(no subject)
ummmmm.
the hard(y) boys
pete, patrick, and the winchesters (supernatural)
Patrick is currently in a dark alley.
Well. It's not dark, per se, but badly lit with a single flickering light about eight feet up on one of the brick high rises. There's the requisite dumpster a few paces away and next to it is a bum moving around in his sleeping bag, which makes Patrick think of Audition. He tries not to freak the fuck out.
"Cunt," Patrick mutters to a currently not-present Pete. Pete had said, "I'll meet you out there, I've gotta pee real quick," and stupid Patrick had fallen for the 'quick' part, seeing as how every time Pete went to the bathroom, it turned into this big fanfare of multi-angle mirrors and making monkey faces to check pores. Patrick kicks at some loose gravel and hunches his shoulders against the light wind. There are echoes of footsteps floating down from the opposite end now, and a shadow steps around the corner. A few seconds later, the lamp illuminates a face, and it's a very good looking face. One that Patrick used to wish he had during the Awkward Years.
He looks at Patrick. "Um. Hey." His arm shifts a little, as if he's trying to hide something. Badly lit alley. Sketchy dude. Audition. Right.
"What's up. I don't have any money," Patrick says.
"What?"
"What?"
The guy stares, then rubs the back of his neck while laughing a little. "Listen dude, believe me when I say you do not want to be here right now."
"I kinda figured." Patrick is starting to reach for the door handle when a new voice cuts in.
"Dean, did you - oh." Another preternaturally good looking guy comes to a stop a couple paces behind Dean. But he's wearing plaid. Pete would have a heart attack.
"What is this, a hot people parade?" Patrick asks.
"Haaaa." Dean turns around and hisses, "You were supposed to be on the lookout. This is a crowded club, there are a lot of people who might see us."
"Uh, I thought you'd be done with it by now. You've been out here for like, seven minutes, doing your whole skulking thing. Hi, I'm Sam." Sam reaches over Dean's shoulder and holds his hand out.
"What the fuck," shrieks Patrick in response, because sleeping bag bum has emerged and is now choking Sam against the wall of the building, except it's not a bum so much as a monster. It actually kind of looks like this swamp man from a movie that Joe was watching two nights ago on the bus, all green and shiny and now Patrick's pressed against the wall too, frozen and sort of facing into it as if it'll disappear at any moment and he'll be ready to run his ass off to somewhere that is far away from this current situation, because holy shit -
Dean cuts its head off.
"WHAT THE FUCK," shrieks Patrick as it releases some vapor crap and deflates.
The door opens with a huge groan that's worthy of horror movies and Pete comes out as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The first thing he does is point to where Dean's hand is hanging down by his side, and then he asks, "Dude, is that a sword?"
Dean smirks. "It sorta looks like you're pointing to my - "
"It's kind of a dagger, actually," Sam says dryly.
"Ladies love it," Dean adds.
"Dude. Dude. What the fuck." Patrick feels like his heart is going to explode and splatter all over everything within a twenty foot radius, and people are making innuendos about fucking swords. Or daggers, whatever.
Pete looks at him. "Yeah, sorry, took a little long. Listen, is this a pimple?" He presses his index finger to the side of his nose and leans in toward Patrick, who bats him away.
"This fucking guy," he jabs a finger at Dean. "Pete, this fucking guy - "
"Oh, boys." Yet another voice interrupts Patrick, this one of the female persuasion. "I told you. Stick to the exorcisms, you're no good with the physical slicing and dicing and beheading."
Dean stiffens. "Please don't tell me that's who I think it is."
"A-yup." Sam has a goofy grin on his face as the mystery woman steps into the light. Patrick immediately pulls himself away from the wall and tries to recover, dead green monster or not. Joe had put it eloquently once: some girls just made you say "DAMN." There is no particular feature or characteristic that triggers this. It's just "DAMN," and this girl definitely has it.
"I'm Pete," says Pete right away.
"This is a parade," Patrick hisses to Pete, who looks a bit confused but still tries to retain the charming smile he has pasted on.
Dean rolls his eyes and finally turns around. The girl raises her eyebrows and smiles, as if she hangs out in alleys with four guys and a dead thing all the time. She crosses her arms and leans her weight on one leg.
"Hi, Dean."
"Buffy!" Dean says brightly. "Long time, no see, good times."
"Heh," says Sam.
Pete finally catches sight of the swamp man corpse. "What the fuck is that?"
TO BE CONTINUED??
ps, tyson is in the new neiman marcus catalogue. boy is movin' on up!
the hard(y) boys
pete, patrick, and the winchesters (supernatural)
Patrick is currently in a dark alley.
Well. It's not dark, per se, but badly lit with a single flickering light about eight feet up on one of the brick high rises. There's the requisite dumpster a few paces away and next to it is a bum moving around in his sleeping bag, which makes Patrick think of Audition. He tries not to freak the fuck out.
"Cunt," Patrick mutters to a currently not-present Pete. Pete had said, "I'll meet you out there, I've gotta pee real quick," and stupid Patrick had fallen for the 'quick' part, seeing as how every time Pete went to the bathroom, it turned into this big fanfare of multi-angle mirrors and making monkey faces to check pores. Patrick kicks at some loose gravel and hunches his shoulders against the light wind. There are echoes of footsteps floating down from the opposite end now, and a shadow steps around the corner. A few seconds later, the lamp illuminates a face, and it's a very good looking face. One that Patrick used to wish he had during the Awkward Years.
He looks at Patrick. "Um. Hey." His arm shifts a little, as if he's trying to hide something. Badly lit alley. Sketchy dude. Audition. Right.
"What's up. I don't have any money," Patrick says.
"What?"
"What?"
The guy stares, then rubs the back of his neck while laughing a little. "Listen dude, believe me when I say you do not want to be here right now."
"I kinda figured." Patrick is starting to reach for the door handle when a new voice cuts in.
"Dean, did you - oh." Another preternaturally good looking guy comes to a stop a couple paces behind Dean. But he's wearing plaid. Pete would have a heart attack.
"What is this, a hot people parade?" Patrick asks.
"Haaaa." Dean turns around and hisses, "You were supposed to be on the lookout. This is a crowded club, there are a lot of people who might see us."
"Uh, I thought you'd be done with it by now. You've been out here for like, seven minutes, doing your whole skulking thing. Hi, I'm Sam." Sam reaches over Dean's shoulder and holds his hand out.
"What the fuck," shrieks Patrick in response, because sleeping bag bum has emerged and is now choking Sam against the wall of the building, except it's not a bum so much as a monster. It actually kind of looks like this swamp man from a movie that Joe was watching two nights ago on the bus, all green and shiny and now Patrick's pressed against the wall too, frozen and sort of facing into it as if it'll disappear at any moment and he'll be ready to run his ass off to somewhere that is far away from this current situation, because holy shit -
Dean cuts its head off.
"WHAT THE FUCK," shrieks Patrick as it releases some vapor crap and deflates.
The door opens with a huge groan that's worthy of horror movies and Pete comes out as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The first thing he does is point to where Dean's hand is hanging down by his side, and then he asks, "Dude, is that a sword?"
Dean smirks. "It sorta looks like you're pointing to my - "
"It's kind of a dagger, actually," Sam says dryly.
"Ladies love it," Dean adds.
"Dude. Dude. What the fuck." Patrick feels like his heart is going to explode and splatter all over everything within a twenty foot radius, and people are making innuendos about fucking swords. Or daggers, whatever.
Pete looks at him. "Yeah, sorry, took a little long. Listen, is this a pimple?" He presses his index finger to the side of his nose and leans in toward Patrick, who bats him away.
"This fucking guy," he jabs a finger at Dean. "Pete, this fucking guy - "
"Oh, boys." Yet another voice interrupts Patrick, this one of the female persuasion. "I told you. Stick to the exorcisms, you're no good with the physical slicing and dicing and beheading."
Dean stiffens. "Please don't tell me that's who I think it is."
"A-yup." Sam has a goofy grin on his face as the mystery woman steps into the light. Patrick immediately pulls himself away from the wall and tries to recover, dead green monster or not. Joe had put it eloquently once: some girls just made you say "DAMN." There is no particular feature or characteristic that triggers this. It's just "DAMN," and this girl definitely has it.
"I'm Pete," says Pete right away.
"This is a parade," Patrick hisses to Pete, who looks a bit confused but still tries to retain the charming smile he has pasted on.
Dean rolls his eyes and finally turns around. The girl raises her eyebrows and smiles, as if she hangs out in alleys with four guys and a dead thing all the time. She crosses her arms and leans her weight on one leg.
"Hi, Dean."
"Buffy!" Dean says brightly. "Long time, no see, good times."
"Heh," says Sam.
Pete finally catches sight of the swamp man corpse. "What the fuck is that?"
TO BE CONTINUED??
ps, tyson is in the new neiman marcus catalogue. boy is movin' on up!