[FIC/ART] BEYONSAM & LADY CASCAS: THE TALE OF DEAN'S VERY SAD SANDWICH
THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I'VE WRITTEN A FIC TO ACCOMPANY MY ART, BBS, SO... *DROPS PANTS* PLS BE GENTLE WITH ME.
FIC AND SASSYLICIOUS WALLPAPER BEHIND THE CUT!!! XD
ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A MOTEL FAR, FAR AWAY, A MAN NAMED DEAN WAS STARING LONGINGLY AT THE MOST EPIC SANDWICH HE HAD EVER SEEN. HONESTLY, IT WAS OFF THE CHAIN. BELIEVE YOU ME, I KNOW SANDWICHES, AND THIS ONE TOOK THE CAKE. IT NOT ONLY TOOK IT, IT MADE IT IT'S BITCH AND DARN NEAR DRY-HUMPED THE FROSTING RIGHT OFF THAT LITTLE FUCKER. GODDAMN.
ANYWAYS, WITH ITS LAYERS AND LAYERS OF AWESOME MANLY DELIGHTS, ONE WOULD NEVER HAVE GUESSED JUST BY LOOKING THAT A SINGLE, VITAL COMPONENT WAS BONER-KILLING THE SHEER AWCIDITY OF THIS SANDWICH.
MUSTARD.
WELL, THERE HAD BEEN MUSTARD IN THE FRIDGE, I'LL GRANT YOU THAT, BUT IT WAS SOME OF SAM'S ORGANIC FRENCH SHIT AND DEAN WOULD BE DAMNED IF HE WAS GOING TO TOUCH THAT GIRLY CRAP. IT WASN'T ANYWHERE NEAR NEON YELLOW, AND EVERYONE KNOWS THAT MUSTARD AIN'T LEGIT UNLESS IT SURPASSES A STRICT VIBRANCY TEST.
"FUCK THIS NOISE" SAID DEAN, AND DECIDED TO CALL HIS LITTLE BROTHER AND GET HIM TO RECTIFY THIS TRAVESTY, STAT.
DEAN WAS MORE THAN A LITTLE SURPRISED WHEN THE VOICE ON THE OTHER END ANSWERED WITH A GRAVELY, JIZZING-IN-YOUR-PANTS INDUCING, "HELLO, DEAN."
"CAS!" HE SAID, TOTALLY NOT AT ALL JEALOUS THAT CASTIEL WAS ANSWERING SAM'S PHONE, HIS BRILLIANT OBSERVATION AND DEDUCTION SKILLS CONCLUDING THAT SAM AND CAS MUST BE OUT TOGETHER. WHICH WAS PROBABLY A GOOD THING, CONSIDERING THAT WHAT DEAN HAD JUST DONE IN HIS PANTS WAS EMBARRASSING ENOUGH WITH ONLY A SANDWICH TO WITNESS. "FUCK, I JUST WASHED THESE. EWWW, STICKY…"
"I CAN'T HEAR A THING, DEAN. WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"ER, NOTHING. LISTEN, I NEED YOU TO BAMF OVER TO THE CLOSEST GROCERY STORE AND GET ME SOME MUSTARD. AND NONE OF THAT PUSSY STUFF, I MEAN THE GOOD STUFF IN THE 94¢ BIN WITH THE 'BIOHAZARD' SYMBOL ON IT. CAN YOU DO THAT?"
"DEAN, BUT YOU'RE BREAKING UP ON ME. I SEEM TO HAVE VERY POOR SERVICE IN THIS CLUB."
"M-U-S-T-A-R-D, CAS. CHOP CHOP, HOLY PANTS. A GROWING BOY HAS NEEDS, AND THIS ONE REQUIRES MUSTARD."
DEAN COULD ALMOST HEAR THE SOUND OF CAS' EYES ROLLING BEFORE THE ANGEL REPLIED, "I'M SORRY DEAN, I'M KIND OF BUSY. WHY DON'T YOU TALK TO YOUR BROTHER?" THERE WAS PLASTICY, CLACKY SOUND OF A PHONE CHANGING HANDS BEFORE SAM'S VOICE SAID, "DEAN, CAN YOU HOLD ON JUST A SECOND? IT'S MY FAVOURITE SONG THEY'RE GONNA PLAY!"
"OH GOD, TAYLOR SWIFT IS THE DJ?" DEAN ASKED. NOT THAT HE KNEW WHO POP-COUNTRY SINGER/SONGWRITER TAYLOR SWIFT WAS, OH NO. "LISTEN SAM, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR LITTLE FONDUE PARTY AT THE GAY BAR OR WHATEVER, I JUST NEED YOU TO BRING ME SOME MUSTARD."
"YOU KNOW DEAN, THAT'S THE SHITTIEST EXCUSE I'VE EVER HEARD. IF YOU WANTED US THERE WITH YOU SO BADLY, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE SOME PLANS WITH US. YOU KNEW THAT WE WERE FREE. WE'RE KINDA BUSY."
"DOUBLE-YOO-TEE-EFF SAMMY, THIS SANDWICH ISN'T GOING TO CONDIMENT ITSELF!" BECAUSE CONDIMENT IS TOTALLY A VERB.
THE HIGH-PITCHED TONES OF SAM'S BITCHFACE TRAVELED THROUGH THE EARPIECE IN A FREQUENCY ONLY DOGS AND DEAN COULD HEAR. AND THE OCCASIONAL SQUIRREL, PROVIDED THEY FELL OUT OF A TREE AND LANDED ON THEIR HEADS JUST SO AS BABY SQUIRRELS. "YOU KNOW WHAT, DEAN? YOU BITCHING TO ME ABOUT YOUR MUSTARD WON'T MAKE ME LEAVE NO FASTER OR GET YOU YOUR MUSTARD NO FASTER. I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE LEFT MY PHONE BACK AT THE MOTEL. STOP TELEPHONIN' ME AND CAS… WE'RE OUT IN THE CLUB AND WE SAID WE'RE BUSY."
CLICK.
DEAN CRIED A SINGLE, MANLY TEAR.
"I NEVER GET INVITED ANYWHERE."
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CLUB…
"SAM, ARE YOU CERTAIN WE SHOULD NOT JUST BRING DEAN THE MUSTARD HE REQUESTED? IT REALLY WOULD BE NO TROUBLE."
"HELL NO, CAS. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. IF YOU GIVE A MOUSE A COOKIE… I DON'T KNOW, IN THE END, YOU WIND UP RESPONSIBLE FOR EUTHANASIA OR SOMETHING."
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE YOUTH IN ASIA?"
"MAN, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DANCE."
(CLICK FOR WALLPAPER-SIZED VERSION)
FIC AND SASSYLICIOUS WALLPAPER BEHIND THE CUT!!! XD
ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A MOTEL FAR, FAR AWAY, A MAN NAMED DEAN WAS STARING LONGINGLY AT THE MOST EPIC SANDWICH HE HAD EVER SEEN. HONESTLY, IT WAS OFF THE CHAIN. BELIEVE YOU ME, I KNOW SANDWICHES, AND THIS ONE TOOK THE CAKE. IT NOT ONLY TOOK IT, IT MADE IT IT'S BITCH AND DARN NEAR DRY-HUMPED THE FROSTING RIGHT OFF THAT LITTLE FUCKER. GODDAMN.
ANYWAYS, WITH ITS LAYERS AND LAYERS OF AWESOME MANLY DELIGHTS, ONE WOULD NEVER HAVE GUESSED JUST BY LOOKING THAT A SINGLE, VITAL COMPONENT WAS BONER-KILLING THE SHEER AWCIDITY OF THIS SANDWICH.
MUSTARD.
WELL, THERE HAD BEEN MUSTARD IN THE FRIDGE, I'LL GRANT YOU THAT, BUT IT WAS SOME OF SAM'S ORGANIC FRENCH SHIT AND DEAN WOULD BE DAMNED IF HE WAS GOING TO TOUCH THAT GIRLY CRAP. IT WASN'T ANYWHERE NEAR NEON YELLOW, AND EVERYONE KNOWS THAT MUSTARD AIN'T LEGIT UNLESS IT SURPASSES A STRICT VIBRANCY TEST.
"FUCK THIS NOISE" SAID DEAN, AND DECIDED TO CALL HIS LITTLE BROTHER AND GET HIM TO RECTIFY THIS TRAVESTY, STAT.
DEAN WAS MORE THAN A LITTLE SURPRISED WHEN THE VOICE ON THE OTHER END ANSWERED WITH A GRAVELY, JIZZING-IN-YOUR-PANTS INDUCING, "HELLO, DEAN."
"CAS!" HE SAID, TOTALLY NOT AT ALL JEALOUS THAT CASTIEL WAS ANSWERING SAM'S PHONE, HIS BRILLIANT OBSERVATION AND DEDUCTION SKILLS CONCLUDING THAT SAM AND CAS MUST BE OUT TOGETHER. WHICH WAS PROBABLY A GOOD THING, CONSIDERING THAT WHAT DEAN HAD JUST DONE IN HIS PANTS WAS EMBARRASSING ENOUGH WITH ONLY A SANDWICH TO WITNESS. "FUCK, I JUST WASHED THESE. EWWW, STICKY…"
"I CAN'T HEAR A THING, DEAN. WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"ER, NOTHING. LISTEN, I NEED YOU TO BAMF OVER TO THE CLOSEST GROCERY STORE AND GET ME SOME MUSTARD. AND NONE OF THAT PUSSY STUFF, I MEAN THE GOOD STUFF IN THE 94¢ BIN WITH THE 'BIOHAZARD' SYMBOL ON IT. CAN YOU DO THAT?"
"DEAN, BUT YOU'RE BREAKING UP ON ME. I SEEM TO HAVE VERY POOR SERVICE IN THIS CLUB."
"M-U-S-T-A-R-D, CAS. CHOP CHOP, HOLY PANTS. A GROWING BOY HAS NEEDS, AND THIS ONE REQUIRES MUSTARD."
DEAN COULD ALMOST HEAR THE SOUND OF CAS' EYES ROLLING BEFORE THE ANGEL REPLIED, "I'M SORRY DEAN, I'M KIND OF BUSY. WHY DON'T YOU TALK TO YOUR BROTHER?" THERE WAS PLASTICY, CLACKY SOUND OF A PHONE CHANGING HANDS BEFORE SAM'S VOICE SAID, "DEAN, CAN YOU HOLD ON JUST A SECOND? IT'S MY FAVOURITE SONG THEY'RE GONNA PLAY!"
"OH GOD, TAYLOR SWIFT IS THE DJ?" DEAN ASKED. NOT THAT HE KNEW WHO POP-COUNTRY SINGER/SONGWRITER TAYLOR SWIFT WAS, OH NO. "LISTEN SAM, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR LITTLE FONDUE PARTY AT THE GAY BAR OR WHATEVER, I JUST NEED YOU TO BRING ME SOME MUSTARD."
"YOU KNOW DEAN, THAT'S THE SHITTIEST EXCUSE I'VE EVER HEARD. IF YOU WANTED US THERE WITH YOU SO BADLY, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE SOME PLANS WITH US. YOU KNEW THAT WE WERE FREE. WE'RE KINDA BUSY."
"DOUBLE-YOO-TEE-EFF SAMMY, THIS SANDWICH ISN'T GOING TO CONDIMENT ITSELF!" BECAUSE CONDIMENT IS TOTALLY A VERB.
THE HIGH-PITCHED TONES OF SAM'S BITCHFACE TRAVELED THROUGH THE EARPIECE IN A FREQUENCY ONLY DOGS AND DEAN COULD HEAR. AND THE OCCASIONAL SQUIRREL, PROVIDED THEY FELL OUT OF A TREE AND LANDED ON THEIR HEADS JUST SO AS BABY SQUIRRELS. "YOU KNOW WHAT, DEAN? YOU BITCHING TO ME ABOUT YOUR MUSTARD WON'T MAKE ME LEAVE NO FASTER OR GET YOU YOUR MUSTARD NO FASTER. I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE LEFT MY PHONE BACK AT THE MOTEL. STOP TELEPHONIN' ME AND CAS… WE'RE OUT IN THE CLUB AND WE SAID WE'RE BUSY."
CLICK.
DEAN CRIED A SINGLE, MANLY TEAR.
"I NEVER GET INVITED ANYWHERE."
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CLUB…
"SAM, ARE YOU CERTAIN WE SHOULD NOT JUST BRING DEAN THE MUSTARD HE REQUESTED? IT REALLY WOULD BE NO TROUBLE."
"HELL NO, CAS. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. IF YOU GIVE A MOUSE A COOKIE… I DON'T KNOW, IN THE END, YOU WIND UP RESPONSIBLE FOR EUTHANASIA OR SOMETHING."
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE YOUTH IN ASIA?"
"MAN, SHUT THE FUCK UP AND DANCE."
(CLICK FOR WALLPAPER-SIZED VERSION)