Fic: 'A Flaw or Two'
Title: A Flaw or Two
Rating: T
Characters and/or Pairing: Demon!Dean, Demon!Sam
Genre: Humour, character study.
Warnings: Demonic Winchesters.
Word Count: 470
Summary: Sammy's a whole new breed of evil.
A/N: IMPORTANT - This fic is part of my Darkside Verse, and probably won't make much sense unless you've watched the original trilogy of videos it sprang from.
Sam is the type of evil which, back when he’d been human, Dean had hated more than most. Because Sam hides it. Practically nothing’s changed about him since his transformation to demon, except perhaps the almost surgical removal of his conscience. He still resembles an overgrown pup, all awkward limbs and trustworthy eyes. He’s still a gigantic dork, still a health freak. Sam has done terrible, awful, nameless things to some of the hunters who’ve crossed his path, yet still manages to worry about his fucking calorie intake. He still, much to Dean’s thorough exasperation, wants to talk about feelings - and hell, Dean’s a sociopath now, he’s not even supposed to have feelings. In his book that’s a pretty damn good excuse to avoid chick flick moments, but apparently isn’t acceptable to Sammy.
Also, now that they’ve got Cas, there’s no end to the constant geekery, thanks to the angel’s encyclopaedic knowledge of fucking everything. Sam had very nearly wet himself like an overexcited puppy when he’d first realised Castiel could serve as his own personal Google on all matters historic and arcane, and ever since he’d harboured the biggest nerd-crush on the angel that Dean had ever seen. He’d be annoyed if he didn’t know Sam really was only interested in Cas’ mind, and how sad was it when that line wasn’t being used as a pick-up...?
He still studies law, for god’s sake, although now it was more of an absentminded hobby than an actual career choice. Even so, Dean had laughed his ass off when he’d first caught him at it, because wasn’t that just the most appropriate thing ever? A demon wanting to be a lawyer. Talk about your ready-made vocation...
He’s weirdly nice to animals. Sam still wants a dog more than anything else in life, and Dean’s been playing with the idea of getting him a hellhound for his next birthday. But knowing Sam he’d only go and ruin the thing right off the bat by naming it Max or something equally sissy, instead of the more fitting moniker of Killer or Ripper or Slash. Dean would totally name a hellhound Slash.
Currently, his freak of a little brother is slouched at a diner table opposite him, picking fussily at a salad. Dean watches him despairingly for a few moments, then resumes digging into his greasy breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausage.
Sam wrinkles his nose with vague disgust. “How can you eat that?”
“...Dude, you drink blood.”
A scandalised check to see if anyone overheard and an epic bitchface meets this simple statement of fact, and Dean chuckles to himself as he sips his coffee and goes back to reading the paper. He is the awesome brother, after all - Hellspawn or not - so he supposes he can overlook the odd flaw or two.