Fic: 'Man's Best Friend' Benefits Do Not Include a Retirement Plan
Title: 'Man's Best Friend' Benefits Do Not Include a Retirement Plan
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG for mild language, innuendo, brief mention of sexual kinks, disgusting dog behavior
Genre: gen, spoof, humor, crack
Characters: Dean, Sam, Portia, James, LeChat/'The Cat'
Word Count: 1,700
Summary: This is a fix-it fic/spoof of the execrable "Man's Best Friend with Benefits," because I just couldn't let the episode stand as it was. Hopefully it'll ease the pain of watching that episode. Funnies! Get your funnies here.
"Do you always go around with a duffle full of shackles and chains, Dean??” Sam asked, stunned. "Because that hardly seems practical. Wouldn’t handcuffs have sufficed? They’d be a lot more space-efficient, that’s for sure ...”
“Who are you?” Dean demanded of the sexy woman wearing a dog collar who had suddenly appeared in his and Sam’s hotel room that evening. “And what happened to that dog?!”
“Uh, well ... I’m a friend of James. My name is Portia. Actually, I’m the one who sent you that text.”
“Huh,” said Dean, sitting down on the bed to hear her out. “Deceit, magic .... Seems like it would be wise for me to kick your ass to the curb right about now, but whatever. Tell us more.”
“Well, for starters, James is a witch now, so I figured I’d call the most ruthless hunters he knows.”
Dean and Sam nodded like this made perfect sense to them.
“We’re pretty sure he’s killing people,” she went on. “That’s not gonna be a problem, is it? I mean, you were the right people to call, for help, right?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Dean reassured her. “We don’t have a shoot first, ask questions later policy at all, and we never just get people killed for no reason, either. Especially lately, right, Sam?”
“Uh ... right, Dean.”
“Oh, good,” she said, reassured. “I knew texting you was the most logical idea.”
“But who are you?” Dean barked. “His wife? His girlfriend?”
“Oh, I’m uh ... you know, his best friend,” she said coyly. “With benefits. Get it? Hee hee.”
“Well,” Dean sighed, grabbing his duffle, “guess we better go talk to ’im.”
Portia jumped to her feet and ran for the door, hopping up and down right in front of it. “Right now?” she asked eagerly, looking back at them. “Do we get to ride in the car? Or should we walk? Oooh, walk, walk!”
Once at the Impala, she scrambled into the backseat and stuck her head out the window. “I love riding in the car!” she bayed once they really got going, grinning at passersby, tongue lolling out.
Dean eyed Sam and lowered his voice. “Chick’s hot, but does she seem kind of weird to you?”
“I think she’s just really friendly,” Sam suggested.
“Yeah, but what’s with all the crotch-sniffing?” Dean asked, troubled.
“Look, a dog!” she shrieked suddenly, lunging and scrabbling at the door with her long fingernails.
“Hey, hey, watch the upholstery!” Dean yelled. Portia’s shoulders hunched and she subsided instantly, giving him a resentful look.
“I was just trying to protect you,” she mumbled sullenly.
“We know how to protect ourselves,” Dean said irritably, shaking his head at Sam, who arched his eyebrows.
Portia sighed heavily and rested her chin on the seat back, not looking at them. Instead, she watched the scenery go by, trying to pretend all the sights weren’t greatly grabbing her interest.
“Definitely a little weird,” Dean whispered, and Sam couldn’t deny it.
Dean and Sam sat in James’s cavernous living room, sunlight streaming in. James explained that he was killing people, night after night.
“Look, uh ... hate to break it to you, but me and Sam kill people who kill people. That’s kind of our thing that we do. We also kill witches.”
James hardly seemed dismayed. “Oh, because I was hoping you would act as detectives and prove me innocent.”
“Detectives? Like, police detectives? Like ... you, for instance? Since you’re a ... you know, cop?”
“Um ... yeah.”
“Hm, makes sense. Well, first things first,” Dean said gustily, swinging his duffle easily onto the coffee table and opening it up, brandishing its contents: great lengths of heavy chains. “Bondage,” Dean went on, nodding at them and waggling his eyebrows.
James and Portia grinned at each other incongruously. “I knew they were the right people to call,” James murmured.
Dean noticed Sam goggling at him. “What?” Dean said.
“Y--you-- Do you always go around with a duffle full of shackles and chains, Dean??” Sam asked, stunned.
“Nnno. Just for this episode.”
“Because, I mean, that hardly seems practical.”
“Right?” Dean agreed.
“Plus, wouldn’t that duffle weigh, like, fifty pounds at least??” Sam went on in disbelief. “And you just grabbed a huge handful of chain and lifted it like it weighed nothing!”
Dean was starting to look uncomfortable. “I think we get the picture, Sam.”
“Plus, Dean, chains and shackles, really?” Sam was starting to smirk. “What is this, a dungeon? Did we go back to the Middle Ages? Wouldn’t handcuffs have sufficed? They’d be a lot more space-efficient, that’s for sure--”
“Okay, Sam, we get it!” Dean said irritably. “But you’re missing the point, which is bondage. BONDAGE.”
“I thought we were doing bestiality.”
Dean shrugged. “If you’re gonna do one, may as well do the other.”
“Should we throw in something else, too? Maybe a little necrophilia, or some S & M?”
Dean nodded amiably. “Sure, if we have time, but we have a lot of stupid stuff we have to get to first.”
“Fair enough. What’s first?”
“We need to find an excuse to cut these people with a silver knife. I LOVE that shit!”
Sam went to the police station while Portia took Dean to a witch bar and introduced him to one of her friends, a shifty, feline fellow named Kitty Meowmeister “The Cat” McPussy. Dean sneezed. “That’s weird!” he exclaimed. “That only happens around cats!”
Portia stared at him. “You don’t say,” she said irritably. Suddenly spying an old, half-eaten sandwich that had been sitting out all day, Portia shoved Dean out of the way and wolfed it down without chewing.
“Whoa!” said Dean. “Take it easy!”
Sure enough, Portia started retching, then puked it all up. She was just about to eat it again when Dean yanked her away by the collar. “See? This is why you should chew first! Take it from me; I had to learn that the hard way myself. Jeez, girl. You’re hot, but all the puking and the leg-humping ... it’s kind of a turn-off.”
When they got home, Sam regaled them with his fascinating tales of the police station and a mysterious room they had devoted entirely to storage of files on James’s case (evidently it was an extraordinarily capacious police station)--oh, because also, someone was trying to frame him or something.
“You didn’t go in there?” Dean asked Sam.
“Well ... no.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause ... ’cause, well, the hall was empty, but ... I guess I was afraid someone would come by, or ... something.”
“Really?” Dean said disbelievingly. “When did that ever stop you before?! That file you saw, though--that cop took it out of that room, so why didn’t you just follow him, wait for him to put the file down, and get a look at it?”
Sam shrugged irritably. There was nothing he could say.
“What’s even in that file?” Dean went on. “I mean, what’s the big deal about it?”
“It might have the name of the person who’s framing me,” James said.
“That’s it??” Dean burst out disbelievingly. “That’s the whole big deal with the file and the room and everything?? There’s gotta be fifty other ways to get that information.”
“Yeah, but ... but it’s a good excuse for me to astral project,” James murmured suggestively.
Dean and Sam stared at him, baffled. “Why do you say that like it’s ... sexy?” Sam asked, confused.
James shrugged coyly, tracing his finger down the pattern on his bedspread. “Could be kinda hot. I don’t have to be fully dressed. I can grip your shoulders and gasp and pant and stuff, maybe break a sweat ....”
Dean and Sam looked at each other. “Works for me,” Dean said, promptly sitting down on the bed next to James. “Hey, Sam, we worked another one in there, just like you suggested--threesome!”
They stood around in the hotel parking lot, saying goodbye to James and Portia, who explained that after some random characters had for convoluted reasons tried to frame/capture/kill James and/or Portia, they were going to go on the run. “It’s all right,” Portia said, looking at Sam and Dean meaningfully, “we’re used to it. It’s the way it’s always been--for all of us.”
“No, it hasn’t,” James corrected. “I’ve lived here all my life. You, too, from the moment you became my familiar. No running. Definitely a first time for me and you.”
“Yeah, us too,” Sam said, also confused. “I mean, we move around a lot, but I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘on the run’--especially now that we’ve got the bunker and everything.”
“Whatever,” Portia said irritably. “You expect me to start making sense NOW?”
“Not really,” said Dean, giving her a goodbye hug. Her hair was a little wet from the constant Vancouver St. Louis rain, and it gave off the distinct aroma of wet dog.
James and Portia got in their car and left, and Sam and Dean followed suit.
“What a weird case,” Dean sighed, slinging the duffle full of shackles and chains effortlessly into the trunk and getting into the Impala. “Why did they drive over to the parking lot of our hotel to say goodbye? I mean, if you’re on the run, doesn’t it make more sense to just kinda ... leave from wherever you are?”
“I dunno,” said Sam. “Why did we have all those meaningful brotherly chats in James’s living room?”
“That’s a good point.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a minute, coughing up blood. Once he’d wiped it subtly on his pants, he said, “You know, Dean, I didn’t want to break this to you while you still had the hots for her, but ... eventually I figured out Portia was James’s familiar. A dog. She was the dog in the hotel room!”
“Gee, oh really, Sam??” Dean exclaimed sarcastically. “I had no idea!”
“Yeah, and that cat guy--”
“Dude, they called him ‘The Cat.’ I think I got it.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
“Jeez, Sam, how stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t, I just ... nothing about that case made any sense, so I started to feel like my whole world had turned upside-down.”
“Maybe we should make some dick jokes, so you can be sure our reality’s the same as it’s always been. Do you think that would help?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
~ The End ~
Notes:
- I had heard so much (bad) about 'Man's Best Friend with Benefits' before I saw it (I only watch on DVD, so I'm just seeing season 8 now!), so at least I didn't go into it expecting anything good. I was intrigued to see what was so bad about it, only to find it was ... well, pretty much everything. (The last scene in the car was good, and there's some nice Sam-and-Dean interaction, but that's the nicest stuff I can say about the episode.) We've seen episodes that didn't jibe with other episodes before. This was the first that didn't even make sense with other parts of the SAME EPISODE. Plus, it was plainly conceived around the whole 'hyuk-hyuk bestiality' 'premise,' so all in all, it was too ripe for a spoof to resist.
- Seriously? She wears a dog collar for the whole episode? Ughhh ....
- I could go on and on about exactly what made this episode so insufferable, but I covered most of them in the fic. ;-)
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: PG for mild language, innuendo, brief mention of sexual kinks, disgusting dog behavior
Genre: gen, spoof, humor, crack
Characters: Dean, Sam, Portia, James, LeChat/'The Cat'
Word Count: 1,700
Summary: This is a fix-it fic/spoof of the execrable "Man's Best Friend with Benefits," because I just couldn't let the episode stand as it was. Hopefully it'll ease the pain of watching that episode. Funnies! Get your funnies here.
"Do you always go around with a duffle full of shackles and chains, Dean??” Sam asked, stunned. "Because that hardly seems practical. Wouldn’t handcuffs have sufficed? They’d be a lot more space-efficient, that’s for sure ...”
“Who are you?” Dean demanded of the sexy woman wearing a dog collar who had suddenly appeared in his and Sam’s hotel room that evening. “And what happened to that dog?!”
“Uh, well ... I’m a friend of James. My name is Portia. Actually, I’m the one who sent you that text.”
“Huh,” said Dean, sitting down on the bed to hear her out. “Deceit, magic .... Seems like it would be wise for me to kick your ass to the curb right about now, but whatever. Tell us more.”
“Well, for starters, James is a witch now, so I figured I’d call the most ruthless hunters he knows.”
Dean and Sam nodded like this made perfect sense to them.
“We’re pretty sure he’s killing people,” she went on. “That’s not gonna be a problem, is it? I mean, you were the right people to call, for help, right?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Dean reassured her. “We don’t have a shoot first, ask questions later policy at all, and we never just get people killed for no reason, either. Especially lately, right, Sam?”
“Uh ... right, Dean.”
“Oh, good,” she said, reassured. “I knew texting you was the most logical idea.”
“But who are you?” Dean barked. “His wife? His girlfriend?”
“Oh, I’m uh ... you know, his best friend,” she said coyly. “With benefits. Get it? Hee hee.”
“Well,” Dean sighed, grabbing his duffle, “guess we better go talk to ’im.”
Portia jumped to her feet and ran for the door, hopping up and down right in front of it. “Right now?” she asked eagerly, looking back at them. “Do we get to ride in the car? Or should we walk? Oooh, walk, walk!”
Once at the Impala, she scrambled into the backseat and stuck her head out the window. “I love riding in the car!” she bayed once they really got going, grinning at passersby, tongue lolling out.
Dean eyed Sam and lowered his voice. “Chick’s hot, but does she seem kind of weird to you?”
“I think she’s just really friendly,” Sam suggested.
“Yeah, but what’s with all the crotch-sniffing?” Dean asked, troubled.
“Look, a dog!” she shrieked suddenly, lunging and scrabbling at the door with her long fingernails.
“Hey, hey, watch the upholstery!” Dean yelled. Portia’s shoulders hunched and she subsided instantly, giving him a resentful look.
“I was just trying to protect you,” she mumbled sullenly.
“We know how to protect ourselves,” Dean said irritably, shaking his head at Sam, who arched his eyebrows.
Portia sighed heavily and rested her chin on the seat back, not looking at them. Instead, she watched the scenery go by, trying to pretend all the sights weren’t greatly grabbing her interest.
“Definitely a little weird,” Dean whispered, and Sam couldn’t deny it.
Dean and Sam sat in James’s cavernous living room, sunlight streaming in. James explained that he was killing people, night after night.
“Look, uh ... hate to break it to you, but me and Sam kill people who kill people. That’s kind of our thing that we do. We also kill witches.”
James hardly seemed dismayed. “Oh, because I was hoping you would act as detectives and prove me innocent.”
“Detectives? Like, police detectives? Like ... you, for instance? Since you’re a ... you know, cop?”
“Um ... yeah.”
“Hm, makes sense. Well, first things first,” Dean said gustily, swinging his duffle easily onto the coffee table and opening it up, brandishing its contents: great lengths of heavy chains. “Bondage,” Dean went on, nodding at them and waggling his eyebrows.
James and Portia grinned at each other incongruously. “I knew they were the right people to call,” James murmured.
Dean noticed Sam goggling at him. “What?” Dean said.
“Y--you-- Do you always go around with a duffle full of shackles and chains, Dean??” Sam asked, stunned.
“Nnno. Just for this episode.”
“Because, I mean, that hardly seems practical.”
“Right?” Dean agreed.
“Plus, wouldn’t that duffle weigh, like, fifty pounds at least??” Sam went on in disbelief. “And you just grabbed a huge handful of chain and lifted it like it weighed nothing!”
Dean was starting to look uncomfortable. “I think we get the picture, Sam.”
“Plus, Dean, chains and shackles, really?” Sam was starting to smirk. “What is this, a dungeon? Did we go back to the Middle Ages? Wouldn’t handcuffs have sufficed? They’d be a lot more space-efficient, that’s for sure--”
“Okay, Sam, we get it!” Dean said irritably. “But you’re missing the point, which is bondage. BONDAGE.”
“I thought we were doing bestiality.”
Dean shrugged. “If you’re gonna do one, may as well do the other.”
“Should we throw in something else, too? Maybe a little necrophilia, or some S & M?”
Dean nodded amiably. “Sure, if we have time, but we have a lot of stupid stuff we have to get to first.”
“Fair enough. What’s first?”
“We need to find an excuse to cut these people with a silver knife. I LOVE that shit!”
Sam went to the police station while Portia took Dean to a witch bar and introduced him to one of her friends, a shifty, feline fellow named Kitty Meowmeister “The Cat” McPussy. Dean sneezed. “That’s weird!” he exclaimed. “That only happens around cats!”
Portia stared at him. “You don’t say,” she said irritably. Suddenly spying an old, half-eaten sandwich that had been sitting out all day, Portia shoved Dean out of the way and wolfed it down without chewing.
“Whoa!” said Dean. “Take it easy!”
Sure enough, Portia started retching, then puked it all up. She was just about to eat it again when Dean yanked her away by the collar. “See? This is why you should chew first! Take it from me; I had to learn that the hard way myself. Jeez, girl. You’re hot, but all the puking and the leg-humping ... it’s kind of a turn-off.”
When they got home, Sam regaled them with his fascinating tales of the police station and a mysterious room they had devoted entirely to storage of files on James’s case (evidently it was an extraordinarily capacious police station)--oh, because also, someone was trying to frame him or something.
“You didn’t go in there?” Dean asked Sam.
“Well ... no.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause ... ’cause, well, the hall was empty, but ... I guess I was afraid someone would come by, or ... something.”
“Really?” Dean said disbelievingly. “When did that ever stop you before?! That file you saw, though--that cop took it out of that room, so why didn’t you just follow him, wait for him to put the file down, and get a look at it?”
Sam shrugged irritably. There was nothing he could say.
“What’s even in that file?” Dean went on. “I mean, what’s the big deal about it?”
“It might have the name of the person who’s framing me,” James said.
“That’s it??” Dean burst out disbelievingly. “That’s the whole big deal with the file and the room and everything?? There’s gotta be fifty other ways to get that information.”
“Yeah, but ... but it’s a good excuse for me to astral project,” James murmured suggestively.
Dean and Sam stared at him, baffled. “Why do you say that like it’s ... sexy?” Sam asked, confused.
James shrugged coyly, tracing his finger down the pattern on his bedspread. “Could be kinda hot. I don’t have to be fully dressed. I can grip your shoulders and gasp and pant and stuff, maybe break a sweat ....”
Dean and Sam looked at each other. “Works for me,” Dean said, promptly sitting down on the bed next to James. “Hey, Sam, we worked another one in there, just like you suggested--threesome!”
They stood around in the hotel parking lot, saying goodbye to James and Portia, who explained that after some random characters had for convoluted reasons tried to frame/capture/kill James and/or Portia, they were going to go on the run. “It’s all right,” Portia said, looking at Sam and Dean meaningfully, “we’re used to it. It’s the way it’s always been--for all of us.”
“No, it hasn’t,” James corrected. “I’ve lived here all my life. You, too, from the moment you became my familiar. No running. Definitely a first time for me and you.”
“Yeah, us too,” Sam said, also confused. “I mean, we move around a lot, but I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘on the run’--especially now that we’ve got the bunker and everything.”
“Whatever,” Portia said irritably. “You expect me to start making sense NOW?”
“Not really,” said Dean, giving her a goodbye hug. Her hair was a little wet from the constant Vancouver St. Louis rain, and it gave off the distinct aroma of wet dog.
James and Portia got in their car and left, and Sam and Dean followed suit.
“What a weird case,” Dean sighed, slinging the duffle full of shackles and chains effortlessly into the trunk and getting into the Impala. “Why did they drive over to the parking lot of our hotel to say goodbye? I mean, if you’re on the run, doesn’t it make more sense to just kinda ... leave from wherever you are?”
“I dunno,” said Sam. “Why did we have all those meaningful brotherly chats in James’s living room?”
“That’s a good point.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a minute, coughing up blood. Once he’d wiped it subtly on his pants, he said, “You know, Dean, I didn’t want to break this to you while you still had the hots for her, but ... eventually I figured out Portia was James’s familiar. A dog. She was the dog in the hotel room!”
“Gee, oh really, Sam??” Dean exclaimed sarcastically. “I had no idea!”
“Yeah, and that cat guy--”
“Dude, they called him ‘The Cat.’ I think I got it.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
“Jeez, Sam, how stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t, I just ... nothing about that case made any sense, so I started to feel like my whole world had turned upside-down.”
“Maybe we should make some dick jokes, so you can be sure our reality’s the same as it’s always been. Do you think that would help?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
~ The End ~
Notes:
- I had heard so much (bad) about 'Man's Best Friend with Benefits' before I saw it (I only watch on DVD, so I'm just seeing season 8 now!), so at least I didn't go into it expecting anything good. I was intrigued to see what was so bad about it, only to find it was ... well, pretty much everything. (The last scene in the car was good, and there's some nice Sam-and-Dean interaction, but that's the nicest stuff I can say about the episode.) We've seen episodes that didn't jibe with other episodes before. This was the first that didn't even make sense with other parts of the SAME EPISODE. Plus, it was plainly conceived around the whole 'hyuk-hyuk bestiality' 'premise,' so all in all, it was too ripe for a spoof to resist.
- Seriously? She wears a dog collar for the whole episode? Ughhh ....
- I could go on and on about exactly what made this episode so insufferable, but I covered most of them in the fic. ;-)