belated present for ellel!
Supernatural fic: On being bored
Dean and Sam. no wincest. Rated G and set season 1, somewhere after Hell House
Length: 760 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own them even if its on my list to Santa *sigh*
A/N: my first SPN fic ever! The idea must have been done before by way better autors *shrugs* Concrit is welcome. Thanks to Sue for fixing my lame English, again.
On being bored
Dean lay on the bed, itching just to do something. Slow days with no job in
sight were the worse. He had scanned the newspapers already without any
little glimpse of something out of the ordinary. He’d flipped through Dad’s
journal for the billionth time, as if something about this pathetic neck of
the woods would suddenly appear. There was a little hope in the fact that
Sammy would check the internet after his shower. Maybe. He thought about
calling one of John’s hunter friends for a lead, but decided against. No way
would he let them think they could not find work on their own. If only dad
would answer his damn phone!
Dean stretched and sighed, trying to decipher through the paper thin walls
whatever trash pop song Sammy was humming. That gave him the idea that guns
could never be too clean, and that shining them would kill some time.
As he strolled in the parking lot, he could not help but smile upon seeing her,
dark and sparkling in the morning light.
“Hey baby.” He said softly.
Letting his fingers linger on the side of the car in a light caress, he
wondered how much he could make Sam despair by washing her two days in a
row. It would be entertaining. Opening the trunk, he overlooked the general
mess of cross, shovel, salt, herbs and other junk to examine which guns
would be most in need of a do-over when his eyes fell on something.
Something that reminded him he had a task more urgent to do, that he’d
wanted to do for weeks but somehow always escaped his mind.
He got back in the rococo-styled motel room just in time to see his brother
going through his duffle bag and stopped him from dressing up.
“Wait wait! Go sit over there first.” Dean shouted, pointing to the little
kitchenette area.
Sam stopped to look at him strangely and unfolded for miles, a somewhat
white towel wrapped around his hips with his hair damp and falling into his eyes.
“What? Why?”
Dean smirked and snapped the scissors in the air
“You need a haircut. And maybe a real job.”
Sam shook his head and put his hands out in defense
“No no no man, you’re not cutting my hair!”
Dean pouted.
“Ah, come on. It will be something to do. I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Dean, no! And I can go see a barber for that.”
Dean snapped the scissors some more
“I didn’t see any in this hole and you need it bad. I used to do it all the
time Sammy! C’mon!”
Sam shakes his head
“I know, but you did lots of things that were not a big brother’s job Dean.
And it’s not THAT long.” he said, while slicking them back on his head with
one of his huge hands.
“It is too long and it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Sam was starting to smile, although tried his best to keep a
straight face.
Pointing his fingers with the tip of the scissors, Dean started to enumerate
“Yeah, it’s reaching your eyes and getting some edge off the essential
talk-to-me-please puppy dog look. You look less and less like the fake ID,
and we don’t want anyone looking too close at those. Plus you could miss
something coming your way as you toss it aside.
He laughed and Dean smiled. It was good to see it more. Sam started for the
kitchenette before looking at him suspiciously
“That’s not one of your practical jokes, is it?”
Dean rolled his eyes. He would not do that, would he?
“Of course not. We called truce when we sent the ghostbusters to Hollywood,
remember?”
As Sam got in place, Dean went to get another towel and a comb in the
bathroom. It must have been 8 years since he’s done it, as a teen Sammy had
became too good for his haircuts. Weirdly, it made him happy somehow to do
it again. He wrapped the towel around his brother’s shoulder and started
combing through the mop of hair. It was too long indeed.
“Not too short, ok?” Sammy pleaded
Dean smirked
“Don’t worry! I noticed the chicks dig the floppy hair on you. No idea why,
but they do. Just out of your eyes a bit.”
Sam relaxed a bit, trusting. As always.
“Thanks.”
Sticking his tongue out in concentration, Dean started carefully snipping brown curls away. Not too much, just enough. He sort of dug the shaggy puppy dog look himself.
The End
OMG I tried to edit something and O_o. THE HELL?
Dean and Sam. no wincest. Rated G and set season 1, somewhere after Hell House
Length: 760 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own them even if its on my list to Santa *sigh*
A/N: my first SPN fic ever! The idea must have been done before by way better autors *shrugs* Concrit is welcome. Thanks to Sue for fixing my lame English, again.
On being bored
Dean lay on the bed, itching just to do something. Slow days with no job in
sight were the worse. He had scanned the newspapers already without any
little glimpse of something out of the ordinary. He’d flipped through Dad’s
journal for the billionth time, as if something about this pathetic neck of
the woods would suddenly appear. There was a little hope in the fact that
Sammy would check the internet after his shower. Maybe. He thought about
calling one of John’s hunter friends for a lead, but decided against. No way
would he let them think they could not find work on their own. If only dad
would answer his damn phone!
Dean stretched and sighed, trying to decipher through the paper thin walls
whatever trash pop song Sammy was humming. That gave him the idea that guns
could never be too clean, and that shining them would kill some time.
As he strolled in the parking lot, he could not help but smile upon seeing her,
dark and sparkling in the morning light.
“Hey baby.” He said softly.
Letting his fingers linger on the side of the car in a light caress, he
wondered how much he could make Sam despair by washing her two days in a
row. It would be entertaining. Opening the trunk, he overlooked the general
mess of cross, shovel, salt, herbs and other junk to examine which guns
would be most in need of a do-over when his eyes fell on something.
Something that reminded him he had a task more urgent to do, that he’d
wanted to do for weeks but somehow always escaped his mind.
He got back in the rococo-styled motel room just in time to see his brother
going through his duffle bag and stopped him from dressing up.
“Wait wait! Go sit over there first.” Dean shouted, pointing to the little
kitchenette area.
Sam stopped to look at him strangely and unfolded for miles, a somewhat
white towel wrapped around his hips with his hair damp and falling into his eyes.
“What? Why?”
Dean smirked and snapped the scissors in the air
“You need a haircut. And maybe a real job.”
Sam shook his head and put his hands out in defense
“No no no man, you’re not cutting my hair!”
Dean pouted.
“Ah, come on. It will be something to do. I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Dean, no! And I can go see a barber for that.”
Dean snapped the scissors some more
“I didn’t see any in this hole and you need it bad. I used to do it all the
time Sammy! C’mon!”
Sam shakes his head
“I know, but you did lots of things that were not a big brother’s job Dean.
And it’s not THAT long.” he said, while slicking them back on his head with
one of his huge hands.
“It is too long and it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Sam was starting to smile, although tried his best to keep a
straight face.
Pointing his fingers with the tip of the scissors, Dean started to enumerate
“Yeah, it’s reaching your eyes and getting some edge off the essential
talk-to-me-please puppy dog look. You look less and less like the fake ID,
and we don’t want anyone looking too close at those. Plus you could miss
something coming your way as you toss it aside.
He laughed and Dean smiled. It was good to see it more. Sam started for the
kitchenette before looking at him suspiciously
“That’s not one of your practical jokes, is it?”
Dean rolled his eyes. He would not do that, would he?
“Of course not. We called truce when we sent the ghostbusters to Hollywood,
remember?”
As Sam got in place, Dean went to get another towel and a comb in the
bathroom. It must have been 8 years since he’s done it, as a teen Sammy had
became too good for his haircuts. Weirdly, it made him happy somehow to do
it again. He wrapped the towel around his brother’s shoulder and started
combing through the mop of hair. It was too long indeed.
“Not too short, ok?” Sammy pleaded
Dean smirked
“Don’t worry! I noticed the chicks dig the floppy hair on you. No idea why,
but they do. Just out of your eyes a bit.”
Sam relaxed a bit, trusting. As always.
“Thanks.”
Sticking his tongue out in concentration, Dean started carefully snipping brown curls away. Not too much, just enough. He sort of dug the shaggy puppy dog look himself.
The End
OMG I tried to edit something and O_o. THE HELL?