under control, dude." Libby comments, taking her phone out.

"What are you doing?" Evie asks.

"Calling our own personal baker." Libby says as if it's obvious.

"No. No, Bee--"

"Shut up." Libby puts the phone to her ear.