Pay The Piper
Title: Pay The Piper
Authors: lifesscar and lastasalways
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Chapter: One
Word Count: 2,880
A/N: This is written because Lone_cat617 asked for a story based on the Pied Piper legend. I decided to follow Supernatural’s lead and twist the legend/story to fit my very own needs. So, if you’re familiar with the legend and the story (I did a bit of research just to immerse myself into it.) You’ll be able to see where I twisted a few things. This story has been in the works way too long to be considered healthy to myself or anyone.
Warnings: Wincest. There’s no warnings for this part and I’ll add them here as they come up.
Summary:So, Willy, let you and me be wipers
Of scores out with all men -- especially pipers;
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.
"You owe me a debt, Winchester. You owe me and I always get paid.”
Chapter One
Soft hands ran down his back and Dean couldn’t help but let out a little moan of appreciation as rough fingers dug into the muscles of his back, pushing and rubbing and just touching all the right places to cause his head to fall against his chest in relaxation.
Those perfectly callused fingers so gentle against scars that still cried pain.
Smooth lips against his neck produced a quiet sigh right before Sam began speaking, keeping his lips pressed against Dean’s pulse point so the older man could feel every word he spoke. “Where’s this one from?” The voice was so quiet as the soft hands rubbed a gentle circle in an area around his shoulders, just beside his shoulder blade. “You have a matching one on your chest… like something went clean through you.”
Dean could clearly hear the tender sadness in the younger man’s voice, in Sam’s voice. He tried to think, tried to remember when anything had ever gone straight through him. He had only been shot once but that had been a clean shot straight through his side; nowhere near the area Sam was gently massaging. There’d been a hook, but that was on the other side, tearing muscles as he’d been pulled along the ground.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he whispered quietly, turning his head ever so slightly so he could see Sam’s eyes, nearly completely hidden by his shaggy hair.
He never really enjoyed when Sam would question the origins of old, forgotten scars. Hated the flash of phantom pain that would shoot through the aged wounds when he finally did remember their beginnings. He never pulled away from Sam at moments like these, just leaning in a bit closer and letting Sam wrap his long arms around his waist. He refused to pull away, really, the guilt that would flash across the younger man’s face was to much for Dean to stomach. He just allowed Sam to continue on with his curiosity; allowed him to catalogue the scars like roads on a map and maybe one day he’d complete his quest to know every inch of Dean’s body.
“It looks like it would have been painful,” Sam muttered quietly, probably trying to urge the answer out of him, as if he had a reason to hide the truth from Sam. As if he would be embarrassed by the explanation.
He felt, rather than saw, Sam moving around, twisting his long legs around Dean’s body until he was facing Dean and his lips were resting mere inches from the full, plump ones of his brother. “I have a matching one,” he spoke quietly, as if it were a secret, a mystery maybe. His long fingers wrapped around Dean’s, pulling the smaller hand from his back to rest on his chest, “Jess pointed it out to me after we’d moved in together; I hadn’t even realized it was there.”
“Do you remember where yours was from?” Was Dean’s reply, moving his head forward slowly so he could kiss away the hurt that had fallen on his face at the mention of his first love’s name. He could never fill the holes her death had left but he could slowly heal them; he never fell into the illusion that he would ever completely complete that mission… they could live to be two hundred and he’d still be tending the wounds the loss had caused Sam.
“No,” Sam mumbled back, his eyes sliding shut to hide his beautiful green eyes, “I only remember waking up in pain, laying next to you. Just bits and pieces of waking up and falling back to sleep as Dad watched over us. You were never awake when I was.”
“Dad never told you what happened?”
“I don’t remember asking, just worry and pain… we were young. Few years before I left for college…” Sam’s lips were moving against his, speaking so quietly, words being lost to a tender kiss. Slow and loving.
So different from how they had started off. So very different to the first few months of their rocky relationship. Sometimes, when Dean contemplated small things like this kiss, he entertained the idea that maybe he could heal all the hidden wounds that encompassed Sammy’s soul.
“I’m sorry, Sammy, I don’t remember.” Dean spoke just as softly as Sam had, regretful for not having the answers that were sought, “I don’t even remember that.”
He felt the silent chuckle, shaking the taller man’s stomach as he leaned forward, letting his lips trail the perfect line of Dean’s jaw until they reached his ear, whispering one word into his ear before letting his teeth gentle sink into the soft flesh. Whispering ‘Sam’ before gently punishing Dean for his stubborn use of his childhood name.
“Sammy,” Dean moaned out softly, certain that the younger man could hear the smirk in his voice even if he couldn’t see it with his lips pressed tight against Dean’s neck.
He couldn’t help but laugh as Sam pushed him back just a bit roughly, straddling his hips with a mock glare on his face. “Gonna punish me?” He asked, his voice deep and rough as he moved his hands up to grasp the hard hipbones resting heavily on top of him.
“Maybe.”
---
The little lighting in the bar was dull, leaving shadows on the empty faces that filled the dingy bar. Leaving shadows that set Dean’s back into a ridged stance as he watched Sam type on the computer, his forehead creased on concentration… a look that not even Dean could put on that smooth face. The face only appeared when Sammy was lost in what he was reading, searching and digging for any signs or connections that would explain the events that had previously unfolded. No, Dean never brought that look to his younger brother’s face, not even when he would slam shut the book of Dean and hide it away. It was a beautiful look on him, really, as long as Dean wasn’t needing Sam’s full attention. Right now it was beautiful. Heart stopping if he would allow his mind to deteriorate to that level of thinking.
But Dean’s eyes couldn’t rest on the sight before him for long, they would travel back to the man whose body language sang some strange tune that screamed some type of familiarity to Dean. The man pulled at every memory Dean held, trying to find where he had seen the man before. Familiar was not a word used for strangers; familiar was not a word used for old men whose skin hung off of brittle bones, no muscle left to fill in the aged body. Familiar was a word for the few friends of Dads he had actually meet… the few people that his father had ever bothered to involve himself with.
It was not a word for this man whose mouse like form caused his instincts to scream danger.
Sammy was still engrossed in the computer screen to see the way Dean’s eyes darkened as the gaunt man stood up from the bar, leaving the beer that he had been nursing all night to rest on the dusty counter top, to grow stale like the man. He only looked up when he heard Dean’s seat whine in protest as he straightened up, looking like an animal ready to pounce at any odd movement.
His eyes quickly fell on the being who had gathered Dean’s attention, watching as the creature of a man limped over to them, shadows playing over his winkled face in an eerie fashion. Sam’s eyes soon resembled Dean’s, dark and guarded, wondering what Dean had done to gather such attention from the stick of a man. As the man grew closer his eyes darted over to Dean’s face, following all of the lines on his older brother’s face as if they were words in a book, reading the tension and suspicion easily.
“Can I help you?” The old man questioned, voice aged and scratchy. A voice that that spoke volumes of ancient knowledge and years, whispered softly into his ears without words, this body that cadged the man’s soul should have been on its death bed years ago.
Sam watched as Dean’s face drew its self into a smirk, eyeing the man as if he were issuing some sort of challenge. Watched as Dean calculated his words just as quickly as the smirk had fallen onto the pale features, “Nah, you just reminded me of an uncle…”
His hand was quick to jerk out silently to grasp Dean’s knee, to keep him from finishing what ever snide remark he had planned. This man probably had a few grandsons and great grandsons filtered through out this small town bar, who didn’t take after this scrawny man.
“Got put in prison for being a pervert; wanted to know for sure if you were him before I punched you.”
Sam’s eyes dropped, shaking his head slightly; just once, he would like to be able to stop Dean’s big mouth before it got started. Just once shut him up before Dean started more trouble.
“Is that so, Dean?”
Instantly, Sam could feel the tension fill Dean’s body, the same way as his back stiffened. A switch had been flipped and they were both in the hunting mode, eyes scanning the room to see if any of the other empty faces had turned to face them, scanning to see if people were trying circle them. Dean’s hand was resting on his hip, hidden by his jacket, ready to snatch the gun if need arise. That was considered an attack; a stranger knowing either of their names was out of place, wrong. An attack was all it could be constructed as, there was no other reason or excuse in their lives.
“Who are you?” Dena demanded, voice hard and dark. His body seemed to be in a state of utter relaxation, not worried or bothered by this ancient thing of a man, but Sam could read Dean clearer than anyone else; he clearly saw the differences that stated Dean was ready for another attack or to attack first with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his other hand resting on the table rather than wrapped around his beer.
Sam knew, could see more clearly, that Dean could break this man’s neck if any actions were provoked.
“I told you, Dean, you meet me again and I’ll hold you up to you’re end of our little bargain. I warned you.”
The voice seemed to grow younger with each syllable as if it was pulling in some forbidden tune, drawing Sam’s eyes to meet with the man’s, refusing to let him look at Dean any longer, almost completely blocking out his older brother’s voice from his head. Not completely though, he could still hear the confusion in his older brother’s voice as he spoke, denied ever knowing this creature.
“No idea what you’re talking about, old man. I don’t bargain… with anyone or anything.” The last one was a hint, a ploy to throw this creature of a man off… to let him know that Dean wasn’t about to fall for his twisted games.
“You owe me a debt, Winchester. You owe me and I always get paid.”
“He doesn’t owe you anything,” Sam spoke up, breaking himself from whatever daze that had captured him, shaking his head as he spoke quietly, “We’re leaving. You’re mistaken if you think either of us would owe anything to someone like you.”
Dean nodded, with a smirk, standing up in his silent agreement with Sam, “Go back to your beer, old timer.”
Sam watched as Dean walked past the man, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder to make sure the man staid in place.
“I always get paid.” Was the last thing Sam heard before the door slammed shut behind him.
---
”It’s cheap and secluded,” John explained when Sam and Dean looked at the new trailer as if it would fall down the minute they opened the door.
“Please, tell me we’re not squatting and it’s condemned.” Sam said, hearing the loud squeak the door made as it opened. That made him grin though, “guess that means no late nights for you, Dean,” he gloated as he followed his father in.
“It’s not condemned and we’re not squatting,” John clarified. Not bothering to elaborate just how cheap it was or how he already had a key to the place. Neither of them were really expecting him to either though.
“We’ve been worse,” Dean started, opening a cabinet just to have the door fall off. “At least we’re not sleeping in the car…”
“Always the optimist,” Sam said disdainfully.
“Hey, dad,” Dean said with a grin, “You’re a sneaky one; you chose this place just so Sam won’t piss and moan when it’s time to leave. Dude, he may even be happy about it.” John snorted at that, shaking his head as he pulled open the door to the bedroom.
“Fuck you,” Sam growled but to Dean it sounded more like a pout which only caused Dean to snort.
“Language,” John scolded off-handedly. “Didn’t think it was in this bad of shape… it’ll do for now though.”
“It got running water?” Dean asked, heading toward the front door, determined he wouldn’t even try to sleep until this place fit at least his standards for clean.
“It’s not that bad,” John sighed, “It’s got a roof, running water and electricity.”
“But no heater… or water heater,” Sam pointed out, done with his examination (exploring). “Guess that means you’ll be taking more cold showers than usual, huh Dean?”
“Means you’ll feel right at home, Sammy boy,” Dean said with a smirk, “Don’t think I don’t know ‘bout those dreams you’ve been having… Hell, what happened whenever… what’s her name… Cherry? Called?”
“Dude!” Sam yelled, grabbing the nearest thing in reach, which just happened to be the late cabinet door, and chunking it straight at Dean’s head.
“Enough!” John barked, “Sam help me get the beds in… Dean, sweep until you can’t no more.”
With a sigh, Sam nodded, following his brother out the door with their father in tow. “I swear to God,” John started, “If you two kill each other I will make you sorry.”
“Yes sir,” They said in unison, Sam heading towards the truck and Dean to grab the broom out of the Impala.
“We got any roach traps left?” Sam asked as they pulled the first mattress out of the truck bed.
“Some, we’ll stock up in town tomorrow while we do recon.” John answered as they struggled to get the twin sized bed into the trailer.
“Hey Sam,” Dean called from a bedroom, “With the way you sleep with your mouth hanging open, you’ll have an infestation in your stomach in no time man!”
“Dean!” John chastised with a roll of his eyes because now Sam wouldn’t sleep until they bombed the damn trailer.
“I’m going to sleep in the car tonight… alright?” Sam said weakly when they dropped the mattress and a couple of roaches scattered, looking pale and sick.
“God damn it, Dean, you’re not too old for me to whoop your ass boy!” John yelled. They’d all be sleeping in the dam cars tomorrow while they waited for the fumes to clear. He was going to kill Dean. “Tomorrow you wake your ass up at four and start PT.” He finished after a moment. Frustrated because now he could imagine the roaches climbing into his mouth and he wouldn’t be getting any damn sleep either. He was going to kill Dean.
Damned brat.
“Yes sir!” Dean called back, sounding a little too cheerful for John’s choice and the only thing that stopped him from hurting his oldest was the thought of the torture he’d put the little fucker through. He’d learn that his amusement wasn’t worth it.
“He just doesn’t want to seem like a pussy ‘cause he won’t sleep in there with the roaches either.” Sam told John loud enough so that Dean would hear it clearly and know he was meant to hear it.
“Bite me, Sam,” Dean yelled back and if that was a chuckle in his voice, conscious be damned, John was going to kill him.
“I’ll let the roaches do that for me!” Sam called back just as he walked out of the trailer.
“Might as well leave the rest, we’ll buy some bombs tomorrow.” John said with a sigh, opening the truck door and grabbing a tarp off of the front seat, “Help me cover this shit.”
TBC
A/N: So, as is said in the A/N this story is based off of The Pied Piper Legend. So, there ya go your hint on what’s gonna happen though I bend it tad bits in true Supernatural fashion.
I was going to wait until I finished this to post… but with three chapters down my patience has withered and died.
My sister and I are writing this together, and you can clearly see what she wrote… it’s not like we tried to mix it together =D But, as to that, at the end of this whole story we will post (it’ll be under her name) the story before this. You’ll see what I mean once it comes around… because we were lame and decided for Kam to write a full story with background information and everything which would turn out easier for the flash backs =D
I hope you enjoy =D
Next
-2800
Kay and Kam
Comments/Critism?
Hope you enjoyed!
Authors: lifesscar and lastasalways
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Chapter: One
Word Count: 2,880
A/N: This is written because Lone_cat617 asked for a story based on the Pied Piper legend. I decided to follow Supernatural’s lead and twist the legend/story to fit my very own needs. So, if you’re familiar with the legend and the story (I did a bit of research just to immerse myself into it.) You’ll be able to see where I twisted a few things. This story has been in the works way too long to be considered healthy to myself or anyone.
Warnings: Wincest. There’s no warnings for this part and I’ll add them here as they come up.
Summary:So, Willy, let you and me be wipers
Of scores out with all men -- especially pipers;
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.
"You owe me a debt, Winchester. You owe me and I always get paid.”
Chapter One
Soft hands ran down his back and Dean couldn’t help but let out a little moan of appreciation as rough fingers dug into the muscles of his back, pushing and rubbing and just touching all the right places to cause his head to fall against his chest in relaxation.
Those perfectly callused fingers so gentle against scars that still cried pain.
Smooth lips against his neck produced a quiet sigh right before Sam began speaking, keeping his lips pressed against Dean’s pulse point so the older man could feel every word he spoke. “Where’s this one from?” The voice was so quiet as the soft hands rubbed a gentle circle in an area around his shoulders, just beside his shoulder blade. “You have a matching one on your chest… like something went clean through you.”
Dean could clearly hear the tender sadness in the younger man’s voice, in Sam’s voice. He tried to think, tried to remember when anything had ever gone straight through him. He had only been shot once but that had been a clean shot straight through his side; nowhere near the area Sam was gently massaging. There’d been a hook, but that was on the other side, tearing muscles as he’d been pulled along the ground.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he whispered quietly, turning his head ever so slightly so he could see Sam’s eyes, nearly completely hidden by his shaggy hair.
He never really enjoyed when Sam would question the origins of old, forgotten scars. Hated the flash of phantom pain that would shoot through the aged wounds when he finally did remember their beginnings. He never pulled away from Sam at moments like these, just leaning in a bit closer and letting Sam wrap his long arms around his waist. He refused to pull away, really, the guilt that would flash across the younger man’s face was to much for Dean to stomach. He just allowed Sam to continue on with his curiosity; allowed him to catalogue the scars like roads on a map and maybe one day he’d complete his quest to know every inch of Dean’s body.
“It looks like it would have been painful,” Sam muttered quietly, probably trying to urge the answer out of him, as if he had a reason to hide the truth from Sam. As if he would be embarrassed by the explanation.
He felt, rather than saw, Sam moving around, twisting his long legs around Dean’s body until he was facing Dean and his lips were resting mere inches from the full, plump ones of his brother. “I have a matching one,” he spoke quietly, as if it were a secret, a mystery maybe. His long fingers wrapped around Dean’s, pulling the smaller hand from his back to rest on his chest, “Jess pointed it out to me after we’d moved in together; I hadn’t even realized it was there.”
“Do you remember where yours was from?” Was Dean’s reply, moving his head forward slowly so he could kiss away the hurt that had fallen on his face at the mention of his first love’s name. He could never fill the holes her death had left but he could slowly heal them; he never fell into the illusion that he would ever completely complete that mission… they could live to be two hundred and he’d still be tending the wounds the loss had caused Sam.
“No,” Sam mumbled back, his eyes sliding shut to hide his beautiful green eyes, “I only remember waking up in pain, laying next to you. Just bits and pieces of waking up and falling back to sleep as Dad watched over us. You were never awake when I was.”
“Dad never told you what happened?”
“I don’t remember asking, just worry and pain… we were young. Few years before I left for college…” Sam’s lips were moving against his, speaking so quietly, words being lost to a tender kiss. Slow and loving.
So different from how they had started off. So very different to the first few months of their rocky relationship. Sometimes, when Dean contemplated small things like this kiss, he entertained the idea that maybe he could heal all the hidden wounds that encompassed Sammy’s soul.
“I’m sorry, Sammy, I don’t remember.” Dean spoke just as softly as Sam had, regretful for not having the answers that were sought, “I don’t even remember that.”
He felt the silent chuckle, shaking the taller man’s stomach as he leaned forward, letting his lips trail the perfect line of Dean’s jaw until they reached his ear, whispering one word into his ear before letting his teeth gentle sink into the soft flesh. Whispering ‘Sam’ before gently punishing Dean for his stubborn use of his childhood name.
“Sammy,” Dean moaned out softly, certain that the younger man could hear the smirk in his voice even if he couldn’t see it with his lips pressed tight against Dean’s neck.
He couldn’t help but laugh as Sam pushed him back just a bit roughly, straddling his hips with a mock glare on his face. “Gonna punish me?” He asked, his voice deep and rough as he moved his hands up to grasp the hard hipbones resting heavily on top of him.
“Maybe.”
---
The little lighting in the bar was dull, leaving shadows on the empty faces that filled the dingy bar. Leaving shadows that set Dean’s back into a ridged stance as he watched Sam type on the computer, his forehead creased on concentration… a look that not even Dean could put on that smooth face. The face only appeared when Sammy was lost in what he was reading, searching and digging for any signs or connections that would explain the events that had previously unfolded. No, Dean never brought that look to his younger brother’s face, not even when he would slam shut the book of Dean and hide it away. It was a beautiful look on him, really, as long as Dean wasn’t needing Sam’s full attention. Right now it was beautiful. Heart stopping if he would allow his mind to deteriorate to that level of thinking.
But Dean’s eyes couldn’t rest on the sight before him for long, they would travel back to the man whose body language sang some strange tune that screamed some type of familiarity to Dean. The man pulled at every memory Dean held, trying to find where he had seen the man before. Familiar was not a word used for strangers; familiar was not a word used for old men whose skin hung off of brittle bones, no muscle left to fill in the aged body. Familiar was a word for the few friends of Dads he had actually meet… the few people that his father had ever bothered to involve himself with.
It was not a word for this man whose mouse like form caused his instincts to scream danger.
Sammy was still engrossed in the computer screen to see the way Dean’s eyes darkened as the gaunt man stood up from the bar, leaving the beer that he had been nursing all night to rest on the dusty counter top, to grow stale like the man. He only looked up when he heard Dean’s seat whine in protest as he straightened up, looking like an animal ready to pounce at any odd movement.
His eyes quickly fell on the being who had gathered Dean’s attention, watching as the creature of a man limped over to them, shadows playing over his winkled face in an eerie fashion. Sam’s eyes soon resembled Dean’s, dark and guarded, wondering what Dean had done to gather such attention from the stick of a man. As the man grew closer his eyes darted over to Dean’s face, following all of the lines on his older brother’s face as if they were words in a book, reading the tension and suspicion easily.
“Can I help you?” The old man questioned, voice aged and scratchy. A voice that that spoke volumes of ancient knowledge and years, whispered softly into his ears without words, this body that cadged the man’s soul should have been on its death bed years ago.
Sam watched as Dean’s face drew its self into a smirk, eyeing the man as if he were issuing some sort of challenge. Watched as Dean calculated his words just as quickly as the smirk had fallen onto the pale features, “Nah, you just reminded me of an uncle…”
His hand was quick to jerk out silently to grasp Dean’s knee, to keep him from finishing what ever snide remark he had planned. This man probably had a few grandsons and great grandsons filtered through out this small town bar, who didn’t take after this scrawny man.
“Got put in prison for being a pervert; wanted to know for sure if you were him before I punched you.”
Sam’s eyes dropped, shaking his head slightly; just once, he would like to be able to stop Dean’s big mouth before it got started. Just once shut him up before Dean started more trouble.
“Is that so, Dean?”
Instantly, Sam could feel the tension fill Dean’s body, the same way as his back stiffened. A switch had been flipped and they were both in the hunting mode, eyes scanning the room to see if any of the other empty faces had turned to face them, scanning to see if people were trying circle them. Dean’s hand was resting on his hip, hidden by his jacket, ready to snatch the gun if need arise. That was considered an attack; a stranger knowing either of their names was out of place, wrong. An attack was all it could be constructed as, there was no other reason or excuse in their lives.
“Who are you?” Dena demanded, voice hard and dark. His body seemed to be in a state of utter relaxation, not worried or bothered by this ancient thing of a man, but Sam could read Dean clearer than anyone else; he clearly saw the differences that stated Dean was ready for another attack or to attack first with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his other hand resting on the table rather than wrapped around his beer.
Sam knew, could see more clearly, that Dean could break this man’s neck if any actions were provoked.
“I told you, Dean, you meet me again and I’ll hold you up to you’re end of our little bargain. I warned you.”
The voice seemed to grow younger with each syllable as if it was pulling in some forbidden tune, drawing Sam’s eyes to meet with the man’s, refusing to let him look at Dean any longer, almost completely blocking out his older brother’s voice from his head. Not completely though, he could still hear the confusion in his older brother’s voice as he spoke, denied ever knowing this creature.
“No idea what you’re talking about, old man. I don’t bargain… with anyone or anything.” The last one was a hint, a ploy to throw this creature of a man off… to let him know that Dean wasn’t about to fall for his twisted games.
“You owe me a debt, Winchester. You owe me and I always get paid.”
“He doesn’t owe you anything,” Sam spoke up, breaking himself from whatever daze that had captured him, shaking his head as he spoke quietly, “We’re leaving. You’re mistaken if you think either of us would owe anything to someone like you.”
Dean nodded, with a smirk, standing up in his silent agreement with Sam, “Go back to your beer, old timer.”
Sam watched as Dean walked past the man, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder to make sure the man staid in place.
“I always get paid.” Was the last thing Sam heard before the door slammed shut behind him.
---
”It’s cheap and secluded,” John explained when Sam and Dean looked at the new trailer as if it would fall down the minute they opened the door.
“Please, tell me we’re not squatting and it’s condemned.” Sam said, hearing the loud squeak the door made as it opened. That made him grin though, “guess that means no late nights for you, Dean,” he gloated as he followed his father in.
“It’s not condemned and we’re not squatting,” John clarified. Not bothering to elaborate just how cheap it was or how he already had a key to the place. Neither of them were really expecting him to either though.
“We’ve been worse,” Dean started, opening a cabinet just to have the door fall off. “At least we’re not sleeping in the car…”
“Always the optimist,” Sam said disdainfully.
“Hey, dad,” Dean said with a grin, “You’re a sneaky one; you chose this place just so Sam won’t piss and moan when it’s time to leave. Dude, he may even be happy about it.” John snorted at that, shaking his head as he pulled open the door to the bedroom.
“Fuck you,” Sam growled but to Dean it sounded more like a pout which only caused Dean to snort.
“Language,” John scolded off-handedly. “Didn’t think it was in this bad of shape… it’ll do for now though.”
“It got running water?” Dean asked, heading toward the front door, determined he wouldn’t even try to sleep until this place fit at least his standards for clean.
“It’s not that bad,” John sighed, “It’s got a roof, running water and electricity.”
“But no heater… or water heater,” Sam pointed out, done with his examination (exploring). “Guess that means you’ll be taking more cold showers than usual, huh Dean?”
“Means you’ll feel right at home, Sammy boy,” Dean said with a smirk, “Don’t think I don’t know ‘bout those dreams you’ve been having… Hell, what happened whenever… what’s her name… Cherry? Called?”
“Dude!” Sam yelled, grabbing the nearest thing in reach, which just happened to be the late cabinet door, and chunking it straight at Dean’s head.
“Enough!” John barked, “Sam help me get the beds in… Dean, sweep until you can’t no more.”
With a sigh, Sam nodded, following his brother out the door with their father in tow. “I swear to God,” John started, “If you two kill each other I will make you sorry.”
“Yes sir,” They said in unison, Sam heading towards the truck and Dean to grab the broom out of the Impala.
“We got any roach traps left?” Sam asked as they pulled the first mattress out of the truck bed.
“Some, we’ll stock up in town tomorrow while we do recon.” John answered as they struggled to get the twin sized bed into the trailer.
“Hey Sam,” Dean called from a bedroom, “With the way you sleep with your mouth hanging open, you’ll have an infestation in your stomach in no time man!”
“Dean!” John chastised with a roll of his eyes because now Sam wouldn’t sleep until they bombed the damn trailer.
“I’m going to sleep in the car tonight… alright?” Sam said weakly when they dropped the mattress and a couple of roaches scattered, looking pale and sick.
“God damn it, Dean, you’re not too old for me to whoop your ass boy!” John yelled. They’d all be sleeping in the dam cars tomorrow while they waited for the fumes to clear. He was going to kill Dean. “Tomorrow you wake your ass up at four and start PT.” He finished after a moment. Frustrated because now he could imagine the roaches climbing into his mouth and he wouldn’t be getting any damn sleep either. He was going to kill Dean.
Damned brat.
“Yes sir!” Dean called back, sounding a little too cheerful for John’s choice and the only thing that stopped him from hurting his oldest was the thought of the torture he’d put the little fucker through. He’d learn that his amusement wasn’t worth it.
“He just doesn’t want to seem like a pussy ‘cause he won’t sleep in there with the roaches either.” Sam told John loud enough so that Dean would hear it clearly and know he was meant to hear it.
“Bite me, Sam,” Dean yelled back and if that was a chuckle in his voice, conscious be damned, John was going to kill him.
“I’ll let the roaches do that for me!” Sam called back just as he walked out of the trailer.
“Might as well leave the rest, we’ll buy some bombs tomorrow.” John said with a sigh, opening the truck door and grabbing a tarp off of the front seat, “Help me cover this shit.”
TBC
A/N: So, as is said in the A/N this story is based off of The Pied Piper Legend. So, there ya go your hint on what’s gonna happen though I bend it tad bits in true Supernatural fashion.
I was going to wait until I finished this to post… but with three chapters down my patience has withered and died.
My sister and I are writing this together, and you can clearly see what she wrote… it’s not like we tried to mix it together =D But, as to that, at the end of this whole story we will post (it’ll be under her name) the story before this. You’ll see what I mean once it comes around… because we were lame and decided for Kam to write a full story with background information and everything which would turn out easier for the flash backs =D
I hope you enjoy =D
Next
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Kay and Kam
Comments/Critism?
Hope you enjoyed!