Holiday commentfic
MASTERPOST:
READ ALL THE FICTION
FILLS:
Sam/Dean have amnesia and the rest is wincestory. for mdlaw
Becky helps Sam and Dean, and in return demands that Sam has to play her bf. Dean doesn't like it. at all. for cristo-nara
♥ a little expansion on the last scene of A Very Supernatural Christmas for lavishsqualor
Death crashes the Singer-Winchester Christmas party. for peachpai
( Read more... )
READ ALL THE FICTION
FILLS:
Sam/Dean have amnesia and the rest is wincestory. for mdlaw
Becky helps Sam and Dean, and in return demands that Sam has to play her bf. Dean doesn't like it. at all. for cristo-nara
♥ a little expansion on the last scene of A Very Supernatural Christmas for lavishsqualor
Death crashes the Singer-Winchester Christmas party. for peachpai
( Read more... )
They have amnesia, that much is clear.
It's a Wednesday afternoon and Sam is probably either a male model or a prostitute Dean picked up somewhere. If the former is true, Sam is probably his boyfriend because they're kind of matchy-matchy and Dean has this urge to run his fingers through Sam's hair, a yearning that underlies everything, and if the latter is true, then Dean is going to keep him anyway and may take advantage of the obvious loop-hole, namely that he won't have to pay because Sam doesn't remember that he's a prostitute. Because amnesia.
Currently, Sam is pulling out his wallet and offering to load them up on caffeine for the inevitable who-am-I freak out. "Dean," he says. "What kind do you want?"
It's a simple enough question, but the possibilities are endless when you've lost all sense of who you are. Dean goes for zen and baby steps, letting the pleasant ambient conversation of the cafe calm him as he stares up at the menu and ignores the other desperate mysteries of his life, like why he's got a .45 tucked into the back of his jeans under his shirt or why he's got a pocket full of dollar bills, Burt's Bees Lifeguard Chapstick, and not much else.
"I'm in the mood for something sweet," he finally says, after a woman passes with a mocha, whipped cream piled high.
"Kill me now," Sam says to the barista. "I'm dating a sap."
Well, Dean thinks. That's decided, then. When Sam smiles back at him, it's somewhat blinding.
They don't know where they belong, so they hang around Philedelphia. There are rationalizations and justifications for this, but really they are possibly in the second honeymoon stage of their relationship, so this allows them to bum around the hotel pool a lot and take long walks down streets with bars and shopping, just kicking it.
Five days after they can't remember, Dean is dissecting the new Sherlock Holmes movie they'd just gone to see, when Sam gets a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, one he's beginning to realize means turn around for fuck's sake. He yanks Dean to a stop by the belt loop and pivots. A limo speeds past, narrowly clipping a firehydrant half a foot away.
Water sprays the sidewalk and floods their shoes. A small crowd gathers to bear witness.
Sam is shocked but remembers something, basic street smarts when involved in a hit & run. While Dean pats him all over for invisible injury, he says, "I got the license plate. BigFish."
"Great. Let's get out of here. We can call the cops from the motel."
Dean's still got his hands all over Sam. Someone mutters something homophobic that stings like it's the first time, although for all Sam knows he's been dealing with this since youth. Some things aren't better with amnesia.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks. At Sam's nod, he yells after the limo, which is just turning the corner. "What a dick!"
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"You imbeciles," he tells them when Sam and Dean meet his raging with twin, blank looks.
"Look," Sam says, squaring his shoulders. "If you've got something to tell us...."
Sam seems to be all about posturing, Dean thinks. Crowley glares up at him and then turns on Dean.
"You, curb your moose and tell me what the hell is going on here. I'd expect you two to be ripping the world to shreds rather than...." It's then that he seems to notice a link of condoms on the dresser and the one bed, recently profaned. He whirls and takes in the hickeys on Sam's neck and Dean's state of almost undress, wearing just his black boxerbriefs. "...living in sin. Interesting. Not surprising, but, oh my. You've really ensured I'll be seeing you for an eternity, haven't you? Just my bloody luck."
He vanishes into thin air, but that's probably a weirdo side effect of getting amnesia, Dean thinks: non-linear conversation and sudden skips in perception.
Sam is starting to get this itch, like maybe they should be figuring things out rather than feeling each other up against every surface, horizontal, vertical, and/or otherwise.
They hit a bar and play pool -- really, really well -- for a couple hours. Dean gets drunk and hits on girls. Sam gets surly for a second until Dean winks at him and he feels somewhat game.
They team up against two grad students who live in town, one of whom has creepy smile and can jump the cue ball with extreme precision. She is dark-haired with an intriguing necklace dangling down the front of her top. Sam observes it when she leans over the pool table to take her shot. Dean thinks her smile is edgy.
She asks, "So, what do you boys do for a living?"
Sam could lie. He could say rocket scientist or tight rope walker, but that doesn't feel right. He feels like every moment is one for the scales.
"Look," he tells her. "To come clean, here--"
"He's not a prostitute if that's what you're thinking," Dean assures her. Sam frowns and Dean quickly amends, "Rent boy, I mean. Uh, sex worker. The PC term. Not that he doesn't have the legs for it." He squeezes Sam's shoulder. "Never mind, babe, continue."
"Amnesia," Sam tells them, casting another glance at his boyfriend.
The girls are really looking at them now. "That actually happens?"
"Yeah."
"Huh."
They leave it at that. The game is all weird but going okay, until the pool cues are reracked and the girls explain there's something they want to show them. "But it's outside."
Dean shrugs, giving Sam's shoulder another squeeze. "Sure."
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Sam does not feel good about this. They follow the girls anyway, Sam a little hazy around the edges, four beers in and watching their hips sway as they push out the back door. He doesn't even remember their names. This is pinging something, like maybe he and Dean often go against gut, and it all goes to hell even when they're together.
They end up in the alley behind the bar, of course. There are pieces of broken crates and a lone cat in silhouette near the street. Puddles and glass and an eerie black smoke that is speeding along toward them.
"Um," Dean says. "What is that?"
The second girl laughs. "Meet your doom."
The black smoke hits the both of them with full force. It feels like a fine mist of tiny gravel and Sam waves it away. It bounces off his mouth and eyelids, like it was trying to enter through the cracks but was stopped, and when it clears the women stagger away, their eyes flashing angry and sort of black in the low lights of the alley.
Dean steps forward, fists clenched. "What's your problem?"
"Wait, Sam and Dean, you said?" The friend sneers. "Of all the-- You're our problem!"
Sam points. "Me or him?"
"Both of you!"
There doesn't seem to be any follow up. Dean looks at Sam. Sam jerks his head toward the end of the alley. "Come on."
They ignore the insults which echo from behind them and which seem strangely pointed. When they get in the car, Sam turns the keys in the ignition and Dean pops a few peanut M&Ms into his mouth that were in a giant bag crumpled in the back seat under the stolen library books and laptop that's password they haven't been able to crack.
They share a look. Some people.
The limo that had almost meant instant death slides up to the curb while Sam and Dean are in the middle of sharing a banana split and doing a crossword puzzle. It is a Tuesday afternoon in Philedelphia which is sunny and bright and lends itself to such pursuits, although trivia games are hard when you don't remember anything. They will get their memories back that evening, but they don't know it yet.
As they watch, the limo window scrolls down to reveal a tanned, smirky, politician of a man who smiles like he has too many teeth for full lip coverage, ever.
The moment is surreal. Dean spoons another bite of the sundae and Sam notes, "Hey, I know you."
"Yes," says the man, like there's some joke he's not sharing, and it's a dirty one. This seems to be his entire message, because the window scrolls up again and the limo slides away.
After a pause, Sam touches Dean's knee beneath the table and Dean passes the pen.
It all comes to a head when Dean is brushing his teeth with the purple toothbrush that he assumed was his.
Sam calls from the room, "What the hell--?"
"Huh?"
"What is this? A note? Aw man, signed from you?"
Dean watches his own eyes go comic-wide in the mirror, froth running down his chin. He spits and washes out his mouth before heading into the room. "Wait, what?"
Sam is seated on the bed, Dean's wallet in hand and a crinkled note. He sends Dean a look of censure, then reads out: "I just thought we could use a vacation. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Signed, Dean."
Dean sits next to him and looks at the note himself. He reads it. "Man, this is definitely my handwriting. Past Dean, what a joker, huh?"
"A clue in your wallet, though? How did you not think to check your own wallet?"
Dean is in no mood for angst and what-ifs. He smooths Sam's clavicle through his t-shirt and, when Sam leans in, bites Sam's jaw.
"You were always paying for me," he says. "Taking me out. So it's not like I had cause to go through my wallet, did I?"
Sam looks all flushed with affection and pushes Dean down into the bed and says "fair point" against his mouth before giving him another memory to keep.
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"Are you okay?" Dean asks. At Sam's nod, he yells after the limo, which is just turning the corner. "What a dick!"
:DDD
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Crowley raising his voice mid sentence and noticing the link of condoms. "Kill me now, I'm dating a sap." Going against their gut often and it not being good. And the note in Dean's wallet about needing a vacation.
Because, of course, Winchester amnesia vacation equals wincestory.
This is golden. Like, 1000 karat gold.
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So much backstory in one line! I love it! And also, that their default response is to assume they're boyfriends? GOLDEN.
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