SPN fic: Only Two (1/1)

Aug 06, 2002 02:11

I ficced again.

Title Only Two
Author Bella Temple
Rating/Category Random crack, T for language
Length 704 words
Warnings lotsa cursing. Spoilers through AHBL part 2. Also? I'm weird. But you should know that by now.
Disclaimer The characters within are the fictional creations of someone who is not me. I have no permission for their use, and am using them for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made off this or any of the other works of fiction in this journal. . . .

Summary So . . . just how do you think Sam's going to get Dean out of that deal, anyway?

Its 16 miles, to the promise land
and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can
now don't fool yourself
in thinking you're more than a man
cause you'll probably end up dead
-- Rilo Kiley, "With Arms Outstretched"

* * *

So, as it turns out, even when you're ready and waiting for it, even when you're standing on the precipice with your arms up and inviting them in, getting torn apart by hell hounds really fucking hurts.

Of course, he probably should have guessed that.

Hell should probably hurt, too, otherwise, what was the point, right? Why should everyone, human and demon alike, be so desperate to get out if it isn't the worst damned thing in existence?

But while the pain of getting torn apart is carved into his memory with a burning drill, Dean doesn't remember anything after that. No pain or fire or stench or decay or . . . well, you get the picture. Just howling and screaming and being torn by claws of a giant black pitbull on steroids with far too many eyes and teeth, and then blinking up into the face of his little brother.

". . . Sam?"

"Six months." Something lands on his chest with a dull thud. Dad's journal.

"What?"

"You've got six months to keep my ass out of hell."

Dean slowly eases up, waiting for the stabs of pain from what should be way too many wounds, and is surprised when he can actually move pretty fucking easily. He looks around.

They're in the middle of a goddamned crossroads.

"You didn't."

"I did."

And it turns out for Sam that, even when he's ready and waiting for it, even when he's standing there with his arms up and inviting him in, getting his ass kicked by his formerly dead and damned older brother doesn't hurt that much at all.

* * *

Six months to the minute, and Dad's journal is thumping down onto Sam's chest.

"Dude."

Dean's eyebrow's up. He's practically smirking. "Dude."

"How long?"

"Three months. Better get cracking I guess."

* * *

*Thump*

"Let me guess, month and a half?"

* * *

"Three weeks."

"I know, I know, shut up already."

* * *

"Week and a--"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

"Dude, help me up."

"Dunno, not sure it's worth it."

"What are you talking about? We've got, what, four days this time, right?"

"Twelve minutes."

"Twelve--"

"What can I say, Sammy? The lady's getting impatient."

* * *

"My lips are getting sore, boys, why don't you just give it up already? You're both dead, both damned, the world is screwed, the end."

"Dude, we've got two minutes this time, right?"

"Dude, we're never going to figure this out in two minutes."

"Dude, seriously, have a little faith here already, okay? We can do this."

"Dude, no we can't. Just give it up already."

"Dude, not a chance."

"Dude--"

"Dude--"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU TWO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

. . .

"Dude, the demon just said she loves God."

"That's pretty fucked up right there."

* * *

"You boys have got to be shitting me."

"We shit you not, Bobby." Dean drains the last of his fourth beer and sets it down on the table with a thunk and a satisfied grin. Sam tilts his chair back and laughs.

"Dean and I are both in the clear. No death, no hell, just smooth sailing."

Bobby looks from one brother to the other. Dean has claw marks cutting his right eyebrow into neat, half-inch long segments and a line of what look like bloody tears marked down his right cheek. Half of Sam's hair is burned off, and both his eyes are black and swollen. They're pale, far too thin, and look as though they'll drop dead from exhaustion any fucking minute.

But Bobby has to admit, he's never seen either boy look so goddamned happy.

Dean pops the top on his fifth beer, but pauses before he takes a drink. "Possibly ever, come to think of it. I know that reaper sure as hell doesn't want to see my face again, any time soon,"

"You tellin' me you boys are immortal?"

Sam's still chuckling softly. "There can be only one, Bobby."

"Well," Dean smirks. "Two."

* * *

don't fool yourself
in thinking you're more than you are
with your arms outstretched to me
...
now some days, they last longer than others
but this day by the lake went too fast
and if you want me, you better speak up I won't wait
so you better move fast
-- Rilo Kiley, "With Arms Outstretched"

genre: humor, length: one-shot, rating: teen, genre: crack, type: fanfiction, fandom: supernatural

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