Fic--Twisted
Title: Twisted
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Really, really potent crack. Swearing, mild hilarity.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
Pairings: None.
Notes:pro_kira, a lurker of my darling (and valentine) princess_aleera, did a massive art dump on her journal recently. princess_aleera, who loves to distract me, sent me the link and was all 'LOOK HOW TALENTED SHE IS!!11!!`~~!1!!`!`~11!" So I did. And I saw the little drawing of our SPN boys playing Twister. And then I wrote this. Because p_a is terrible.
Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, Cas and Twister do not belong to me. Sorry.
Summary: This is war. Flexible, painful war.
***
This was fucking stupid.
Yes, Dean wanted to make everything as easy for Sam as it could be. Coming back from hell, not remembering the past year because of the wall Death had put up… It had to suck balls. Dean had tried to argue less and be less of a dick when it came to little things (he still refused to touch Sam’s ‘food’ unless it was a life-saving emergency, he had standards) and even keep the mocking at a dull roar, because he had a bad habit of joking first and thinking later. When he’d think about the jokes, some of them could be taken badly. Really badly. So Dean tried to filter the things that tumbled out of his mouth.
But there was a big friggen difference between ‘making things easier’ and ‘handing your little brother blackmail material’.
“Place your left foot on a blue circle.”
Dean snarled and looked for the closest blue circle, which happened to be right where Sam’s face was hovering. Dean grinned and happily slid his foot there.
Sam’s face became a pinched expression of disgust. “Dude, when was the last time you changed your fucking socks?”
“These used to be white. Now move your damn foot.” Dean legs were not supposed to bend the way he’d managed to arrange them. His left hand was resting on a green circle by his head, while his right was stretched over his shoulders and to his left, so he was in a warped push-up position. His left leg was straight out, which was nice, but his right was crossed under it and two circles over, which was a lot less nice. But it was near Sam’s sweaty face, so that was something.
“I’m gonna be sick.” Dean was pretty sure that Sam was exaggerating. Pretty sure.
“You’re the one who wanted to play Twister. Now move your damn foot before I kick you.”
“The official instructions recommend removing socks for better purchase on the mat.” Castiel spoke up, sounding interested. “However, since you’ve forgone that, I suggest Sam moves his foot to the correct placement so we can continue.”
Leave it to Cas to make Twister sound like a set of orders.
“There. I’m set. Spin,” Sam growled, and it was nice to know Mr. ‘It’ll be fun, Dean!’ was having a hard time too.
“Transfer your left hand to an empty green circle.” Castiel said, and Dean eyed the circle warily. This was gonna suck.
“Don’t you have a war to fight or something?” Dean stalled. He really didn’t feel like moving his hand so it was practically beside his foot, and didn’t see how he was going to manage it. He figured if he stalled Cas long enough Sam would fall and then he’d win anyway.
“You know very well that I am,” Cas replied while Dean searched for a closer, less bendy option for his hand. “I can, on occasion, descend to Earth and help you with important tasks.”
“Like Twister?”
“Recreation is both mentally engaging and stress relief. These are both important for humans, therefore I am helping you with an important task.” Cas’s reasoning sounded a lot like bullshit, but whatever. “Now move your hand, Dean.”
Dean tried, he really did. Because even if it was a stupid fucking game there was no way he was going to let Sam win. No way in hell. Too bad Dean’s desire to win and his flexibility had different ideas.
He fell with a thump to the mat and swore.
“Ha!” Sam let himself collapse too, laughing loudly. “Now who’s the ‘Best fucking Twister player ever’, Dean?”
“Shut up, my hand was sweaty and I slipped. Do over.”
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Really, really potent crack. Swearing, mild hilarity.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
Pairings: None.
Notes:pro_kira, a lurker of my darling (and valentine) princess_aleera, did a massive art dump on her journal recently. princess_aleera, who loves to distract me, sent me the link and was all 'LOOK HOW TALENTED SHE IS!!11!!`~~!1!!`!`~11!" So I did. And I saw the little drawing of our SPN boys playing Twister. And then I wrote this. Because p_a is terrible.
Disclaimer: Sam, Dean, Cas and Twister do not belong to me. Sorry.
Summary: This is war. Flexible, painful war.
***
This was fucking stupid.
Yes, Dean wanted to make everything as easy for Sam as it could be. Coming back from hell, not remembering the past year because of the wall Death had put up… It had to suck balls. Dean had tried to argue less and be less of a dick when it came to little things (he still refused to touch Sam’s ‘food’ unless it was a life-saving emergency, he had standards) and even keep the mocking at a dull roar, because he had a bad habit of joking first and thinking later. When he’d think about the jokes, some of them could be taken badly. Really badly. So Dean tried to filter the things that tumbled out of his mouth.
But there was a big friggen difference between ‘making things easier’ and ‘handing your little brother blackmail material’.
“Place your left foot on a blue circle.”
Dean snarled and looked for the closest blue circle, which happened to be right where Sam’s face was hovering. Dean grinned and happily slid his foot there.
Sam’s face became a pinched expression of disgust. “Dude, when was the last time you changed your fucking socks?”
“These used to be white. Now move your damn foot.” Dean legs were not supposed to bend the way he’d managed to arrange them. His left hand was resting on a green circle by his head, while his right was stretched over his shoulders and to his left, so he was in a warped push-up position. His left leg was straight out, which was nice, but his right was crossed under it and two circles over, which was a lot less nice. But it was near Sam’s sweaty face, so that was something.
“I’m gonna be sick.” Dean was pretty sure that Sam was exaggerating. Pretty sure.
“You’re the one who wanted to play Twister. Now move your damn foot before I kick you.”
“The official instructions recommend removing socks for better purchase on the mat.” Castiel spoke up, sounding interested. “However, since you’ve forgone that, I suggest Sam moves his foot to the correct placement so we can continue.”
Leave it to Cas to make Twister sound like a set of orders.
“There. I’m set. Spin,” Sam growled, and it was nice to know Mr. ‘It’ll be fun, Dean!’ was having a hard time too.
“Transfer your left hand to an empty green circle.” Castiel said, and Dean eyed the circle warily. This was gonna suck.
“Don’t you have a war to fight or something?” Dean stalled. He really didn’t feel like moving his hand so it was practically beside his foot, and didn’t see how he was going to manage it. He figured if he stalled Cas long enough Sam would fall and then he’d win anyway.
“You know very well that I am,” Cas replied while Dean searched for a closer, less bendy option for his hand. “I can, on occasion, descend to Earth and help you with important tasks.”
“Like Twister?”
“Recreation is both mentally engaging and stress relief. These are both important for humans, therefore I am helping you with an important task.” Cas’s reasoning sounded a lot like bullshit, but whatever. “Now move your hand, Dean.”
Dean tried, he really did. Because even if it was a stupid fucking game there was no way he was going to let Sam win. No way in hell. Too bad Dean’s desire to win and his flexibility had different ideas.
He fell with a thump to the mat and swore.
“Ha!” Sam let himself collapse too, laughing loudly. “Now who’s the ‘Best fucking Twister player ever’, Dean?”
“Shut up, my hand was sweaty and I slipped. Do over.”