Final Gift for sprat!
Title: Not Exactly Inconspicuous
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural/Chuck crossover
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: None, really
3,300+ words
A/N: Many thanks to shayheyred for the incredibly helpful beta.
Happy Supernatural Holidays, sprat! Thanks for giving me such wonderful prompts, I only regret I didn't have time to write them all. *g*
Dean had gotten twitchier the closer they'd gotten to California. Now that they were in Los Angeles, he was practically airdrumming his way out of the driver's seat.
Sam wasn't Dean, though, so he couldn't just come out and say certain things. Things like, "You have nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere." Not that Dean would necessarily believe him, even if he did. "Did you know 'La Brea' means 'the tar' in Spanish?" he asked instead. "So it's like calling them 'The The Tar Tar Pits.'"
Dean shot him a sideways smirk, the low sun of the November afternoon bouncing off the reflective surface of his sunglasses. "So nice they named it twice?"
Sam had to look away from the blinding brightness, started to pick at the pit-stop travel brochure in his lap. "Something like that."
***
"Did you really have to try to climb the mastodon?"
"Mammoth," Dean corrected.
Sam just glared.
"We were breaking in anyway."
Sam sighed, but Dean probably did have a point. And while Dean may not have been operating under a predetermined time limit any longer, he hadn't lost his hands-on approach to life: namely, woo, screw, or choke the fucker until he'd squeezed out every last drop of the day.
"Yeah, you're right," Sam sighed. Dean cackled delightedly when he realized Sam wasn't going to bitch about it any more. "There's a shopping center up ahead. I bet we can get a new phone there."
Dean clicked on the turn signal. "Yeah, gotta change the service over -- don't want my ringtone startling all those fossils."
Sam couldn't help but picture dire wolf skeletons trying to make sense of the opening chords of Back in Black deep in the tarry murk, and had to hide his smile behind his sleeve.
***
Sam was pretty sure he was closing in on the right aisle -- those were Blackberries up ahead, he was certain of it -- when Dean caught up to him and slapped him between the shoulder blades, hard. Sam stumbled forward a step and caught himself by locking his knees. It hurt.
"You shoulda seen the hot weiner chick, dude. I mean, wow." Dean waggled his eyebrows.
Weiner chick? What? Sam looked at Dean, to see if he was maybe joking, or if he was giving off any visible signs of having developed a particular interest in transvestites. He was about to make a crack about she-males, or maybe just ask for clarification, when a tall guy in a white shirt with a dorky tie and a nametag drew near. Finally, someone who could point them in the right direction.
"Hang on, excuse me. Can you tell me if the cell phones are-- Chuck? Hey, man! How've you been?" He hoped his pleased surprise was enough to cancel out the self-conscious look Chuck got when he realized he'd been recognized at work.
"Sam? Is that you?" Luckily, Chuck didn't seem worried about his nametag anymore, judging by the enormous grin splitting his face. They actually hugged, right there in the middle of the store.
Dean coughed, loud and fake, and they pulled apart still grinning at each other.
"Chuck, this is my brother, Dean."
"Hey, man." Dean nodded his head coolly, as if he hadn't just been bucking for an introduction moments before.
Chuck's arm was bent at the elbow in an aborted wave. His eyelids fluttered weirdly for a moment, and his jaw dropped. He bent his wrist and pointed directly at Dean, his hand still at shoulder height. "You're wanted by the FBI for murder, bank robbery, arms violations, fraud, and thirty-two charges of grave desecration." Chuck's quick recitation ended, and he took a step back, eyes huge. "Um, sorry about that . Heh. I'll just be, uh--" he gestured with both hands and a tilt of his head, "--in the back, uh--"
Sam cut him off with a quick jab to the base of his skull. Dean boggled at him.
"Shit. Help me get him out to the car, quick."
Dean gave him a weird look but kept his mouth shut and helped him hustle his groggily groaning ex-classmate out the sliding doors.
***
As Sam was fumblingly buckling Chuck into the back seat, a big guy in a green shirt burst out of the store, scanning the parking lot. A blonde woman in a sexified dirndl raced out of the Weinerlicious next door, adopting the same stance.
Sam gave up and just crawled into the back, slamming the door after himself. "Go now, go!"
He braced himself against the window to avoid smashing into Chuck as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. He glanced out the rear window. The blonde in pigtails bounced after them, flashes of shapely thigh showing as she ran and drew her gun just as they pulled safely onto the highway.
Well, at least Sam knew what the whole "weiner chick" thing had been about, now.
***
They found a motel with an actual garage -- those two in the parking lot had looked like they were perfectly capable of remembering the make and model of a car as recognizable as the Impala.
Once Dean got them a room, they'd hustled a disoriented Chuck into a chair and tied him to it. Sam felt bad, but they couldn't have Chuck setting the feds on them. They'd just have to figure out a way to convince him of the truth, once he'd stopped his soft moaning and could focus his eyes normally.
Dean yanked Sam into the bathroom and shut the door. "What the fuck," he demanded in a pissed-off whisper, yanking on Sam's collar and getting right up in his face.
Sam swallowed.
"Who is that guy? Why does he know about me? Why does the weiner chick have a gun? And why the fuck did we bring him with us?" Dean was practically hissing and spitting.
"Dean, that's Chuck." Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam could practically see him thinking duh, nametag. That meant Dean couldn't be all that mad, just worried. "I knew him at Stanford, actually. I have no idea why he knows about you or who those people chasing after us might be -- last I knew, he was, like, a computer science major or something." Sam put his hands over Dean's and eased them off their grip on his shirt. He brought them down and squeezed them between his own, reassurance for the both of them disguised as a defensive maneuver. "I brought him with us because he's a good guy. Whatever he thinks he knows -- I mean, he'd probably feel like he had to alert the authorities, but he wouldn't like it. All we have to do is convince him what we do is for real, and I'm sure we'll be able to let him go after that."
Dean nodded slowly, but his voice was like the gravel on Hell's driveway. "Okay, Sam. We'll give it a shot. But you just think about what if you're wrong."
Sam resisted the urge to shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'm not letting anyone get you." He pressed Dean's hands one last time and left the bathroom, Dean's lingering stare an itch on his back.
***
"I totally believe you, Sam, really. I do!" Chuck professed earnestly.
Sam groaned and sat on the edge of the nearest bed. "No you don't, Chuck. I wouldn't either, if I were you. I don't know why I thought this would work."
Dean didn't look up from the television set, but Sam could tell he was following their conversation closely.
"Look, all right, maybe I don't believe everything." Chuck bit his lip. "I know you do, though. And you've always been a decent person. You wouldn't, uh, kill people." Sam could hear how convincing Chuck was trying to be; not that he was trying to make Sam believe that he bought their explanation -- although he was doing that, too -- but more like he was trying to convince Sam that he wouldn't kill anyone. Wouldn't kill Chuck.
Sam looked at Chuck for a long moment and reminded himself of the same thing. Made himself see his buddy Chuck, scared and trying not to show it, not just a liability to Dean that had to be taken care of.
"Find us a hunt, Sammy," Dean said. His arm was stretched out over the top of his chair, and he was twisted around to look at the two of them, eyes bright. "We can bring him along and give him a show."
Sam shot him a grateful grin and made a beeline for the laptop. That could actually work. "Okay, Chuck, we can't tackle anything too major, since you'll have to stay tied up..."
***
"You're not going to make me dig my own grave or anything, are you?"
"Shit, man, I bet these plots cost a bundle," Dean said, guiding Chuck by one arm while Sam gripped the other. "None of us could afford this place, don't worry."
Chuck stumbled a little over someone's ginormous wreath and almost fell forward onto his bound hands. Sam and Dean kept him upright until he regained his footing. "So why the shovels?"
"You're about to be welcomed into the wonderful world of the salt-and-burn. So get ready to help dig up somebody else's grave." Dean chuckled and Chuck gave him a sickly smile back.
"Then what's the rifle for?"
***
"Duck, Chuck!"
"What?"
"Get down!" The unnatural howl of the wind was silenced after the booming report of the rifle sounded.
"What the hell was that?" Chuck gasped.
"An angry spirit, just like we told you about. And we better get back to digging, because it'll be back in a minute if we don't finish this quick."
"Holy shit!"
"Here, let me free your hands. Dean's got more rounds up there, but we should really hurry."
"Holy shit!"
***
Dean was riding a post-hunt adrenaline high, even if it had been pretty much by-the-book. Chuck was even more energized, enthusiastically recounting the whole encounter to Sam regardless of the fact that Sam had been right there with him the whole time.
"And the way it reached out to claw you, even though it had already gone up in flames! I thought it wasn't going to stop!"
Dean reached an arm back without looking, clapping Chuck on the shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Times like this, a man needs a drink to celebrate."
"Yeah!"
Dean winked at Sam. Sam's mouth was dry, suddenly, but he managed to croak out a "yeah" of agreement.
***
Sam and Dean were manhandling Chuck back into the room once again, but this time he was singing "We Are The Champions" at the top of his lungs. Once they'd gotten the door open, Chuck staggered inside and flopped face-first onto the nearest bed.
Dean wasn't looking entirely steady himself, and took off his jacket and boots with exaggerated care. He waved Sam onward. "You did most of the digging, you can take first shower."
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean was entirely wrapped up in the covers of one bed like a burrito, and Chuck was snoring away on top of the other. Sam hesitated. He dug out a pair of socks and a sweatshirt for extra warmth, and then settled onto the bed with burrito-Dean. He didn't need a blanket, anyway.
***
"Up and at 'em!" Dean said, plunking a McDonald's bag onto the table.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" Chuck asked plaintively. "I'm hungover."
Sam pulled the sheet up over his head. Then he wondered when he'd acquired one. Then he knew he was really waking up, and sat up with a grumpy huff. "Is there enough there for all of us?"
"I don't know about you two giants, but there's enough here for five normal-sized people, so I'd say yeah."
"Gimme," Chuck said, and Sam laughed.
***
"I'm going to take a shower and then catch a bus back home, okay? People are going to be looking for me," Chuck said, wiping the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin like a civilized person, Sam noted with a disapproving scowl at Dean, who was talking with his mouth full again.
"Sure thing, man. You ever need us, we'll leave you our cell number."
"Yeah, and, um. I probably shouldn't say anything, but I'll see if there's anything I can do about that FBI record."
"Huh?" Chuck was a really upfront guy, so Sam didn't understand why he would say something like that. Not unless he thought there might actually be something he could do.
"You do that," Dean laughed.
"No, really, I. I'm kind of... not a spy, exactly, but I work with some."
"At the Buy More?" Dean's eyebrows filled in all the skepticism that his voice was carefully lacking.
"Not exactly. But one of my handlers works there as a cover, and the other one works next door--"
"You work with the weiner chick? And you're spies?"
Chuck nodded, obviously feeling a little of the desperation to be believed that Sam had felt the day before.
"Dude. That is so cool!"
"Yeah, well, it's probably easier when they're protecting you, not chasing you across the country," Sam muttered.
***
Chuck hadn't made it into the shower yet, because they were still arguing. "Is this going to be like the time you spent $200 in quarters trying to beat my high score on Joust?"
"Shut up!" Sam looked over at Dean, who was enjoying this far too much. He crossed his arms. "I'm just saying, you have it easy compared to us."
"Fine, don't get pissy," ("Pissy!" Dean hooted.) "Can I get cleaned up if I concede that you're more of a badass than I am?"
Sam stepped aside to let him pass and whacked Dean on the arm. "Don't laugh at me."
"What's the matter, Sam? Jealous?"
Sam hoped he wasn't getting as flushed as he felt. "It's not that cool."
"Well, obviously." Dean was patronizing him a little, Sam could tell, but it made him feel better to hear Dean say that, all the same.
***
Sam handed Chuck the last coffee to take with him. "I'm really sorry about everything, you know. Would it be weird if I said it was good to see you again anyway?"
Chuck smiled bright and earnest. Were spies supposed to smile like that? Did looking like a happy Labrador come in handy with the espionage?
"No, it was good to see you, too. And to meet your brother." He gave Dean a little wave.
"You, too." Dean wasn't one for meaningless social niceties, so he must have meant it. Sam grimaced. Chuck had been hanging around long enough; he wasn't going to rat them out, and he didn't need to take the time to become Dean's new best bud.
Sam clapped Chuck on the shoulder and helped him past the threshold. "Alright, man. Don't want to miss that bus! You take care, now, and make sure your friends don't come after us, okay? Buh-bye!" Sam shut the door and flipped the lock, taking what felt like the first deep breath he'd had since Chuck had started listing Dean's statistics the day before.
When he shook it off and turned around, Dean was looking at him.
"What?"
"Get rid of your friend fast enough? Besides, you should have asked him about a new phone, I bet he could've gotten us a discount."
"Oh, I, uh... I forgot about that."
"Hmmm." Dean was still splayed out in the chair, considering Sam. He pressed a fingernail against his bottom lip, then tapped it a few times. "You really were jealous, weren't you."
It wasn't exactly a question.
Sam hated to feel himself do it, but he huffed. He couldn't help it. "It's just--"
Whatever. Chuck wasn't the one on the run all the time, worrying twice as much because Dean didn't seem to worry enough, and he had a network of real backup, yet Dean still thought it was all so cool. And Chuck was a great guy, but he wasn't supposed to fit in with Sam and Dean so easily. No one was.
Dean interrupted his thoughts. "C'mere, dumbass."
Sam was wary, but he went to Dean all the same. Dean could just get all his mocking out of his system now, and maybe Sam wouldn't be hearing it for the rest of the week.
Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist and tugged him a little closer. Sam took the necessary step forward, and pretended not to notice that that placed him pretty much right between Dean's spread knees.
"No one," Dean said, quiet but fierce. "No one else even comes close, don't you know that?"
All Sam's words dried up. Because, yeah, he did.
Dean rubbed the knob of bone at Sam's wrist with slow swipes of his thumb. He was facing Sam with a look that was utterly Dean in its bald honesty. It was the kind of expression at home on the face of a guy who, no matter how prickly and defensive he might be most of the time, occasionally busted out and said things so heartfelt that they would embarrass anyone else to say.
It was probably because they were Dean's truths that he could treat them as matter-of-factly as any news item.
When Sam tried to parse Dean's expression, he just saw Dean, his brother, who wanted nothing more than to make sure he was all right. Sam kept searching, though, and discovered something else -- not underneath, not hidden, just not apparent to him before. It was no different than the look Sam had recognized; it was part of it. But, like the face between the candlesticks, Sam couldn't have seen it until he shifted his focus, which he never would have done if he hadn't been searching for it already.
It was simple. It was written all over Dean's face, now that he knew how to look. Dean loved Sam the same way Sam loved Dean, and Sam could do anything and Dean wouldn't turn away.
"Oh, thank god." Sam went to the floor between Dean's knees and cupped the back of Dean's neck with his free hand. He urged Dean forward until he could get his mouth on him, which he did, slowly. He pressed his lips to the edge of Dean's, open and hungry, then slipped over to kiss him full on.
Dean squeezed his wrist again and let go. He slid his hand up to Sam's shoulder and pulled him even closer, until they were clutching one another and Sam was practically climbing up onto Dean's chair with him. Dean had worked his way to the edge of the seat and was halfway off it by the time their hips made awkward contact.
Hard. They were both so hard.
Sam pulled away from Dean's mouth with a gasp. They hadn't even done anything yet, not really, and Dean looked mussed, glowing like he'd just gotten laid.
"Wait, do you-- How did you know--"
"You're not exactly subtle, Sam."
Sam wanted to protest but Dean was already hauling him into another kiss. Their lips were almost brushing when Dean said, "Seriously, Dude, every time I spoke to Chuck I thought you were going to shove him into the sandbox and tell the teacher he was trying to steal your brother."
"Shut up," Sam said, and bit at the smile he could feel curving Dean's mouth.
***
To: 555-252-1234
From: 310-555-6879
hey guys dont worry my frnds have calmed dwn. not sure i can do anything 4 u yet tho.
call me nxt time yr in ca. i bought a crossbow!
c.
THE END.
Based on sprat's prompt #5: A Supernatural/Chuck crossover. (I mean, Chuck went to Stanford, Sam went to Stanford...it's pretty much meant to be. Plus, it's totally plausible that Dean might be part of the whatsit inside Chuck's head!)
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural/Chuck crossover
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: None, really
3,300+ words
A/N: Many thanks to shayheyred for the incredibly helpful beta.
Happy Supernatural Holidays, sprat! Thanks for giving me such wonderful prompts, I only regret I didn't have time to write them all. *g*
Dean had gotten twitchier the closer they'd gotten to California. Now that they were in Los Angeles, he was practically airdrumming his way out of the driver's seat.
Sam wasn't Dean, though, so he couldn't just come out and say certain things. Things like, "You have nothing to worry about, I'm not going anywhere." Not that Dean would necessarily believe him, even if he did. "Did you know 'La Brea' means 'the tar' in Spanish?" he asked instead. "So it's like calling them 'The The Tar Tar Pits.'"
Dean shot him a sideways smirk, the low sun of the November afternoon bouncing off the reflective surface of his sunglasses. "So nice they named it twice?"
Sam had to look away from the blinding brightness, started to pick at the pit-stop travel brochure in his lap. "Something like that."
***
"Did you really have to try to climb the mastodon?"
"Mammoth," Dean corrected.
Sam just glared.
"We were breaking in anyway."
Sam sighed, but Dean probably did have a point. And while Dean may not have been operating under a predetermined time limit any longer, he hadn't lost his hands-on approach to life: namely, woo, screw, or choke the fucker until he'd squeezed out every last drop of the day.
"Yeah, you're right," Sam sighed. Dean cackled delightedly when he realized Sam wasn't going to bitch about it any more. "There's a shopping center up ahead. I bet we can get a new phone there."
Dean clicked on the turn signal. "Yeah, gotta change the service over -- don't want my ringtone startling all those fossils."
Sam couldn't help but picture dire wolf skeletons trying to make sense of the opening chords of Back in Black deep in the tarry murk, and had to hide his smile behind his sleeve.
***
Sam was pretty sure he was closing in on the right aisle -- those were Blackberries up ahead, he was certain of it -- when Dean caught up to him and slapped him between the shoulder blades, hard. Sam stumbled forward a step and caught himself by locking his knees. It hurt.
"You shoulda seen the hot weiner chick, dude. I mean, wow." Dean waggled his eyebrows.
Weiner chick? What? Sam looked at Dean, to see if he was maybe joking, or if he was giving off any visible signs of having developed a particular interest in transvestites. He was about to make a crack about she-males, or maybe just ask for clarification, when a tall guy in a white shirt with a dorky tie and a nametag drew near. Finally, someone who could point them in the right direction.
"Hang on, excuse me. Can you tell me if the cell phones are-- Chuck? Hey, man! How've you been?" He hoped his pleased surprise was enough to cancel out the self-conscious look Chuck got when he realized he'd been recognized at work.
"Sam? Is that you?" Luckily, Chuck didn't seem worried about his nametag anymore, judging by the enormous grin splitting his face. They actually hugged, right there in the middle of the store.
Dean coughed, loud and fake, and they pulled apart still grinning at each other.
"Chuck, this is my brother, Dean."
"Hey, man." Dean nodded his head coolly, as if he hadn't just been bucking for an introduction moments before.
Chuck's arm was bent at the elbow in an aborted wave. His eyelids fluttered weirdly for a moment, and his jaw dropped. He bent his wrist and pointed directly at Dean, his hand still at shoulder height. "You're wanted by the FBI for murder, bank robbery, arms violations, fraud, and thirty-two charges of grave desecration." Chuck's quick recitation ended, and he took a step back, eyes huge. "Um, sorry about that . Heh. I'll just be, uh--" he gestured with both hands and a tilt of his head, "--in the back, uh--"
Sam cut him off with a quick jab to the base of his skull. Dean boggled at him.
"Shit. Help me get him out to the car, quick."
Dean gave him a weird look but kept his mouth shut and helped him hustle his groggily groaning ex-classmate out the sliding doors.
***
As Sam was fumblingly buckling Chuck into the back seat, a big guy in a green shirt burst out of the store, scanning the parking lot. A blonde woman in a sexified dirndl raced out of the Weinerlicious next door, adopting the same stance.
Sam gave up and just crawled into the back, slamming the door after himself. "Go now, go!"
He braced himself against the window to avoid smashing into Chuck as Dean peeled out of the parking lot. He glanced out the rear window. The blonde in pigtails bounced after them, flashes of shapely thigh showing as she ran and drew her gun just as they pulled safely onto the highway.
Well, at least Sam knew what the whole "weiner chick" thing had been about, now.
***
They found a motel with an actual garage -- those two in the parking lot had looked like they were perfectly capable of remembering the make and model of a car as recognizable as the Impala.
Once Dean got them a room, they'd hustled a disoriented Chuck into a chair and tied him to it. Sam felt bad, but they couldn't have Chuck setting the feds on them. They'd just have to figure out a way to convince him of the truth, once he'd stopped his soft moaning and could focus his eyes normally.
Dean yanked Sam into the bathroom and shut the door. "What the fuck," he demanded in a pissed-off whisper, yanking on Sam's collar and getting right up in his face.
Sam swallowed.
"Who is that guy? Why does he know about me? Why does the weiner chick have a gun? And why the fuck did we bring him with us?" Dean was practically hissing and spitting.
"Dean, that's Chuck." Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam could practically see him thinking duh, nametag. That meant Dean couldn't be all that mad, just worried. "I knew him at Stanford, actually. I have no idea why he knows about you or who those people chasing after us might be -- last I knew, he was, like, a computer science major or something." Sam put his hands over Dean's and eased them off their grip on his shirt. He brought them down and squeezed them between his own, reassurance for the both of them disguised as a defensive maneuver. "I brought him with us because he's a good guy. Whatever he thinks he knows -- I mean, he'd probably feel like he had to alert the authorities, but he wouldn't like it. All we have to do is convince him what we do is for real, and I'm sure we'll be able to let him go after that."
Dean nodded slowly, but his voice was like the gravel on Hell's driveway. "Okay, Sam. We'll give it a shot. But you just think about what if you're wrong."
Sam resisted the urge to shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'm not letting anyone get you." He pressed Dean's hands one last time and left the bathroom, Dean's lingering stare an itch on his back.
***
"I totally believe you, Sam, really. I do!" Chuck professed earnestly.
Sam groaned and sat on the edge of the nearest bed. "No you don't, Chuck. I wouldn't either, if I were you. I don't know why I thought this would work."
Dean didn't look up from the television set, but Sam could tell he was following their conversation closely.
"Look, all right, maybe I don't believe everything." Chuck bit his lip. "I know you do, though. And you've always been a decent person. You wouldn't, uh, kill people." Sam could hear how convincing Chuck was trying to be; not that he was trying to make Sam believe that he bought their explanation -- although he was doing that, too -- but more like he was trying to convince Sam that he wouldn't kill anyone. Wouldn't kill Chuck.
Sam looked at Chuck for a long moment and reminded himself of the same thing. Made himself see his buddy Chuck, scared and trying not to show it, not just a liability to Dean that had to be taken care of.
"Find us a hunt, Sammy," Dean said. His arm was stretched out over the top of his chair, and he was twisted around to look at the two of them, eyes bright. "We can bring him along and give him a show."
Sam shot him a grateful grin and made a beeline for the laptop. That could actually work. "Okay, Chuck, we can't tackle anything too major, since you'll have to stay tied up..."
***
"You're not going to make me dig my own grave or anything, are you?"
"Shit, man, I bet these plots cost a bundle," Dean said, guiding Chuck by one arm while Sam gripped the other. "None of us could afford this place, don't worry."
Chuck stumbled a little over someone's ginormous wreath and almost fell forward onto his bound hands. Sam and Dean kept him upright until he regained his footing. "So why the shovels?"
"You're about to be welcomed into the wonderful world of the salt-and-burn. So get ready to help dig up somebody else's grave." Dean chuckled and Chuck gave him a sickly smile back.
"Then what's the rifle for?"
***
"Duck, Chuck!"
"What?"
"Get down!" The unnatural howl of the wind was silenced after the booming report of the rifle sounded.
"What the hell was that?" Chuck gasped.
"An angry spirit, just like we told you about. And we better get back to digging, because it'll be back in a minute if we don't finish this quick."
"Holy shit!"
"Here, let me free your hands. Dean's got more rounds up there, but we should really hurry."
"Holy shit!"
***
Dean was riding a post-hunt adrenaline high, even if it had been pretty much by-the-book. Chuck was even more energized, enthusiastically recounting the whole encounter to Sam regardless of the fact that Sam had been right there with him the whole time.
"And the way it reached out to claw you, even though it had already gone up in flames! I thought it wasn't going to stop!"
Dean reached an arm back without looking, clapping Chuck on the shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Times like this, a man needs a drink to celebrate."
"Yeah!"
Dean winked at Sam. Sam's mouth was dry, suddenly, but he managed to croak out a "yeah" of agreement.
***
Sam and Dean were manhandling Chuck back into the room once again, but this time he was singing "We Are The Champions" at the top of his lungs. Once they'd gotten the door open, Chuck staggered inside and flopped face-first onto the nearest bed.
Dean wasn't looking entirely steady himself, and took off his jacket and boots with exaggerated care. He waved Sam onward. "You did most of the digging, you can take first shower."
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean was entirely wrapped up in the covers of one bed like a burrito, and Chuck was snoring away on top of the other. Sam hesitated. He dug out a pair of socks and a sweatshirt for extra warmth, and then settled onto the bed with burrito-Dean. He didn't need a blanket, anyway.
***
"Up and at 'em!" Dean said, plunking a McDonald's bag onto the table.
"Shouldn't you be hungover?" Chuck asked plaintively. "I'm hungover."
Sam pulled the sheet up over his head. Then he wondered when he'd acquired one. Then he knew he was really waking up, and sat up with a grumpy huff. "Is there enough there for all of us?"
"I don't know about you two giants, but there's enough here for five normal-sized people, so I'd say yeah."
"Gimme," Chuck said, and Sam laughed.
***
"I'm going to take a shower and then catch a bus back home, okay? People are going to be looking for me," Chuck said, wiping the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin like a civilized person, Sam noted with a disapproving scowl at Dean, who was talking with his mouth full again.
"Sure thing, man. You ever need us, we'll leave you our cell number."
"Yeah, and, um. I probably shouldn't say anything, but I'll see if there's anything I can do about that FBI record."
"Huh?" Chuck was a really upfront guy, so Sam didn't understand why he would say something like that. Not unless he thought there might actually be something he could do.
"You do that," Dean laughed.
"No, really, I. I'm kind of... not a spy, exactly, but I work with some."
"At the Buy More?" Dean's eyebrows filled in all the skepticism that his voice was carefully lacking.
"Not exactly. But one of my handlers works there as a cover, and the other one works next door--"
"You work with the weiner chick? And you're spies?"
Chuck nodded, obviously feeling a little of the desperation to be believed that Sam had felt the day before.
"Dude. That is so cool!"
"Yeah, well, it's probably easier when they're protecting you, not chasing you across the country," Sam muttered.
***
Chuck hadn't made it into the shower yet, because they were still arguing. "Is this going to be like the time you spent $200 in quarters trying to beat my high score on Joust?"
"Shut up!" Sam looked over at Dean, who was enjoying this far too much. He crossed his arms. "I'm just saying, you have it easy compared to us."
"Fine, don't get pissy," ("Pissy!" Dean hooted.) "Can I get cleaned up if I concede that you're more of a badass than I am?"
Sam stepped aside to let him pass and whacked Dean on the arm. "Don't laugh at me."
"What's the matter, Sam? Jealous?"
Sam hoped he wasn't getting as flushed as he felt. "It's not that cool."
"Well, obviously." Dean was patronizing him a little, Sam could tell, but it made him feel better to hear Dean say that, all the same.
***
Sam handed Chuck the last coffee to take with him. "I'm really sorry about everything, you know. Would it be weird if I said it was good to see you again anyway?"
Chuck smiled bright and earnest. Were spies supposed to smile like that? Did looking like a happy Labrador come in handy with the espionage?
"No, it was good to see you, too. And to meet your brother." He gave Dean a little wave.
"You, too." Dean wasn't one for meaningless social niceties, so he must have meant it. Sam grimaced. Chuck had been hanging around long enough; he wasn't going to rat them out, and he didn't need to take the time to become Dean's new best bud.
Sam clapped Chuck on the shoulder and helped him past the threshold. "Alright, man. Don't want to miss that bus! You take care, now, and make sure your friends don't come after us, okay? Buh-bye!" Sam shut the door and flipped the lock, taking what felt like the first deep breath he'd had since Chuck had started listing Dean's statistics the day before.
When he shook it off and turned around, Dean was looking at him.
"What?"
"Get rid of your friend fast enough? Besides, you should have asked him about a new phone, I bet he could've gotten us a discount."
"Oh, I, uh... I forgot about that."
"Hmmm." Dean was still splayed out in the chair, considering Sam. He pressed a fingernail against his bottom lip, then tapped it a few times. "You really were jealous, weren't you."
It wasn't exactly a question.
Sam hated to feel himself do it, but he huffed. He couldn't help it. "It's just--"
Whatever. Chuck wasn't the one on the run all the time, worrying twice as much because Dean didn't seem to worry enough, and he had a network of real backup, yet Dean still thought it was all so cool. And Chuck was a great guy, but he wasn't supposed to fit in with Sam and Dean so easily. No one was.
Dean interrupted his thoughts. "C'mere, dumbass."
Sam was wary, but he went to Dean all the same. Dean could just get all his mocking out of his system now, and maybe Sam wouldn't be hearing it for the rest of the week.
Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist and tugged him a little closer. Sam took the necessary step forward, and pretended not to notice that that placed him pretty much right between Dean's spread knees.
"No one," Dean said, quiet but fierce. "No one else even comes close, don't you know that?"
All Sam's words dried up. Because, yeah, he did.
Dean rubbed the knob of bone at Sam's wrist with slow swipes of his thumb. He was facing Sam with a look that was utterly Dean in its bald honesty. It was the kind of expression at home on the face of a guy who, no matter how prickly and defensive he might be most of the time, occasionally busted out and said things so heartfelt that they would embarrass anyone else to say.
It was probably because they were Dean's truths that he could treat them as matter-of-factly as any news item.
When Sam tried to parse Dean's expression, he just saw Dean, his brother, who wanted nothing more than to make sure he was all right. Sam kept searching, though, and discovered something else -- not underneath, not hidden, just not apparent to him before. It was no different than the look Sam had recognized; it was part of it. But, like the face between the candlesticks, Sam couldn't have seen it until he shifted his focus, which he never would have done if he hadn't been searching for it already.
It was simple. It was written all over Dean's face, now that he knew how to look. Dean loved Sam the same way Sam loved Dean, and Sam could do anything and Dean wouldn't turn away.
"Oh, thank god." Sam went to the floor between Dean's knees and cupped the back of Dean's neck with his free hand. He urged Dean forward until he could get his mouth on him, which he did, slowly. He pressed his lips to the edge of Dean's, open and hungry, then slipped over to kiss him full on.
Dean squeezed his wrist again and let go. He slid his hand up to Sam's shoulder and pulled him even closer, until they were clutching one another and Sam was practically climbing up onto Dean's chair with him. Dean had worked his way to the edge of the seat and was halfway off it by the time their hips made awkward contact.
Hard. They were both so hard.
Sam pulled away from Dean's mouth with a gasp. They hadn't even done anything yet, not really, and Dean looked mussed, glowing like he'd just gotten laid.
"Wait, do you-- How did you know--"
"You're not exactly subtle, Sam."
Sam wanted to protest but Dean was already hauling him into another kiss. Their lips were almost brushing when Dean said, "Seriously, Dude, every time I spoke to Chuck I thought you were going to shove him into the sandbox and tell the teacher he was trying to steal your brother."
"Shut up," Sam said, and bit at the smile he could feel curving Dean's mouth.
***
To: 555-252-1234
From: 310-555-6879
hey guys dont worry my frnds have calmed dwn. not sure i can do anything 4 u yet tho.
call me nxt time yr in ca. i bought a crossbow!
c.
THE END.
Based on sprat's prompt #5: A Supernatural/Chuck crossover. (I mean, Chuck went to Stanford, Sam went to Stanford...it's pretty much meant to be. Plus, it's totally plausible that Dean might be part of the whatsit inside Chuck's head!)