SPN Fic, "Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl" (Sam/girl!Dean/Andy), Interlude
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl - Interlude
Author: arby_m
Pairing: various combinations of Sam, Andy and girl!Dean
Rating: R (cussing, Wincest)
Spoilers: Through Simon Said (and sort of Playthings, see note).
Warnings: Crack, also satire.
Length: ~10k words in total, this chapter clocks in at ~1150 words
Disclaimer: Fictional characters used without intent of copyright infringement.
Summary: In which Sam talks to a helpful bartender.
Author's Note: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5. This is an interlude in which I amused myself greatly by including the point of view of the beers Sam is drinking in the narrative. Don't ask me what the hell made me think of that. Also? I have a number of theories about the bartender, but they're not relevant. Finally, a small bit of Sam's dialogue is cribbed from drunken!Sam's ranting in Playthings.
Interlude: Sam and the Bartender
Sam tried to work, naturally - because he was something of a nerd possessed of greater quantities of insomnia and inexplicable curses than he was of social impulses/life - but found it strangely hard to concentrate. He decided to take his books to the bar on the corner.
The bar was tiny, narrow and dingy, a dank cave where most of the denizens habitually wore faded, off-black, and heavily stained casual wear to go with their artfully conceived slouches. At $2 a beer, it was priced right, and locationally situated it was ideal, being across the parking lot from their hotel. Sam sat at the bar and his back formed a giant capital C.
The bartender was occupied down at the other end with a skinny girl in Buddy Holly glasses and her hulking, leering date, but made sure to make eye contact with a slight nod of acknowledgment. Sam pulled out St. McKPatrickson & O'Reilly's Esoteric Catholic Rituals and Prayera Obscura, Annotated and Unabridged, 3rd edition, and cracked it open to page 315.
The bartender swiftly and silently brought him a frosty, golden bottle of beer, plunked it down on the worn but polished wooden counter with a gently resounding *thud*. The beer foamed up invitingly in response, spilling a little of itself in anticipation.
Sam looked at the bartender, who held up two fingers. In response Sam dug in his pocket, put down $2.50. Then he bent studiously to his work, one hand encircling the beer in a lazy caress. The beer didn't mind, it was a little bit of a slut.
Things continued on in this manner for some time. Sam had made his teasing, drawn-out way through three lovely young beers, before the bar had emptied except for one other patron, a nondescript fellow hunched in the back, playing solitaire and nursing a fifth of rotgut Scotch.
Sam raised his bleary head and knuckled his eyes. The words were starting to swim. He looked up to see the bartender leaning across from him. The bartender was regarding him with a patient and steadying stare.
Sam frowned. "What?"
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"I take it you're trying to avoid something."
Sam pursed his lips, sighed, and unaccountably answered with the truth. "Try someone. My sister - well, more like my brother - he's female now but she used to be a he."
The bartender polished the countertop assiduously, in the manner to which bartenders worldwide hold the patent, picking up Sam's latest conquest and sweeping the cloth beneath it briskly, wiping up its puddled sweat, then giving the bottle itself a brief but no less exciting rubdown.
"And this makes you have to study here how?"
Sam, stalling, took several swallows from his newly tidied beer. The other bottles in the ice bucket looked on enviously, while the bartender watched Sam's Adam's apple going up and down, bobbing like a cork on the ocean.
"He went out on a date tonight, and the guy didn't want to - you know" (he gestured clumsily yet eloquently with a giant floppy paw, to which the bartender nodded) "and he came back and asked me if I thought he was hot" (the bartender's eyes widened minutely at this) "and when I said I didn't want to answer, screamed at me, stormed out of the room, slamming the door and now he's crying."
The bartender squinted slightly and stared into the top-right corner of space in recollection. "What does your brother - er, look like now? Small but quite tough, able to drink the average guy under the table, but pretty as a model?" Sam nodded. The bartender continued. "Is it possible that he was here earlier tonight, with a rather unprepossessing dude?"
"Yeah, that sounds like Dean, and this friend of ours, Andy."
At the mention of his brother's date, a look crossed Sam's face, which the bartender noticed, but did not remark upon.
The bartender said, "Isn't he effectively your sister now?"
Sam stared at his beer and said nothing for a while. Then he looked up, met the bartender's patient gaze. "Yeah. That's kind of the problem."
The bartender made an exceedingly subtle expression that could be interpreted sixteen different ways by any halfway-competent psychology major. Sam himself could think of ten right off the bat.
"Can I ask you something?" said the bartender, not quite casually.
Sam nodded.
"Why is it that this wasn't a problem before Dean crossed his wires? Is she really so differerent from the person who was your brother?"
"That's a great question!" In gesticulating wildly at no one in particular, Sam knocked over his beer, but the bartender caught it deftly before a precious drop had spilled. The beer was, of course, silently grateful.
"I dunno, I guess the answer is Yes. When Dean was a guy he was just so...short."
The bartender raised an eyebrow at this. Sam didn't notice.
"Short and bossy. Man, what a supremely annoying combination. If he wasn't beating me up, he was pranking me. Now her height is kind of ... cute. She needs me to look after her."
"Ah. The protector instinct." The bartender nodded in a way that would have been almost irritatingly wise - to a sober person.
"It's like he went from being my older brother to my younger sister. I never had a sister before, you know? I don't really know how to act."
The bartender, having expertly assessed Sam's inebriation level, threw discretion to the wind and went for the metaphorical kill. "What about this Andy guy, what's the deal with him?"
Sam looked broadly uncomfortable. "He ... he kinda reminds me of Dean. Boy Dean." He leaned over the bar, stage-whispering, "But I think he likes Dean. You know, that way."
The bartender refrained from reacting. Somehow he did this in a way that was distinctly distinguishable from not being affected. The bar took this opportunity to grow the tiniest bit more polished. Sam's beer sweated a little to itself, hoping Sam would be so kind as to finish it before it got too hot and lost all its appeal.
After a long minute, the bartender said, "Well, that would make sense - after all, they did go on a date. And yet, nothing happened." It wasn't a question.
Sam frowned cartoonishly. "Yeah! Wonder what's up with that."
"Maybe Andy prefers Dean as a male."
"Maybe. Or maybe," his eyes got big and he fell to stage-whispering again, "Dean doesn't really like Andy that way. Maybe he secretly likes someone else!"
The bartender almost smiled, then changed the subject. "Why don't you finish up your beer?"
Sam was only too happy to comply - not to mention the beer, which was ecstatic at the thought that it would not be unceremoniously thrown out.
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On to Chapter 6!
Title: Five Times Dean Acted Like A Girl - Interlude
Author: arby_m
Pairing: various combinations of Sam, Andy and girl!Dean
Rating: R (cussing, Wincest)
Spoilers: Through Simon Said (and sort of Playthings, see note).
Warnings: Crack, also satire.
Length: ~10k words in total, this chapter clocks in at ~1150 words
Disclaimer: Fictional characters used without intent of copyright infringement.
Summary: In which Sam talks to a helpful bartender.
Author's Note: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5. This is an interlude in which I amused myself greatly by including the point of view of the beers Sam is drinking in the narrative. Don't ask me what the hell made me think of that. Also? I have a number of theories about the bartender, but they're not relevant. Finally, a small bit of Sam's dialogue is cribbed from drunken!Sam's ranting in Playthings.
Interlude: Sam and the Bartender
Sam tried to work, naturally - because he was something of a nerd possessed of greater quantities of insomnia and inexplicable curses than he was of social impulses/life - but found it strangely hard to concentrate. He decided to take his books to the bar on the corner.
The bar was tiny, narrow and dingy, a dank cave where most of the denizens habitually wore faded, off-black, and heavily stained casual wear to go with their artfully conceived slouches. At $2 a beer, it was priced right, and locationally situated it was ideal, being across the parking lot from their hotel. Sam sat at the bar and his back formed a giant capital C.
The bartender was occupied down at the other end with a skinny girl in Buddy Holly glasses and her hulking, leering date, but made sure to make eye contact with a slight nod of acknowledgment. Sam pulled out St. McKPatrickson & O'Reilly's Esoteric Catholic Rituals and Prayera Obscura, Annotated and Unabridged, 3rd edition, and cracked it open to page 315.
The bartender swiftly and silently brought him a frosty, golden bottle of beer, plunked it down on the worn but polished wooden counter with a gently resounding *thud*. The beer foamed up invitingly in response, spilling a little of itself in anticipation.
Sam looked at the bartender, who held up two fingers. In response Sam dug in his pocket, put down $2.50. Then he bent studiously to his work, one hand encircling the beer in a lazy caress. The beer didn't mind, it was a little bit of a slut.
Things continued on in this manner for some time. Sam had made his teasing, drawn-out way through three lovely young beers, before the bar had emptied except for one other patron, a nondescript fellow hunched in the back, playing solitaire and nursing a fifth of rotgut Scotch.
Sam raised his bleary head and knuckled his eyes. The words were starting to swim. He looked up to see the bartender leaning across from him. The bartender was regarding him with a patient and steadying stare.
Sam frowned. "What?"
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
"I take it you're trying to avoid something."
Sam pursed his lips, sighed, and unaccountably answered with the truth. "Try someone. My sister - well, more like my brother - he's female now but she used to be a he."
The bartender polished the countertop assiduously, in the manner to which bartenders worldwide hold the patent, picking up Sam's latest conquest and sweeping the cloth beneath it briskly, wiping up its puddled sweat, then giving the bottle itself a brief but no less exciting rubdown.
"And this makes you have to study here how?"
Sam, stalling, took several swallows from his newly tidied beer. The other bottles in the ice bucket looked on enviously, while the bartender watched Sam's Adam's apple going up and down, bobbing like a cork on the ocean.
"He went out on a date tonight, and the guy didn't want to - you know" (he gestured clumsily yet eloquently with a giant floppy paw, to which the bartender nodded) "and he came back and asked me if I thought he was hot" (the bartender's eyes widened minutely at this) "and when I said I didn't want to answer, screamed at me, stormed out of the room, slamming the door and now he's crying."
The bartender squinted slightly and stared into the top-right corner of space in recollection. "What does your brother - er, look like now? Small but quite tough, able to drink the average guy under the table, but pretty as a model?" Sam nodded. The bartender continued. "Is it possible that he was here earlier tonight, with a rather unprepossessing dude?"
"Yeah, that sounds like Dean, and this friend of ours, Andy."
At the mention of his brother's date, a look crossed Sam's face, which the bartender noticed, but did not remark upon.
The bartender said, "Isn't he effectively your sister now?"
Sam stared at his beer and said nothing for a while. Then he looked up, met the bartender's patient gaze. "Yeah. That's kind of the problem."
The bartender made an exceedingly subtle expression that could be interpreted sixteen different ways by any halfway-competent psychology major. Sam himself could think of ten right off the bat.
"Can I ask you something?" said the bartender, not quite casually.
Sam nodded.
"Why is it that this wasn't a problem before Dean crossed his wires? Is she really so differerent from the person who was your brother?"
"That's a great question!" In gesticulating wildly at no one in particular, Sam knocked over his beer, but the bartender caught it deftly before a precious drop had spilled. The beer was, of course, silently grateful.
"I dunno, I guess the answer is Yes. When Dean was a guy he was just so...short."
The bartender raised an eyebrow at this. Sam didn't notice.
"Short and bossy. Man, what a supremely annoying combination. If he wasn't beating me up, he was pranking me. Now her height is kind of ... cute. She needs me to look after her."
"Ah. The protector instinct." The bartender nodded in a way that would have been almost irritatingly wise - to a sober person.
"It's like he went from being my older brother to my younger sister. I never had a sister before, you know? I don't really know how to act."
The bartender, having expertly assessed Sam's inebriation level, threw discretion to the wind and went for the metaphorical kill. "What about this Andy guy, what's the deal with him?"
Sam looked broadly uncomfortable. "He ... he kinda reminds me of Dean. Boy Dean." He leaned over the bar, stage-whispering, "But I think he likes Dean. You know, that way."
The bartender refrained from reacting. Somehow he did this in a way that was distinctly distinguishable from not being affected. The bar took this opportunity to grow the tiniest bit more polished. Sam's beer sweated a little to itself, hoping Sam would be so kind as to finish it before it got too hot and lost all its appeal.
After a long minute, the bartender said, "Well, that would make sense - after all, they did go on a date. And yet, nothing happened." It wasn't a question.
Sam frowned cartoonishly. "Yeah! Wonder what's up with that."
"Maybe Andy prefers Dean as a male."
"Maybe. Or maybe," his eyes got big and he fell to stage-whispering again, "Dean doesn't really like Andy that way. Maybe he secretly likes someone else!"
The bartender almost smiled, then changed the subject. "Why don't you finish up your beer?"
Sam was only too happy to comply - not to mention the beer, which was ecstatic at the thought that it would not be unceremoniously thrown out.
-------------------------------------------------------------
On to Chapter 6!