Birthday fic for mf_luder_xf
So, it's a day early for her fic, but I won't be around tomorrow! So here's fic!
You keep on telling me these pretty little lies
*Hey Teacher - Louis XIV
Summary: That tape Sam burned? Yeah, he knew it was going to bite him in the ass one day.
Fandom: Supernatural (Sam/Dean)
Rating: PG-13 (for much language)
Word Count: approx. 1380
Characters: Sam, Dean, OMC
Warnings: Wincest and a really pissy Sam
Author’s Notes: for the loveliest of the love, mf_luder_xf on the most glorious event of her birthday! much much much much much love and best wishes! ♥
-
When Sam was fifteen, he ruined Dean’s favorite Metallica tape. Well, he really didn’t say it was his fault, but he did watch the Impala tape deck eat it up and spit it out, mangled and maimed, into his open hand. It wasn’t his fault, really, right? Because the Impala ate it, not him.
But of course, Sam freaked. Dean would’ve killed him even if he explained he didn’t tell the Impala to purposely go cannibal on his tape. He burned the remains and buried them in the school yard. He told Dean he didn’t know where the tape was and after a few months of helpless searching, Dean gave into the fact that it was just gone.
Only Sam knew that it was actually somewhere in Wisconsin, buried beneath the pitcher’s mound at an elementary school baseball field.
Sam knew it was going to come back to haunt him one day. Maybe he did overreact a little about how it would haunt him (he did have nightmares of Dean chasing him with a chainsaw and the charred cassette tape was controlling Dean through telepathic powers) but he just knew it was bad karma. Very bad karma.
It comes around way too many years later when Sam’s picking at bags of chips in a gas station, not really sure of what he wants, and Dean was fingering through the 2 for 1 cassette tape bin.
“Hey, Sammy?” Dean calls from somewhere within the store.
“Yeah?” Sam says, peeking his head around the chip bags, frowning at his brother. “What?”
“Do you remember that Metallica tape, my favorite one, that I lost?” Dean asks. His eyes glaze over and Sam knows he is reminiscing to the ten odd years before.
Sam swallows around the suddenly rising lump in his throat. He manages a teasing laugh. “You still remember that? That was, like, a decade ago.”
Dean shrugs, his chest heaving a little. He pulls himself away from the bin, looking a little defeated and it’s that bad, bad karma coming to bite Sam in the ass. He can’t stand Dean when he gets into these types of moods. “Yeah, I know. But it was my favorite.”
Sam takes the nearest bag of chips and walks around Dean to the counter, where a young guy is watching them with a dull interest and eyeing his magazine rather hungrily. Sam ignores Dean as he steps close to him, his thighs pressing against the back of his knees rather teasingly and stares straight at the cashier, trying not to let Dean’s breath hot on his neck let his dick stir too much.
“We had gas, too,” Sam says as the kid rings up his chips.
The boy looks out the window and back at Sam, grinning lightly. “Nice car.”
Sam tries not to let his eye roll become obvious - of course, the car just has to be mentioned every five miles.
“It’s mine,” Dean pipes up. “Impala, a ’67.” He seems rather haughty and proud, but Sam never expects any less when it comes to the Impala and Dean.
“Classic,” the boy says, nodding.
Sam practically drags Dean away before he can start talking about horsepower and engines and whatever else; Sam wants to get where they were going and move on. He blames it on all the caffeine, but it’s just that damn karma. Fucking karma, fuck. He munches bitterly on his chips, ignoring the looks Dean shoots him out of the corner of his eye - Sam knows what he’s thinking and hell if he’s going to stop to give Dean a blow-job. He’s pissed for no reason and preoccupied with making the burning guilt go away.
Sam doesn’t know why he’s letting this get to him but there are very few things Sam has kept secret from Dean. Oh, he’s tried of course, but Dean just does this thing where he talks about it, asks a few questions, leaves it alone after Sam denies him and Sam usually caves without Dean ever prodding more from him. Sam had managed to keep the mysterious disappearance of the Metallica tape from Dean for this long, but it had come back to haunt him. It was barely above a whisper and Dean would never mention it again until he was old and senile and on his deathbed, but Sam just couldn’t bare it.
“Your knee’s twitching,” Dean observes somewhere past the millionth shrub Sam has seen that day.
“Yeah, so?” Sam snaps. His hand runs up his bouncing thigh and he tries to control it, but he can’t.
“Your leg only twitches when you’re thinking about something serious,” Dean points out and, damn, he’s right. “What’re you thinking about?”
“When you became a fucking girl,” Sam grumbles.
“When did you acquire the ability to channel PMS?” Dean says rather sternly, his voice tight around the edges. He only uses that voice when Sam’s attitude is making him mad, he better stop it before Dean does some serious damage - Sam’s knee stops bouncing.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. He stares out the window, clenching his thighs together to regain control over his body.
“Really, what’s bugging you?” Dean asks and he seems genuine enough.
Sam shrugs. “Just stuff.”
Dean stares at Sam for a moment, shrugs a little and looks back to the road, not pressing the matter. Sam groans quietly - well, he knows he’s in for it.
-
So, it comes out later that night. Sam marks it as the fastest he’s ever caved with Dean. He doesn’t feel weak or defeated, just a little stupid.
“I wrecked that tape,” Sam blurted out.
Dean stopped unzipping his pants; his hands fell to his sides and he lowered himself to the bed, a look of distinct disbelief on his face. “And you’re telling me this now because?” Dean says irritably.
Sam stutters and looks at his bare feet, feeling five-years-old and just getting caught dressing the family cat in baby clothes and feeding it chocolate chip cookies (and he had only done it once - it was worse because it wasn’t his cat). “It’s been bugging me all day.”
“Couldn’t it have waited until my boner was gone?” Dean muttered as he fell down onto the bed, his back facing Sam.
Sam bit his lip. “Are you mad?”
“About you not fucking me? Yes!” Dean snapped.
“No, about the tape,” Sam says.
There’s a small pause. “Yeah, kinda.” Dean glares at Sam over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you just tell me what happened before?”
“Because you would’ve killed me,” Sam answers meekly.
“Damn rights I would’ve.” Dean sighs. “Well, what happened?”
Sam looks at Dean through his eyelashes before looking back to his toes. “The Impala tape deck ate it.”
Dean blinks. “Oh. What’d you do with it?”
Sam swallows around the lump in his throat and answered in a small voice, “I burned it and buried it.”
“You burned it?” Dean’s eyes are wider than saucers. “Why?”
Damn Dean and his I’ll-Make-You-Cave ability. “I thought… I thought it was going to, uh, haunt me.”
And Dean, well hell, he starts laughing. It’s small at first, a wide grin tugging at the corner of his lips and then it bursts out like running head long into a wall, loud and tremulous. Sam can feel it in his bones.
“I was fifteen!” Sam protests, sitting up fully.
That only makes Dean double over in laughter. Like Sam’s going to tell him about the nightmares.
“Well, I got you the tape,” Sam mutters angrily. He reaches for his bag that was thrown to the floor, digs around the contents and tosses the cassette to Dean, who catches it one-handed, his smile fading into an awed expression. “Happy Birthday.”
“Where’d you get it?” Dean asks. “We didn’t stop anywhere.”
“Nicked it off that guy’s house we were checking this afternoon,” Sam admits. “It was just sitting on his dresser and I grabbed it.”
Dean stares at Sam for a long moment before he grins and slides up the bed until he’s resting between Sam’s legs. “Thanks,” Dean mutters, leaning in to kiss Sam on the lips, soft and sweet. He fingers the tape lovingly and Sam rolls his eyes.
So, okay, bad karma can turn into good karma, Sam has to admit that.
-
You keep on telling me these pretty little lies
*Hey Teacher - Louis XIV
Summary: That tape Sam burned? Yeah, he knew it was going to bite him in the ass one day.
Fandom: Supernatural (Sam/Dean)
Rating: PG-13 (for much language)
Word Count: approx. 1380
Characters: Sam, Dean, OMC
Warnings: Wincest and a really pissy Sam
Author’s Notes: for the loveliest of the love, mf_luder_xf on the most glorious event of her birthday! much much much much much love and best wishes! ♥
-
When Sam was fifteen, he ruined Dean’s favorite Metallica tape. Well, he really didn’t say it was his fault, but he did watch the Impala tape deck eat it up and spit it out, mangled and maimed, into his open hand. It wasn’t his fault, really, right? Because the Impala ate it, not him.
But of course, Sam freaked. Dean would’ve killed him even if he explained he didn’t tell the Impala to purposely go cannibal on his tape. He burned the remains and buried them in the school yard. He told Dean he didn’t know where the tape was and after a few months of helpless searching, Dean gave into the fact that it was just gone.
Only Sam knew that it was actually somewhere in Wisconsin, buried beneath the pitcher’s mound at an elementary school baseball field.
Sam knew it was going to come back to haunt him one day. Maybe he did overreact a little about how it would haunt him (he did have nightmares of Dean chasing him with a chainsaw and the charred cassette tape was controlling Dean through telepathic powers) but he just knew it was bad karma. Very bad karma.
It comes around way too many years later when Sam’s picking at bags of chips in a gas station, not really sure of what he wants, and Dean was fingering through the 2 for 1 cassette tape bin.
“Hey, Sammy?” Dean calls from somewhere within the store.
“Yeah?” Sam says, peeking his head around the chip bags, frowning at his brother. “What?”
“Do you remember that Metallica tape, my favorite one, that I lost?” Dean asks. His eyes glaze over and Sam knows he is reminiscing to the ten odd years before.
Sam swallows around the suddenly rising lump in his throat. He manages a teasing laugh. “You still remember that? That was, like, a decade ago.”
Dean shrugs, his chest heaving a little. He pulls himself away from the bin, looking a little defeated and it’s that bad, bad karma coming to bite Sam in the ass. He can’t stand Dean when he gets into these types of moods. “Yeah, I know. But it was my favorite.”
Sam takes the nearest bag of chips and walks around Dean to the counter, where a young guy is watching them with a dull interest and eyeing his magazine rather hungrily. Sam ignores Dean as he steps close to him, his thighs pressing against the back of his knees rather teasingly and stares straight at the cashier, trying not to let Dean’s breath hot on his neck let his dick stir too much.
“We had gas, too,” Sam says as the kid rings up his chips.
The boy looks out the window and back at Sam, grinning lightly. “Nice car.”
Sam tries not to let his eye roll become obvious - of course, the car just has to be mentioned every five miles.
“It’s mine,” Dean pipes up. “Impala, a ’67.” He seems rather haughty and proud, but Sam never expects any less when it comes to the Impala and Dean.
“Classic,” the boy says, nodding.
Sam practically drags Dean away before he can start talking about horsepower and engines and whatever else; Sam wants to get where they were going and move on. He blames it on all the caffeine, but it’s just that damn karma. Fucking karma, fuck. He munches bitterly on his chips, ignoring the looks Dean shoots him out of the corner of his eye - Sam knows what he’s thinking and hell if he’s going to stop to give Dean a blow-job. He’s pissed for no reason and preoccupied with making the burning guilt go away.
Sam doesn’t know why he’s letting this get to him but there are very few things Sam has kept secret from Dean. Oh, he’s tried of course, but Dean just does this thing where he talks about it, asks a few questions, leaves it alone after Sam denies him and Sam usually caves without Dean ever prodding more from him. Sam had managed to keep the mysterious disappearance of the Metallica tape from Dean for this long, but it had come back to haunt him. It was barely above a whisper and Dean would never mention it again until he was old and senile and on his deathbed, but Sam just couldn’t bare it.
“Your knee’s twitching,” Dean observes somewhere past the millionth shrub Sam has seen that day.
“Yeah, so?” Sam snaps. His hand runs up his bouncing thigh and he tries to control it, but he can’t.
“Your leg only twitches when you’re thinking about something serious,” Dean points out and, damn, he’s right. “What’re you thinking about?”
“When you became a fucking girl,” Sam grumbles.
“When did you acquire the ability to channel PMS?” Dean says rather sternly, his voice tight around the edges. He only uses that voice when Sam’s attitude is making him mad, he better stop it before Dean does some serious damage - Sam’s knee stops bouncing.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. He stares out the window, clenching his thighs together to regain control over his body.
“Really, what’s bugging you?” Dean asks and he seems genuine enough.
Sam shrugs. “Just stuff.”
Dean stares at Sam for a moment, shrugs a little and looks back to the road, not pressing the matter. Sam groans quietly - well, he knows he’s in for it.
-
So, it comes out later that night. Sam marks it as the fastest he’s ever caved with Dean. He doesn’t feel weak or defeated, just a little stupid.
“I wrecked that tape,” Sam blurted out.
Dean stopped unzipping his pants; his hands fell to his sides and he lowered himself to the bed, a look of distinct disbelief on his face. “And you’re telling me this now because?” Dean says irritably.
Sam stutters and looks at his bare feet, feeling five-years-old and just getting caught dressing the family cat in baby clothes and feeding it chocolate chip cookies (and he had only done it once - it was worse because it wasn’t his cat). “It’s been bugging me all day.”
“Couldn’t it have waited until my boner was gone?” Dean muttered as he fell down onto the bed, his back facing Sam.
Sam bit his lip. “Are you mad?”
“About you not fucking me? Yes!” Dean snapped.
“No, about the tape,” Sam says.
There’s a small pause. “Yeah, kinda.” Dean glares at Sam over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you just tell me what happened before?”
“Because you would’ve killed me,” Sam answers meekly.
“Damn rights I would’ve.” Dean sighs. “Well, what happened?”
Sam looks at Dean through his eyelashes before looking back to his toes. “The Impala tape deck ate it.”
Dean blinks. “Oh. What’d you do with it?”
Sam swallows around the lump in his throat and answered in a small voice, “I burned it and buried it.”
“You burned it?” Dean’s eyes are wider than saucers. “Why?”
Damn Dean and his I’ll-Make-You-Cave ability. “I thought… I thought it was going to, uh, haunt me.”
And Dean, well hell, he starts laughing. It’s small at first, a wide grin tugging at the corner of his lips and then it bursts out like running head long into a wall, loud and tremulous. Sam can feel it in his bones.
“I was fifteen!” Sam protests, sitting up fully.
That only makes Dean double over in laughter. Like Sam’s going to tell him about the nightmares.
“Well, I got you the tape,” Sam mutters angrily. He reaches for his bag that was thrown to the floor, digs around the contents and tosses the cassette to Dean, who catches it one-handed, his smile fading into an awed expression. “Happy Birthday.”
“Where’d you get it?” Dean asks. “We didn’t stop anywhere.”
“Nicked it off that guy’s house we were checking this afternoon,” Sam admits. “It was just sitting on his dresser and I grabbed it.”
Dean stares at Sam for a long moment before he grins and slides up the bed until he’s resting between Sam’s legs. “Thanks,” Dean mutters, leaning in to kiss Sam on the lips, soft and sweet. He fingers the tape lovingly and Sam rolls his eyes.
So, okay, bad karma can turn into good karma, Sam has to admit that.
-