#aussie slang

You’ve already warned Dean about the drop bears and their love of Vegemite sandwiches. Told him to avoid standing under any tree. And, hey. You once had him believing Crocodile Dundee was your uncle. Lived down the street from you growing up. That part was half true.

Jokes aside, there’s something magical about the sunburnt country. The sea air on the coast, the fragrance of wattle and eucalyptus swept through it. The sand, the dirt, the bitumen on the road that sticks to your thongs and breaks the fuckers, leaving most of the population barefoot and shirtless.

That was you once. A feral kid running around town.

But there’s a monster to hunt now, for some rando reason, and you and Sam and Dean are here hunting it down.

Only sometimes you need to refuel.

Sometimes Dean does too.

While he’s living it up with his newfound addiction to meat pies and sausage rolls, and Sam’s god knows where, you’ve wandered across the street to the servo, gunning for lollies, chips and, best of all, the ice cream you’ve been craving since you hit the ground.

You step out onto the main drag. The edging of the famous bright blue and pink wrapper in your hands.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had one, and you might just have two more in your bag.

You’re quick to draw, much like your beloved is with a real gun, tearing the plastic open, careful not to lose his nose. You pinch the stick between finger and thumb as you get rid of your rubbish. Take your first delicious bite and cross the street.

The sun draws a sheen to your head, but the creaminess of Bill’s chocolate hat and crispy chocolate backing counteracts the heat. Soothes the tip of your tongue.

“You didn’t tell me they do bacon ones, too,” Dean says as you step up to the picnic table he’s all set up at. White paper bags and empty tomato sauce sachets littered in front of him. Hints of bottle-green paint chipped below it, all blending into the grass before you. Even the ocean looks green today.

“It’s just diced ham. Nothing special.” You shrug. Take another bite of your ice cream, only to splinter the base in two.

Your palm reaches out to catch a large flake, lip swiping low to reach a sliver of the strawberry layer that caught your chin as you moved.

“What’s that?” Dean’s pastry lined shadow points to the cowboy in your hands.

“A Bubble O’Bill.”

Dean repeats it like the name is holy. Eyes lit up as he comes closer to inspect the face, nose to nose, with yours and with Bill’s. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s an ice cream,” you say.

“Yeah. But-but it’s a cowboy one. You guys don’t have cowboys here.”

“No one has cowboys anymore.” You snort. “But, yeah, he’s a cowboy. You want one?”

Dean’s eyes light up like it’s the last smile he’s ever going to give. His freckle-dusted cheeks, as pink as the bubblegum nose on your Bill.

“You got me one?”

“I got you two.” You’ll just pretend you hadn’t planned on eating all three. Not when he looks the way he looks. A child on Christmas. One who’s been given a million bucks, and out too long in the unforgiving Australian sun.

You’ll forgive him this once for not listening to you about slip, slop, slapping. He’s the Rhonda to your Ketut, hot like a sunrise, raccoon eyes and all. Looking mighty adorable as he takes his first bite. His brilliant greens, candy-like against the equally green gumball nose.

“So what’s with the cowboy?” he says.

“Dunno, why?”

“Figured you guys’d have that blue dog or that guy with the bucket for a hat as an ice cream over a gunslinger.”

You stare into the distance for a moment at his comment, dumbfounded. Not sure whether to be surprised he knows who Bluey is or that he’s heard of Ned Kelly.

“How the hell do you know who either of them are?” you say as you pluck out your gumball with precision so you can finish the strawberry centre.

Dean just looks at you like you insulted John Wayne. But while his eyes narrow at you, his tongue still works his Bill. “Hey, Ledger’s no Leto,” he says between licks, twisting his arm to scoop up a drip forming at the side. “But he sure beat Nicholson. And that dog is cute like Dory.”

Cute comment aside, “Don’t you mean Nemo?”

“He’s not blue.” He swipes his head through the air, matter-of-fact, and you’re just as dumbfounded as before,

“She’s not Aussie.”

“She wouldn’t go for a guy like me, either.” His non-eating hand grabs yours, intertwining his fingers, squeezing gently. “Not like you.”

“Well, I’m not a fish.”

You turn towards the surf, sticking the whole stick in your mouth to get the last morsels of ice cream, dragging it back with your teeth. You pucker and pop your lips when you release it, knowing he’s watching.

“No, you’re not.” He chuckles. “You’re making mighty fine work of that stick, though.”

You grin. Wiggle your brows and hips a little. Play into the sultry look he’s giving you and rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “If you don’t hurry up and eat that other ice cream, I’m making work of it, too.”

There’s no way you’re letting that thing go to waste. You’d gladly eat it and get two more. Who cares about the belly ache after?

But Dean’s grabbing it and peeling back the wrapper, before you can so much as blink.

“Get your own,” he says.

“It was mine,” you spit back, and he feigns hurt to insult, to a playful smirk.

He puts the bullet-hole end of Bill’s hat up to your mouth, but you don’t bite, knowing he’ll just pull it away. You know him too damn well, so you do what any sweet girl would do in a pinch, and push it into his nose instead.

Of course, you don’t leave him this way.

You kiss the strawberry off his chin, lick the caramel from his top lip and let him taste them both on his tongue. “But you’re mine, too.”

Obligatory Jensen chewing gum because why not.

True Blue Aussie Glossary

True Blue: genuine, quintessentially Aussie. Someone or something can be true blue.

Drop Bears: feed on the tourists. Give them a Vegemite sandwich and they might leave you alone.

Vegemite: that black, salty spread no one outside of Australia likes. I’m telling you guys, it’s delicious on toast when done right. Even Mark Sheppard says so.

Sunburnt country: it’s a nod to a poem we (at least, my generation) learnt in school.

Wattle: is a native Australian tree. Bright yellow and tiny flowers.

Thongs: lol - just in case anyone’s scratching their head who hasn’t seen me or anyone else use this one before. Flip-flops are sticking to the road there, not the underwear kind (we call them g-strings or g-bangers - I don’t know why).

Rando: random. We shorten everything.

Servo: short for service station. AKA a gas station.

Lollies: candy. Except it’s anything but chocolate. Think gummy bears, bubblegum, lollipops as a collective.

Slip, Slop, Slap(ping): a campaign we had here to wear sunscreen. Slip on a shirt, slop on some sunscreen, and slap on a hat.

Rhonda and Ketut: the greatest love story of all time (it’s a bunch of TV commercials selling car insurance). Rhonda has a beautiful brake foot, and she’s hot like a sunrise. Ketut is her Balinese toy boy. In one of the commercials her sunburn forms raccoon eyes where her sunglasses had been.

Bluey: that adorable blue heeler. If you don’t know her, you’ve been living under a rock.

Ned Kelly: a famous name in Australian history. He was a bush ranger. Heath Ledger played him in a movie based on his life. I figured Dean’s love of movies might make him aware of the role.

Ten points to Gryffindoor if you spotted any extra slang or references!

I wanted to squeeze in another pun about Rhonda and Ketut at the end, or a “I just want milk that tastes like real milk,” but they just didn’t fit. Hope you enjoyed ❤️

Dean Taglist #1

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@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly @my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447