It's all
lemmypie's fault. She was obsessing about Dean being tied up, and why, like anyone needs a reason.
So, here's four times Dean got tied up, and one time that other guy did. Totally freakishly unbeta'd, so I might be drooling.
Spiderman
All those books warned you about homemade things, how they’d never passed any safety inspections, but Mary had always liked John’s grandmother, and this was the first great-grandchild, and the woman was close to ninety after all, and was almost senile.
Actually, well over the edge in practical terms.
The crocheted crib blanket was meant to be Spiderman, because what little boy didn’t like Spiderman? That’s what the crabbed handwriting had informed them on the gift card, anyway. Thank god she’d told them what it was, because Mary thought it looked like a massive blue and red blotch in middle of a yellow field. Well, that was exactly what it was, like a big blue elephant had met a sorry fate at the business end of a rifle.
Now the old biddie was coming here, to their house, and Dean was too big for the blanket, never used it really, preferring to kick off covers so enthusiastically that they’d given up and just cranked up the baseboard heaters in his room so he wouldn’t freeze to death. He slept in full motion, noisy as a cage of hungry guinea pigs.
The biddie was at the door, and Dean’s nap should really be over, but he hadn’t woken up yet, not according to the baby monitor on the kitchen counter, anyway. Mary decided she should scoop up the warm sleepy child while he was still too groggy to rouse himself to the ear-splitting shrieks that full wakefulness usually brought.
That’s right, Mary thought, as John got the door and she went up the stairs to the baby’s room. Warm sleepy Dean might actually allow himself to be cuddled by a strange old lady who smelled of used Kleenex. She crossed the room, opened the blinds and stared, speechless.
Dean wiggled a little, but couldn’t move. His big eyes darted from side to side, surprised. Somehow, in the middle of his usual thrashing about, he’d unraveled the damn blanket. Like a little silkworm, he was cocooned in a festive package of red and blue and yellow yarn, wrapped tight as an Egyptian mummy.
Spiderman.
--
Houdini
“This’ll work. Trust me.” Sam adjusted the duct tape around Dean’s wrists, pulled a little and Dean swore at him because duct tape tore the hair on your arms out by its roots. Hadn’t thought of that when he’d suggested duct tape as a better option than rope. Actually, hadn’t really thought this through at all.
“Won’t work, little freak. Girls are so not impressed by shit like this.”
“Will,” which shut Dean up because Sam looked like he might hit him and Dean was at a disadvantage because Sam had taped his brother’s hands behind his back and was now setting the trigger above the tank.
Trust some Florida junior high school teen queen to keep a dunk tank in her backyard. Sam so owed him for this. He was too old for this sort of nonsense. “Won’t. You’re going to miss and she’s so not going to be impressed by your pitching abilities, Kreskin.” Mixing his cultural metaphors there, but Sam wasn’t listening to him anyway.
“Shut up,” Sam hissed, not looking at him. The sun was very hot and Dean actually wouldn’t mind being dunked in the tank. If he hadn’t been tied up. But Sam had a plan and it involved some convoluted story about Houdini and why the fuck did Dad ever let Sam get a fucking library card? It only caused trouble.
Amazing Escapes Explained! Should have had warning bells going off as far away as Tallahassee.
“Okay, here she comes. Let me do all the talking.” Sam jumped down from the board where Dean was perched, immobile, over the tank of water.
Dean glanced down. The water looked kinda unclean actually. He wondered when it had last been changed. This Susie Hexler had a couple of older brothers in college. Fuck, who the hell knew what was in that water? How had Sam talked him into this?
Looked up, saw Susie coming off her back porch, tall Sam talking to her, dimples going like punctuation in a long novel, explaining how he was going to make his tied up brother magically escape from a tank of water, and then Susie Hexler glanced over, all of fourteen years old and Dean remembered why he was here.
Back of Dad’s Impala and sorry about that Sam.
Owing Sam and paying Sam were two different things, but Dean was willing to take his lumps, even if Sam was none the wiser.
--
Nutjob
“Are you sure this is in the script?” He didn’t like last minute changes, and this seemed, well, kinda major, given where they were in the season.
Jared was crouched behind his chair, the empty Riverview Hospital room reverberating with echo and his quick chuckle. “Yeah, of course I’m sure. New stuff,” and waved some sheets of colored paper in the air to Jensen’s left, but they were gone before he got a good look.
Jensen shifted his position on the metal chair. Goddamn, Jared was making that knot TIGHT. Asshole. “Why aren’t you in wardrobe?”
“I’m done for the day.” Jared stood back, surveyed his handiwork. “Unlike you.” They were joined by some of the lighting guys, an assistant director and the script supervisor, who all looked at him, stone-faced.
That’s when he knew.
“Jared…” he started, but Jared was out the door already. Jensen heard his laughter bouncing down the abandoned corridor.
“Don’t worry! I’m sure lots of people will come by to give you food and water over the weekend!”
Jared laughed like a six-year-old girl, delighted with himself.
--
Go with the Priest
The Black Dog was really, really huge and Sam didn’t particularly like the look it gave him. Mostly because a human arm was dangling from its foaming mouth. Yeah, so that gave him pause. And the fact that there were two of them, and the other one didn’t have a limb to occupy it.
But he couldn’t remember for the life of him whether it was holy water bullets, silver bullets, or regular bullets blessed by an Orthodox priest that would do it. The Black Dog without dinner nosed the one with. It growled back. Black Dog smackdown coming right up.
And it was raining. In a graveyard.
Sam took out his phone, kept his gun trained on the Black Dogs as they began to fight. Different bullet in every chamber. Russian roulette, supernatural style.
“Dean,” he hissed when the connection clicked, hoping the dogs wouldn’t notice that he was making a call. They were too busy snapping at each other; one of them had its fangs buried in the back of the other. Stupid of him to have come out here in the first place, worse that he had to phone his goddamn brother for advice.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice. Sam’s brow furrowed and he stared at his phone, made sure he’d pressed the right button.
“Dean?” he repeated, sparing a glance to the Dogs.
“Oh, he’s tied up at the moment,” the voice continued, laughing.
Right.
“Just get him, would you?” Though he tried to keep the panic from creeping up his throat, it wasn’t working. One Dog was now pulling the other into the open grave, dripping blood from some wound. Sam could hear it panting.
He heard more laughter on the other end, might have been Dean. Definitely at least one woman.
“Sam?” Dean sounded…relaxed. Goddamn libidinous horndog. “Whatcha up to? Can’t figure out how to work the cable?”
The Dog started howling. “No,” Sam explained. “I, uh, well I have a little-”
From the hollow sound on the other end, Dean was no longer there.
“Hi there,” one of the female voices returned. “Who’s this?”
“Can I have Dean back, please?” The Dogs were so fucking loud, Sam supposed it didn’t matter if he was now shouting.
Another long pause. “Yeah?” Dean back again. “Just hold the phone to my ear for a…hello?” Then made some noise that Sam had never heard before, didn’t even want to think what might be going on at the other end. Beside which, the noise was somewhat overpowered by the sound of one Dog ripping the tongue of the other out by its roots. Sounded kinda like the noise you might make if you jammed your hand in an industrial loaf slicer at the back of a bakery. It was followed by a garbled crunching from the bottom of the grave. One down.
One to go.
“Dean?” Better make this quick. “Dean - Black Dogs, silver, holy water or Greek priest?”
“What?”
Sam took some satisfaction from the tone of that before he had to trust to luck. The Dog was coming and coming fast. He didn’t miss and the shot felled the beast three feet in front of him. Man, it stank.
“Nevermind,” Sam said into the phone and flipped it shut.
--
On Ice
Nfrh rfh, Dean told him in no uncertain terms, but Sam was now laughing so hard he was almost crying. It was too cold to cry; Minnesota in February outside the school and tears would freeze and he was way too old to cry.
“Dean, how did this happen?” Dean was way too old for this too, as a matter of fact. A kindergartener was too old for this. “What kind of idiot…”
Lmmmft. Eahy. Dean stopped trying to talk. Just stood there for a moment, shifted his feet so his boots crunched the snow, stared hard at Sam.
Who sighed, crossing his arms across his chest. Wait till I tell Dad. “It’s going to hurt.”
Lots of weird vowels sounds followed that, and Sam held up his mittened hands, willing Dean to calm down. He really would hurt himself, either if he panicked (and his brother didn’t panic, ever), or if he got so mad at Sam, he came after him (much more likely).
“Okay, okay.” Eyed Dean, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. “Girl talked you into this, didn’t she?”
Dean couldn’t move his face much, but his nose slipped to one side of the tetherball pole as he tried to look away. Sam came around the pole so he could get a better look at his brother’s predicament. “Man, she must be really hot.”
Aunch, Dean said.
“Or, you’re really, really dumb.”
ERSHITFERKNEG, Dean started, but then moaned as he tried to pull away from the pole, his tongue stuck there, starting to bleed.
Sam stared, basilisk calm. One more moment, so he’d remember it forever. “Okay, I’m going inside - I’ll get some warm water from the bathroom.” He patted Dean on the shoulder, easily avoided the punch he tried to throw. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Anyone else want to try? It's fun and fuckin' easy.
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