fic: This Sinking Boat
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, mentions of Lucifer
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~500
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: princess_aleera 's got the part before this, and now I've got another. Apparently this is a thing now?
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Sam finally makes it back to the boarding house around seven the next morning, suit rumpled, sore, and still flushed from the look Lucifer gave him as he stumbled out the door into the car he'd gotten for Sam. When he walks in Mrs. Harvelle tells him he has a missed call, and he goes pale as he remembers he was supposed check in with Dean the night before.
Yeah, his brother is going to kill him.
He punches in the number to Dean's office and taps his foot nervously on the ground as the call dials through. Dean answers on the second ring with an almost breathless, "Hello?"
"It’s me," says Sam, because he's better at sounding oblivious than confident. It’s closet to the truth most of the time, anyhow.
"God damnit, Sam. You want to tell me what happened last night?" His brother hisses through the phone, and Sam shrinks against the wall as the guilt sinks its claws in his chest.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, looking around the kitchen to see if any of the other boarders are listening in. But the room is empty, as most of them are probably off at work already. Which is where Sam should be as well, but Lucifer had recommended he "clean up and come in later." He rubs a sweating hand on his pant leg. "There was a thing."
"You want to specify?" Dean growls. Dammit, Sam really doesn't want to specify.
"I, uh-- Met with Lucifer," he blurts out, then flushes at how close to the truth the statement really is.
"Met how, Sam. Are you alright?"
"Fine. I'm fine," he says. "Nothing heavy. I was just working late, and he came into the office. We chatted."
"You chatted with Lucifer Garrison."
"About how I was doing my job. He, uh-" Sam clears his throat. "I think he likes me."
"Right," Dean says. "This took the whole night then."
"No."
"What happened next?" We fooled around on the couch and then he took me home, Sam wants to say. I slept with the head of the Mob. Did I forget to tell you that I'm a homosexual?
"Then I went back to work" He says instead, rushing through his speech. "And I couldn't call on the phone back at my place after midnight, so-- I'm sorry. From now on I'll call in the mornings, alright? Save you the worrying."
"Alright Sammy. Nothing else?" Sam pauses, and does his best not to sigh.
"Nothing."
"Take care then," Dean says, a little too tightly.
"You too," he says, and hangs up, sliding to the floor. He rubs his hands through his hair and pinches the headache blooming in his forehead. Goddamn Dean. Goddamn case. Goddamn Lucifer.
That's when he realizes his hat is missing.
Characters: Sam, Dean, mentions of Lucifer
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~500
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: princess_aleera 's got the part before this, and now I've got another. Apparently this is a thing now?
+++
Sam finally makes it back to the boarding house around seven the next morning, suit rumpled, sore, and still flushed from the look Lucifer gave him as he stumbled out the door into the car he'd gotten for Sam. When he walks in Mrs. Harvelle tells him he has a missed call, and he goes pale as he remembers he was supposed check in with Dean the night before.
Yeah, his brother is going to kill him.
He punches in the number to Dean's office and taps his foot nervously on the ground as the call dials through. Dean answers on the second ring with an almost breathless, "Hello?"
"It’s me," says Sam, because he's better at sounding oblivious than confident. It’s closet to the truth most of the time, anyhow.
"God damnit, Sam. You want to tell me what happened last night?" His brother hisses through the phone, and Sam shrinks against the wall as the guilt sinks its claws in his chest.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, looking around the kitchen to see if any of the other boarders are listening in. But the room is empty, as most of them are probably off at work already. Which is where Sam should be as well, but Lucifer had recommended he "clean up and come in later." He rubs a sweating hand on his pant leg. "There was a thing."
"You want to specify?" Dean growls. Dammit, Sam really doesn't want to specify.
"I, uh-- Met with Lucifer," he blurts out, then flushes at how close to the truth the statement really is.
"Met how, Sam. Are you alright?"
"Fine. I'm fine," he says. "Nothing heavy. I was just working late, and he came into the office. We chatted."
"You chatted with Lucifer Garrison."
"About how I was doing my job. He, uh-" Sam clears his throat. "I think he likes me."
"Right," Dean says. "This took the whole night then."
"No."
"What happened next?" We fooled around on the couch and then he took me home, Sam wants to say. I slept with the head of the Mob. Did I forget to tell you that I'm a homosexual?
"Then I went back to work" He says instead, rushing through his speech. "And I couldn't call on the phone back at my place after midnight, so-- I'm sorry. From now on I'll call in the mornings, alright? Save you the worrying."
"Alright Sammy. Nothing else?" Sam pauses, and does his best not to sigh.
"Nothing."
"Take care then," Dean says, a little too tightly.
"You too," he says, and hangs up, sliding to the floor. He rubs his hands through his hair and pinches the headache blooming in his forehead. Goddamn Dean. Goddamn case. Goddamn Lucifer.
That's when he realizes his hat is missing.