PixCT: 09.23
It's that time again...
Fic
Slash (Dean/Sam)
Adult
~1650
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
Dru Cock Thursday
Pix Cock Thursday
Dru September CTs
Pix September CTs
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 09.23
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~1650 words
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
Sam acted a bit strangely when he first brought up the case to Dean. Not that Sam hadn't been acting strange lately. Surviving as the vessel for Lucifer and coming back from Hell did cause a person to act, well, not quite himself, Dean figured. But this was strange. Even for “New Sam,” as Dean sometimes referred to him as in the back of his mind.
"We need to check this out," Sam said, pointing at the computer screen that he shoved across the small restaurant booth to Dean.
Dean sighed, pushed his half-eaten burger off to the side of the booth, and pulled the laptop closer. The website was advertising about the "grand display" about some no-name artist who was unveiling his latest sculpture. Not that everyone hadn't already seen the sculpture, but it appeared as though there would be speeches made and the like.
"It's a big, silver thing with no head," Dean pointed out, looking back up to Sam. "So?"
"Dean, this is a big deal. We need to check it out," Sam said again.
"Yeah? And give me a good reason why."
It'd been about six months since he'd left behind Lisa and Ben. Not that this had been Dean's choice. It was almost as if Lisa had been brainwashed. The word "brainwashed" still didn't fit comfortably with Dean's definition of what had happened to Lisa, but it was the best word he had at the moment, so, hey, he went with it. It was as if she just started pulling farther and farther away from him, distancing herself from him emotionally and physically, until one afternoon, when he came home from work, she jumped when she saw him and ended up calling the police. She didn't recognize him. Didn't know who the hell he was.
Later, after he'd been released from police custody, Sam had been waiting for him outside the police station. Just showed up, months gone, months in Hell, and there he was. Like he just fell out of the sky.
Dean wasn't stupid. He didn't assume Sam's return and Lisa's brainwashing were simple coincidences. They were related, of course. How? Dean wasn't sure of that, but what he did know what that if Sam was back, then something was up. And so, they, he and Sam, were together once again.
So, six months later, here they were, in a roadside restaurant with Sam getting all flustered over some big sculpture thing in a city halfway across the country.
"I've seen this in my dreams," Sam said, pointing at the screen again where the creature--monster?--sat.
"The sculpture?"
"No." Sam shook his head. "The monster itself. It's real. I've seen it."
Dean cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say, but his stomach had immediately tightened at Sam's words. "So, this isn't any of your 'seeing the future' psychic stuff from a few years ago? With Max and Ava and all that?"
Sam shook his head again. "I don't think so. This feels...different."
"How so?"
"Clearer? Sharper? I don't know. It’s just..." He sighed, long and heavy. "We need to check it out, okay? We need to talk to the guy who designed it."
Dean shrugged. "All right, fine, whatever you say." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and thumbed through the bills before tossing them onto the table. "Lead the way," he said, and they rose to their feet and went out to the car.
- - - - -
Upon their arrival, the city seemed peaceful enough. Odd, maybe, in how they had sculptures in every park, on almost every street corner, here and there and everywhere, but nothing out of the ordinary besides that. There wasn't blood running down the streets, people's eyes turning black, or the dead rising up. Hell, the EMF meter registered squat.
"Look, maybe this is just some weird coincidence," Dean said, shrugging. Yes, it was an odd city. Yes, it seemed harmless, but he still wanted nothing to do with it. Just let them leave, let them go back and get away from all of this. Find a normal case. A black dog. A zombie. Hell, he'd even take a vampire over this.
But, as it was, Sam wasn't having any of it. New Sam was in full-on business mode.
"The designer's supposed to make his speech later this afternoon. We should check out the town before then."
"Yeah, sure, okay," Dean grumbled.
They didn't find anything, and they showed up for the speech, along with the twenty other people. They stood outside, shoulder to shoulder, in a small, cramped space between the brick buildings with the large monster crouching behind the designer. The designer didn't seem like anyone Dean recognized, and if the guy was someone that Sam recognized, Sam didn't show it. The guy talked on, about how the sculpture was representative of something with the modern world and the stressors of people and the materials he had used and this and that, and at last, he was done talking. At last, it was time for questions.
Sam raised his hand, and the speaker nodded in his direction.
"One question," Sam said, "what was the inspiration for your design?"
"Ah!" the designer said, pleased. "Interesting that you would ask that! I actually dreamed about it!" The guy laughed, little bit self-conscious and proud of himself all at once. "The thing--this--was chasing me, and when I woke up, I realized that it must have been my subconscious manifesting my daily stressors into a physical being."
Dean looked to Sam. Sam's face tightened.
- - - - -
Sam paced the motel room while Dean sat on his bed, one leg tucked up beneath him.
"So," Dean said, breaking the silence at last, "you dreamed about this thing. And this guy dreamed about this thing."
Sam nodded.
"You wanna talk to him?"
Sam nodded again. "Probably should."
"Well, it's too late tonight."
"It's only eleven."
"Right," Dean said. "Too late."
Sam stopped pacing. Turned and looked at Dean. "Since when is eleven considered 'too late' for you?"
"Too late for talking to the guy. We'll catch him tomorrow, all right? I know we couldn't get him alone today, so we'll approach him tomorrow."
Sam shook his head. "It's almost like you don't care."
Dean laughed humorlessly. There was truth behind Sam's statement. Truth in that, yes, he didn't care. He'd had a long enough time with Lisa to grow used to such a life. Being able to work a comfortable 9-5 job, come home to dinner on the table and a bed he didn't have to buy. Even before Lisa, before Hell and Heaven and all the apocalypse nonsense, at least he and Sam had been on the same page with things. If it was evil, it was dead. At least they had each other.
Now? Now, it was like looking over a canyon at Sam, so much unsaid between them. Lies and secrets, things not finished and things not started, all tossed into the void. Dean didn't know how--if--things could ever be the same between them again.
It seemed so long again since there had been any warmth between them. Even looking past all the times they'd spent in bed, touching and sucking cocks, at least they were still able to talk to one another without all the mystery wrapped up in their words. Dean looked back at Sam, who had turned away and was going into the bathroom. Would they ever be the way they were?
Dean sighed and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes. If Sam wanted to keep talking, then they could continue the conversation in the morning.
- - - - -
"Dean?"
He stirred, returning to waking slowly.
"Dean?"
He opened his eyes and jumped to see Lisa leaning over the back of the couch, looking down at him. "Dean? You all right?" she asked.
"I...uh..." he fumbled. He looked around. He was in Lisa's living room, sprawled out on the couch while the television chattered on in front of him.
"Hard day at work?" she asked.
Sam? What had happened? It was a dream? It had seemed so real. Jesus.
"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head and rising to a seated position. "Yeah, just a long day, I guess." His smile was forced.
Lisa frowned, questioning, but she nodded all the same. "Well, I'm going to finish helping Ben with his homework. Just wanted to make sure you were all right."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
As she walked away, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. A dream. A stupid dream. He knew he'd been stressed about Sam lately--Sam's absence, that is--but to see him in a dream? Too weird.
Dean grabbed the remote from where it had fallen onto the floor and flipped through the TV stations. Landed at last on the evening news. There, a news anchor was talking into a microphone, yammering something about artwork and the city, and then. Then the designer--the designer of the sculpture--was on TV and talking. Smiling. Saying the same words he had said at the speech in Dean's dream. The camera zoomed out and behind them, the creature crouched, headless and monstrous. Dean swallowed, sick to his stomach, and he turned the TV off as quickly as possible.
Rising to his feet, he walked away from the TV, rubbing at the backs of his arms as though he was cold. Had it really been just a dream? He moved to the window and stared out at the street. Outside, beside the sidewalk leading up to Lisa's house, the streetlights flickered, once, twice, and died quietly. The rest of the lights down the street remained lit.
Dean closed his eyes. Remembered the dream and thought of Sam. He wondered what they would say to each other.
End
Fic
- - - - -
A combination of fic, pic, and cock, and that's really all there is to it.
All About Cock Thursday
So Far
September 07-September 08
September 08-September 09
Dru Cock Thursday
Pix Cock Thursday
Dru September CTs
Pix September CTs
- - - - -
Today
DruCT: 09.23
My fic:
Slash (Wincest: Dean/Sam) oneshot
Adult rating
~1650 words
- - - - -
Pix’s Pic Pick
Sam acted a bit strangely when he first brought up the case to Dean. Not that Sam hadn't been acting strange lately. Surviving as the vessel for Lucifer and coming back from Hell did cause a person to act, well, not quite himself, Dean figured. But this was strange. Even for “New Sam,” as Dean sometimes referred to him as in the back of his mind.
"We need to check this out," Sam said, pointing at the computer screen that he shoved across the small restaurant booth to Dean.
Dean sighed, pushed his half-eaten burger off to the side of the booth, and pulled the laptop closer. The website was advertising about the "grand display" about some no-name artist who was unveiling his latest sculpture. Not that everyone hadn't already seen the sculpture, but it appeared as though there would be speeches made and the like.
"It's a big, silver thing with no head," Dean pointed out, looking back up to Sam. "So?"
"Dean, this is a big deal. We need to check it out," Sam said again.
"Yeah? And give me a good reason why."
It'd been about six months since he'd left behind Lisa and Ben. Not that this had been Dean's choice. It was almost as if Lisa had been brainwashed. The word "brainwashed" still didn't fit comfortably with Dean's definition of what had happened to Lisa, but it was the best word he had at the moment, so, hey, he went with it. It was as if she just started pulling farther and farther away from him, distancing herself from him emotionally and physically, until one afternoon, when he came home from work, she jumped when she saw him and ended up calling the police. She didn't recognize him. Didn't know who the hell he was.
Later, after he'd been released from police custody, Sam had been waiting for him outside the police station. Just showed up, months gone, months in Hell, and there he was. Like he just fell out of the sky.
Dean wasn't stupid. He didn't assume Sam's return and Lisa's brainwashing were simple coincidences. They were related, of course. How? Dean wasn't sure of that, but what he did know what that if Sam was back, then something was up. And so, they, he and Sam, were together once again.
So, six months later, here they were, in a roadside restaurant with Sam getting all flustered over some big sculpture thing in a city halfway across the country.
"I've seen this in my dreams," Sam said, pointing at the screen again where the creature--monster?--sat.
"The sculpture?"
"No." Sam shook his head. "The monster itself. It's real. I've seen it."
Dean cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say, but his stomach had immediately tightened at Sam's words. "So, this isn't any of your 'seeing the future' psychic stuff from a few years ago? With Max and Ava and all that?"
Sam shook his head again. "I don't think so. This feels...different."
"How so?"
"Clearer? Sharper? I don't know. It’s just..." He sighed, long and heavy. "We need to check it out, okay? We need to talk to the guy who designed it."
Dean shrugged. "All right, fine, whatever you say." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and thumbed through the bills before tossing them onto the table. "Lead the way," he said, and they rose to their feet and went out to the car.
- - - - -
Upon their arrival, the city seemed peaceful enough. Odd, maybe, in how they had sculptures in every park, on almost every street corner, here and there and everywhere, but nothing out of the ordinary besides that. There wasn't blood running down the streets, people's eyes turning black, or the dead rising up. Hell, the EMF meter registered squat.
"Look, maybe this is just some weird coincidence," Dean said, shrugging. Yes, it was an odd city. Yes, it seemed harmless, but he still wanted nothing to do with it. Just let them leave, let them go back and get away from all of this. Find a normal case. A black dog. A zombie. Hell, he'd even take a vampire over this.
But, as it was, Sam wasn't having any of it. New Sam was in full-on business mode.
"The designer's supposed to make his speech later this afternoon. We should check out the town before then."
"Yeah, sure, okay," Dean grumbled.
They didn't find anything, and they showed up for the speech, along with the twenty other people. They stood outside, shoulder to shoulder, in a small, cramped space between the brick buildings with the large monster crouching behind the designer. The designer didn't seem like anyone Dean recognized, and if the guy was someone that Sam recognized, Sam didn't show it. The guy talked on, about how the sculpture was representative of something with the modern world and the stressors of people and the materials he had used and this and that, and at last, he was done talking. At last, it was time for questions.
Sam raised his hand, and the speaker nodded in his direction.
"One question," Sam said, "what was the inspiration for your design?"
"Ah!" the designer said, pleased. "Interesting that you would ask that! I actually dreamed about it!" The guy laughed, little bit self-conscious and proud of himself all at once. "The thing--this--was chasing me, and when I woke up, I realized that it must have been my subconscious manifesting my daily stressors into a physical being."
Dean looked to Sam. Sam's face tightened.
- - - - -
Sam paced the motel room while Dean sat on his bed, one leg tucked up beneath him.
"So," Dean said, breaking the silence at last, "you dreamed about this thing. And this guy dreamed about this thing."
Sam nodded.
"You wanna talk to him?"
Sam nodded again. "Probably should."
"Well, it's too late tonight."
"It's only eleven."
"Right," Dean said. "Too late."
Sam stopped pacing. Turned and looked at Dean. "Since when is eleven considered 'too late' for you?"
"Too late for talking to the guy. We'll catch him tomorrow, all right? I know we couldn't get him alone today, so we'll approach him tomorrow."
Sam shook his head. "It's almost like you don't care."
Dean laughed humorlessly. There was truth behind Sam's statement. Truth in that, yes, he didn't care. He'd had a long enough time with Lisa to grow used to such a life. Being able to work a comfortable 9-5 job, come home to dinner on the table and a bed he didn't have to buy. Even before Lisa, before Hell and Heaven and all the apocalypse nonsense, at least he and Sam had been on the same page with things. If it was evil, it was dead. At least they had each other.
Now? Now, it was like looking over a canyon at Sam, so much unsaid between them. Lies and secrets, things not finished and things not started, all tossed into the void. Dean didn't know how--if--things could ever be the same between them again.
It seemed so long again since there had been any warmth between them. Even looking past all the times they'd spent in bed, touching and sucking cocks, at least they were still able to talk to one another without all the mystery wrapped up in their words. Dean looked back at Sam, who had turned away and was going into the bathroom. Would they ever be the way they were?
Dean sighed and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes. If Sam wanted to keep talking, then they could continue the conversation in the morning.
- - - - -
"Dean?"
He stirred, returning to waking slowly.
"Dean?"
He opened his eyes and jumped to see Lisa leaning over the back of the couch, looking down at him. "Dean? You all right?" she asked.
"I...uh..." he fumbled. He looked around. He was in Lisa's living room, sprawled out on the couch while the television chattered on in front of him.
"Hard day at work?" she asked.
Sam? What had happened? It was a dream? It had seemed so real. Jesus.
"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head and rising to a seated position. "Yeah, just a long day, I guess." His smile was forced.
Lisa frowned, questioning, but she nodded all the same. "Well, I'm going to finish helping Ben with his homework. Just wanted to make sure you were all right."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
As she walked away, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. A dream. A stupid dream. He knew he'd been stressed about Sam lately--Sam's absence, that is--but to see him in a dream? Too weird.
Dean grabbed the remote from where it had fallen onto the floor and flipped through the TV stations. Landed at last on the evening news. There, a news anchor was talking into a microphone, yammering something about artwork and the city, and then. Then the designer--the designer of the sculpture--was on TV and talking. Smiling. Saying the same words he had said at the speech in Dean's dream. The camera zoomed out and behind them, the creature crouched, headless and monstrous. Dean swallowed, sick to his stomach, and he turned the TV off as quickly as possible.
Rising to his feet, he walked away from the TV, rubbing at the backs of his arms as though he was cold. Had it really been just a dream? He moved to the window and stared out at the street. Outside, beside the sidewalk leading up to Lisa's house, the streetlights flickered, once, twice, and died quietly. The rest of the lights down the street remained lit.
Dean closed his eyes. Remembered the dream and thought of Sam. He wondered what they would say to each other.
End