HIMYM/SPN x-over: Suits aren't just for posing as insurance agents, Various [PG-13]
title: Suits aren't just for posing as insurance agents
author: crooked
fandoms: How I Met Your Mother/Supernatural
character(s): Sam & Dean Winchester, Barney Stinson, Ted Mosby, Marshall Eriksen (unnamed), OFCs
rating: PG-13
word count: 981
summary: "Who wears a suit on a Saturday night anyway?"
a/n: i can't even tell you where this really came from. so... yeah. :D?
suits aren't just for posing as insurance agents
"MacLaren's Pub, Sammy?" Dean asks, standing at the top of the stairs and scowling at the sign above the sublevel bar. Of all the places his little brother could possibly find in New York City, Sam finds this place. Dean's pretty damn sure they're not going to run into any supermodels in this dive.
Sam rolls his eyes and opens the door, looking back up at Dean. "C'mon, dude. A beer's a beer."
Dean huffs and follows him inside, glancing around to check it out. The girls are surprisingly hotter than Dean would've guessed, so he decides it's not all that bad. Sam orders two beers and Dean spots an open booth, so he starts to make his way over. Just before he can get there, three guys slip into the seats and act as if they own the damn booth. The one in the suit shrugs his shoulders at Dean and flashes him an apologetic grin that's less than sincere.
"Fucking douche," Dean mumbles as he heads back to Sam. They settle for stools at the far end of the bar, but Dean can't stop complaining about the idiots at the booth. "Who wears a suit on a Saturday night anyway?"
"Us when we're pretending we're insurance agents," Sam offers, laughing at the frown Dean shoots his way.
"Yeah, well that son of a bitch ain't no hunter, Sammy. He's too soft. Bet he gets manicures and shit. No way he'd survive a second on the road with us." Dean tips back his bottle just as two hot blondes catch his eye at the door. He elbows Sam. "Sammy, my boy, I think I take back what I said about this bar."
He's on his feet two seconds too late, apparently, because Suit and the dark-haired guy are already approaching the girls.
"Haaave you met Ted?" Suit asks the shorter girl, pushing his buddy in front of her and navigating the leggy one away. Dean watches in disbelief as the girl actually seems interested in Ted, having apparently fallen for that stupid trick.
"Unbelievable," Dean mutters, sinking back down onto the stool. Sam just chuckles beside him, and he's no help to Dean whatsoever - not that that's anything new. Suit, meanwhile, has brought his blonde over to their end of the bar.
"Really?" she asks, sounding alarmed and clutching at her chest. Dean leans in a bit closer, struggling to overhear in the din of the bar.
"Oh, yes," Suit says, his voice dripping with such phoniness that Dean wonders how the girl hasn't caught on yet. "I noticed it as soon as you walked in. That's why I rushed over. You appear to be suffering from one of the most severe cases Posturitis I've ever come across in all my years as a posturologist. If you're not treated soon, you'll be slouched over to your knees by the time you're thirty."
A posturologist? There's no way this girl can be that stupid. And if she is, Suit has got to be the luckiest guy Dean has ever seen. He watches them like it's a TV show, all intense and chugging back his beer.
"Oh my god, Doctor Stinson," she says, and Dean curses under his breath at this guy's incredible luck. He can tell she's bought it. "Do you think Monday will be too late? I can be at your office first thing!"
"No, no," Stinson says, shaking his head gravely. "A condition this serious cannot wait until my office opens. As luck would have it, I have just the instruments we'd need to get started back at my apartment." Dean sees him jot down what he assumes is his address, though with his fake story who knows whose place it really is. "Meet me here in an hour. I'm afraid to think what might happen if we wait any longer."
The girl nods, goes over to her friend who is sitting at a table with Ted, and leaves the bar in a hurry. She's probably off to get some affairs in order before "Doctor" Stinson undertakes the risky procedure, which Dean is 110% positive means he's going to fuck her.
"How the fuck did he pull that off?" Dean asks Sam, who has pulled out his laptop in an attempt to find a wi-fi signal.
Sam shrugs, but Dean can see the amused smirk curving his mouth. "He's just got more moves than you, Dean."
Dean sulks into his beer, draining it and signaling for another. "He does not," he pouts, glaring over at Sam. "I'm Dean Winchester. I'm fucking-"
"... awesome, my friends," Stinson declares loudly, finishing his sentence and Dean's at the same time. Dean glances up, watches as Stinson clinks his glass of scotch against his friends' beers and triumphantly slams it back.
Dean grunts in frustration, getting up suddenly and tugging on Sam's collar. "C'mon, Sasquatch, we're outta here. Fuck this place."
He hears Sam laugh as he heads back up the stairs and onto the street.
+++
Two weeks later, in Kansas City, Dean steps out of the hotel bathroom and avoids making eye contact with Sam. He already knows what the bastard is going to say.
"Who wears a suit on a Satur-"
"Shut the fuck up, Sam," Dean growls, straightening his tie in the dingy mirror above the dresser. "Look, it worked for him, so I know it'll work for me. You coming with me or not?"
Sam laughs and grabs his jacket, and Dean can see him shaking his head as he follows him out the door. "I'm not going along with any posturologist shit, though, Dean."
"I wouldn't use something that lame, Sam, c'mon," Dean says, scowling at Sam over the hood of the Impala. They slip inside, the engine roaring to life as Dean turns the key. "But maybe we can try that 'have you met Dean' thing..."
author: crooked
fandoms: How I Met Your Mother/Supernatural
character(s): Sam & Dean Winchester, Barney Stinson, Ted Mosby, Marshall Eriksen (unnamed), OFCs
rating: PG-13
word count: 981
summary: "Who wears a suit on a Saturday night anyway?"
a/n: i can't even tell you where this really came from. so... yeah. :D?
suits aren't just for posing as insurance agents
"MacLaren's Pub, Sammy?" Dean asks, standing at the top of the stairs and scowling at the sign above the sublevel bar. Of all the places his little brother could possibly find in New York City, Sam finds this place. Dean's pretty damn sure they're not going to run into any supermodels in this dive.
Sam rolls his eyes and opens the door, looking back up at Dean. "C'mon, dude. A beer's a beer."
Dean huffs and follows him inside, glancing around to check it out. The girls are surprisingly hotter than Dean would've guessed, so he decides it's not all that bad. Sam orders two beers and Dean spots an open booth, so he starts to make his way over. Just before he can get there, three guys slip into the seats and act as if they own the damn booth. The one in the suit shrugs his shoulders at Dean and flashes him an apologetic grin that's less than sincere.
"Fucking douche," Dean mumbles as he heads back to Sam. They settle for stools at the far end of the bar, but Dean can't stop complaining about the idiots at the booth. "Who wears a suit on a Saturday night anyway?"
"Us when we're pretending we're insurance agents," Sam offers, laughing at the frown Dean shoots his way.
"Yeah, well that son of a bitch ain't no hunter, Sammy. He's too soft. Bet he gets manicures and shit. No way he'd survive a second on the road with us." Dean tips back his bottle just as two hot blondes catch his eye at the door. He elbows Sam. "Sammy, my boy, I think I take back what I said about this bar."
He's on his feet two seconds too late, apparently, because Suit and the dark-haired guy are already approaching the girls.
"Haaave you met Ted?" Suit asks the shorter girl, pushing his buddy in front of her and navigating the leggy one away. Dean watches in disbelief as the girl actually seems interested in Ted, having apparently fallen for that stupid trick.
"Unbelievable," Dean mutters, sinking back down onto the stool. Sam just chuckles beside him, and he's no help to Dean whatsoever - not that that's anything new. Suit, meanwhile, has brought his blonde over to their end of the bar.
"Really?" she asks, sounding alarmed and clutching at her chest. Dean leans in a bit closer, struggling to overhear in the din of the bar.
"Oh, yes," Suit says, his voice dripping with such phoniness that Dean wonders how the girl hasn't caught on yet. "I noticed it as soon as you walked in. That's why I rushed over. You appear to be suffering from one of the most severe cases Posturitis I've ever come across in all my years as a posturologist. If you're not treated soon, you'll be slouched over to your knees by the time you're thirty."
A posturologist? There's no way this girl can be that stupid. And if she is, Suit has got to be the luckiest guy Dean has ever seen. He watches them like it's a TV show, all intense and chugging back his beer.
"Oh my god, Doctor Stinson," she says, and Dean curses under his breath at this guy's incredible luck. He can tell she's bought it. "Do you think Monday will be too late? I can be at your office first thing!"
"No, no," Stinson says, shaking his head gravely. "A condition this serious cannot wait until my office opens. As luck would have it, I have just the instruments we'd need to get started back at my apartment." Dean sees him jot down what he assumes is his address, though with his fake story who knows whose place it really is. "Meet me here in an hour. I'm afraid to think what might happen if we wait any longer."
The girl nods, goes over to her friend who is sitting at a table with Ted, and leaves the bar in a hurry. She's probably off to get some affairs in order before "Doctor" Stinson undertakes the risky procedure, which Dean is 110% positive means he's going to fuck her.
"How the fuck did he pull that off?" Dean asks Sam, who has pulled out his laptop in an attempt to find a wi-fi signal.
Sam shrugs, but Dean can see the amused smirk curving his mouth. "He's just got more moves than you, Dean."
Dean sulks into his beer, draining it and signaling for another. "He does not," he pouts, glaring over at Sam. "I'm Dean Winchester. I'm fucking-"
"... awesome, my friends," Stinson declares loudly, finishing his sentence and Dean's at the same time. Dean glances up, watches as Stinson clinks his glass of scotch against his friends' beers and triumphantly slams it back.
Dean grunts in frustration, getting up suddenly and tugging on Sam's collar. "C'mon, Sasquatch, we're outta here. Fuck this place."
He hears Sam laugh as he heads back up the stairs and onto the street.
+++
Two weeks later, in Kansas City, Dean steps out of the hotel bathroom and avoids making eye contact with Sam. He already knows what the bastard is going to say.
"Who wears a suit on a Satur-"
"Shut the fuck up, Sam," Dean growls, straightening his tie in the dingy mirror above the dresser. "Look, it worked for him, so I know it'll work for me. You coming with me or not?"
Sam laughs and grabs his jacket, and Dean can see him shaking his head as he follows him out the door. "I'm not going along with any posturologist shit, though, Dean."
"I wouldn't use something that lame, Sam, c'mon," Dean says, scowling at Sam over the hood of the Impala. They slip inside, the engine roaring to life as Dean turns the key. "But maybe we can try that 'have you met Dean' thing..."