Fan Fiction Time! Slap Bet!
Title: Slap Bet! (part one of two)
Show: Supernatural
Genre: Humour
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Rating: Somewhere between G and PG probably.
Word Count: 1,210
Disclaimer: I claim no right to either Supernatural or How I Met Your Mother.
Summary: This is a blatant parody of the How I Met Your Mother episode, "Slap Bet." Takes place somewhere mid season four.
Dean scratched at his knee through the hole in his jeans, his other hand on the wheel of the Impala. Sam gazed out the passenger window next to him, staring silently at nothing. Dean sighed. “So when do you think the freaking angels will interrupt us next?” he asked.
Sam frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t really care.”
“Just making conversation Sammy,” said Dean, rolling his eyes at his brothers bitchface.
“We’ve already got a case, Dean. Concentrate on that.”
“Yeah, I know. Six missing people,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, beginning to feel antsy. He turned the radio up.
Sam shot him a look before his hand shot out and spun the dial back down.
“Sammy, what do you think our motel decor will be like?”
“What?”
“You don’t want to talk about anything serious,” Dean surmised out loud, “so what do you think our motel will look like? I’m thinking cowboys again. We haven’t been in a cowboy room in months.”
“Um, I don’t know Dean, how about blue,” said Sam, and turned his head back to stare determinedly out the window.
“Blue is not a theme.”
Sam didn’t say anything. Dean tapped the steering wheel with his index and middle finger, rocking back and forth to the beat he created.
“Tcku, tckuku, pwu,” Dean whispered through his teeth, to the beat of his tapping fingers.
“Dean,” said Sam.
“Sorry,” said Dean. He paused. “I bet the theme is cowboys.”
“I bet you a thousand dollars it’s not.”
“You don’t have a thousand dollars.”
“Okay then,” said Sam, looking around, “I bet you...”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know!” Dean said brightly, “a slap bet!”
“Really, Dean?”
“The ultimate wager.”
“Are we nine?”
“Aw, c’mon Sammy! A slap bet. If we get a room with cowboy stuff, I get to slap you as hard as I can across the face.”
“And if the room isn’t cowboys, I get to slap you.”
“Exactly!” Dean grinned and guffawed, “but no rings.” Sam rubbed his eyes and turned up the radio.
_________________________________________________________________
“All right, this is it,” said Dean, turning the key to their latest motel room.
“What?” asked Sam.
Dean stopped and turned to look incredulously at his brother. “Um, the result of our wager. As in, I’m going to get to slap you across the face as hard as I can.” Sam closed his eyes as if in actual pain.
“What’s your problem?”
“I’m tired Dean. I’m just not in the mood for games.”
“Well, maybe you’ll win. Maybe it’ll be a blue room with no cowboys at all. ‘Course, I did choose the Pardner My Stay Motel,” Dean snickered and flashed his patented devilish grin before turning the knob.
The room looked like the bedroom of a five-year-old boy. Its charmingly blue walls were adorned with rocket ship decals. The lamps on each bedside table however, had lampshades shaped like cowboy hats. The bedspreads were bespotted with all nine planets including Pluto, and were so faded they were clearly made decades before the planet’s demotion.
SWLAHP! Dean’s cheek burned. The entire right side of his face stung. His eyes watered, but the right one leaked actual tears onto the cheek that was developing a pinkness to it in the shape of his brother’s hand.
Sam smiled. An honest to god full Sammy smile. “You know, you were right Dean, that was a good idea. I forgot how fun Slap Bets are.”
“Gawdammit Sammy! You didn’t even win! Look at the freaking lamps! And holy crap, your hand is huge!”
“What do you expect? You’ve seen my penis.”
“I guess I should’ve called first,” came a gruff voice from the doorway. “Dean, what happened to your face?” Castiel asked.
“Sam happened. And unrightfully too.” Sam rolled his eyes and smiled.
Castiel looked at Sam curiously, tilting his head slightly. “You hit your brother in the face?”
“We had a Slap Bet.”
“Which you lost!”
“I won,” Sam assured Castiel.
“Yeah whatever, like blue was ever a theme anyway,” said Dean.
“The terms of the bet were agreed upon in the car Dean. Whether or not blue is a valid theme doesn’t matter anymore. Lawyered!”
“Blue,” Dean stated with importance, “is a color.”
“We need a ruling from an outside party. This is going nowhere,” said Sam.
“Yeah well, this isn’t middle school Sammy. We don’t just have Slap Bet Commissioners laying around.”
Dean stopped, a grin growing on his lips. He raised his eyebrows at his brother, who nodded in response. Both Winchesters turned in unison, looking expectantly at Castiel, who turned his head from one man to the other, unsure of the situation.
“Cas,” started Dean, “we are having a Slap Bet. It is the ultimate wager-“
“Dean, there are-“
“Cas, this is important.”
“I think you misunderstand the definition of ‘important,’” said Cas. “Also, such a wager of pain would ultimately be a useless one if my understanding is correct. You simply want to slap your brother because of the lampshades?”
“In a way, I guess, yes. That’s the gist of it.”
“Dean, a seal is in danger of breaking not far from here-“
“You can be Slap Bet Commissioner,” Dean offered, finally.
“Oh! I love it!” Castiel bounced a little on his heals. “What are my powers?”
Sam responded, “when a problem arises, and we need a ruling-“
“Like right now,” Dean interjected.
“Right, that’s your job. But you have to be unbiased and put the integrity of Slap Bet above all else. This is an honor you will take with you to your grave. Or whatever angel’s would have.”
“On your glowing angelic tombstone it will read, “Castiel, angel of the Lord, oversized trench coat, Slap Bet Commissioner.”
Castiel nodded in agreement.
Both brothers proceeded to tell their own understanding of the bet and its results. Castiel stood solemnly, taking in the information, his head tilting more and more to the side as the brothers talked. Dean watched him as Sam talked, and he could swear the angel was on the verge of rolling his eyes. Dean chuckled. He was so going to win this and it was awesome.
Finally Castiel lifted his eyes and looked at Dean, “I’m sorry Dean,” he said, “but Sam has won this bet. You did indeed agree to the bet, despite your own protests at your brother’s opinion of what constitutes a themed decor. Also? Lampshades? Pull this room together they do not.”
“So?” both Winchesters asked.
“My ruling is that Sam Winchester rises victorious from this Slap Bet. And for the trouble of having to go through this ridiculous dispute when this room is so obviously blue-he can now slap Dean Winchester one more time.”
“Aw, c’mon, you’ve gotta be-“
SWLAP!
Dean’s other cheek burned, stung, his teeth felt funny in his mouth.
Sam smiled again, this time his grin meeting his brother’s eyes. “Thanks Dean,” he said. “That really was fun.”
Dean laughed. “We should definitely have a Slap Bet again soon.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, clapping his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Especially since now we’ve got ourselves one hell of a kick-ass Commissioner.” The angel looked up at Sam with a resigned, yet blank expression. Dean continued to guffaw, dropping onto one of the beds.
And Sammy smiled.
Part Two
Show: Supernatural
Genre: Humour
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Rating: Somewhere between G and PG probably.
Word Count: 1,210
Disclaimer: I claim no right to either Supernatural or How I Met Your Mother.
Summary: This is a blatant parody of the How I Met Your Mother episode, "Slap Bet." Takes place somewhere mid season four.
Dean scratched at his knee through the hole in his jeans, his other hand on the wheel of the Impala. Sam gazed out the passenger window next to him, staring silently at nothing. Dean sighed. “So when do you think the freaking angels will interrupt us next?” he asked.
Sam frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t really care.”
“Just making conversation Sammy,” said Dean, rolling his eyes at his brothers bitchface.
“We’ve already got a case, Dean. Concentrate on that.”
“Yeah, I know. Six missing people,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, beginning to feel antsy. He turned the radio up.
Sam shot him a look before his hand shot out and spun the dial back down.
“Sammy, what do you think our motel decor will be like?”
“What?”
“You don’t want to talk about anything serious,” Dean surmised out loud, “so what do you think our motel will look like? I’m thinking cowboys again. We haven’t been in a cowboy room in months.”
“Um, I don’t know Dean, how about blue,” said Sam, and turned his head back to stare determinedly out the window.
“Blue is not a theme.”
Sam didn’t say anything. Dean tapped the steering wheel with his index and middle finger, rocking back and forth to the beat he created.
“Tcku, tckuku, pwu,” Dean whispered through his teeth, to the beat of his tapping fingers.
“Dean,” said Sam.
“Sorry,” said Dean. He paused. “I bet the theme is cowboys.”
“I bet you a thousand dollars it’s not.”
“You don’t have a thousand dollars.”
“Okay then,” said Sam, looking around, “I bet you...”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know!” Dean said brightly, “a slap bet!”
“Really, Dean?”
“The ultimate wager.”
“Are we nine?”
“Aw, c’mon Sammy! A slap bet. If we get a room with cowboy stuff, I get to slap you as hard as I can across the face.”
“And if the room isn’t cowboys, I get to slap you.”
“Exactly!” Dean grinned and guffawed, “but no rings.” Sam rubbed his eyes and turned up the radio.
_________________________________________________________________
“All right, this is it,” said Dean, turning the key to their latest motel room.
“What?” asked Sam.
Dean stopped and turned to look incredulously at his brother. “Um, the result of our wager. As in, I’m going to get to slap you across the face as hard as I can.” Sam closed his eyes as if in actual pain.
“What’s your problem?”
“I’m tired Dean. I’m just not in the mood for games.”
“Well, maybe you’ll win. Maybe it’ll be a blue room with no cowboys at all. ‘Course, I did choose the Pardner My Stay Motel,” Dean snickered and flashed his patented devilish grin before turning the knob.
The room looked like the bedroom of a five-year-old boy. Its charmingly blue walls were adorned with rocket ship decals. The lamps on each bedside table however, had lampshades shaped like cowboy hats. The bedspreads were bespotted with all nine planets including Pluto, and were so faded they were clearly made decades before the planet’s demotion.
SWLAHP! Dean’s cheek burned. The entire right side of his face stung. His eyes watered, but the right one leaked actual tears onto the cheek that was developing a pinkness to it in the shape of his brother’s hand.
Sam smiled. An honest to god full Sammy smile. “You know, you were right Dean, that was a good idea. I forgot how fun Slap Bets are.”
“Gawdammit Sammy! You didn’t even win! Look at the freaking lamps! And holy crap, your hand is huge!”
“What do you expect? You’ve seen my penis.”
“I guess I should’ve called first,” came a gruff voice from the doorway. “Dean, what happened to your face?” Castiel asked.
“Sam happened. And unrightfully too.” Sam rolled his eyes and smiled.
Castiel looked at Sam curiously, tilting his head slightly. “You hit your brother in the face?”
“We had a Slap Bet.”
“Which you lost!”
“I won,” Sam assured Castiel.
“Yeah whatever, like blue was ever a theme anyway,” said Dean.
“The terms of the bet were agreed upon in the car Dean. Whether or not blue is a valid theme doesn’t matter anymore. Lawyered!”
“Blue,” Dean stated with importance, “is a color.”
“We need a ruling from an outside party. This is going nowhere,” said Sam.
“Yeah well, this isn’t middle school Sammy. We don’t just have Slap Bet Commissioners laying around.”
Dean stopped, a grin growing on his lips. He raised his eyebrows at his brother, who nodded in response. Both Winchesters turned in unison, looking expectantly at Castiel, who turned his head from one man to the other, unsure of the situation.
“Cas,” started Dean, “we are having a Slap Bet. It is the ultimate wager-“
“Dean, there are-“
“Cas, this is important.”
“I think you misunderstand the definition of ‘important,’” said Cas. “Also, such a wager of pain would ultimately be a useless one if my understanding is correct. You simply want to slap your brother because of the lampshades?”
“In a way, I guess, yes. That’s the gist of it.”
“Dean, a seal is in danger of breaking not far from here-“
“You can be Slap Bet Commissioner,” Dean offered, finally.
“Oh! I love it!” Castiel bounced a little on his heals. “What are my powers?”
Sam responded, “when a problem arises, and we need a ruling-“
“Like right now,” Dean interjected.
“Right, that’s your job. But you have to be unbiased and put the integrity of Slap Bet above all else. This is an honor you will take with you to your grave. Or whatever angel’s would have.”
“On your glowing angelic tombstone it will read, “Castiel, angel of the Lord, oversized trench coat, Slap Bet Commissioner.”
Castiel nodded in agreement.
Both brothers proceeded to tell their own understanding of the bet and its results. Castiel stood solemnly, taking in the information, his head tilting more and more to the side as the brothers talked. Dean watched him as Sam talked, and he could swear the angel was on the verge of rolling his eyes. Dean chuckled. He was so going to win this and it was awesome.
Finally Castiel lifted his eyes and looked at Dean, “I’m sorry Dean,” he said, “but Sam has won this bet. You did indeed agree to the bet, despite your own protests at your brother’s opinion of what constitutes a themed decor. Also? Lampshades? Pull this room together they do not.”
“So?” both Winchesters asked.
“My ruling is that Sam Winchester rises victorious from this Slap Bet. And for the trouble of having to go through this ridiculous dispute when this room is so obviously blue-he can now slap Dean Winchester one more time.”
“Aw, c’mon, you’ve gotta be-“
SWLAP!
Dean’s other cheek burned, stung, his teeth felt funny in his mouth.
Sam smiled again, this time his grin meeting his brother’s eyes. “Thanks Dean,” he said. “That really was fun.”
Dean laughed. “We should definitely have a Slap Bet again soon.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, clapping his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Especially since now we’ve got ourselves one hell of a kick-ass Commissioner.” The angel looked up at Sam with a resigned, yet blank expression. Dean continued to guffaw, dropping onto one of the beds.
And Sammy smiled.
Part Two