Fic: Secrets, Spies, and Computer Science (SPN/Chuck)
This is crack of the highest possible degree. I have absolutely no excuse for it. Really, it's all terraneanblues' fault. We were watching Chuck and I said, "I bet Sam works for the CIA, too!" and she said, "I want a crossover!" And then she locked me in the apartment and wouldn't let me leave until I finished this. Well, not really, but I'm sure she thought about it because she is an evil, evil person.
Secrets, Spies, and Computer Science
SPN/Chuck crossover
Words: 1,671
It was a shame he’d discovered Sam’s big secret identity with only six months left to live, because, really, the mocking possibilities were endless
Spoilers through all US aired episodes of Chuck and Supernatural
Sam hung up his phone so quick he nearly dropped it, fumbling a couple times as Dean stared at him. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he thought his brother had just been speaking Arabic. “What was that about?” he asked casually, tossing the food onto the table and opening the laptop to pull up the article on their latest hunt.
Sam stared at him silently for a second. “I can’t tell you.”
Yeah, well that just wasn’t going to fly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is this about the deal, Sam? Because I swear to God, if you-”
“It’s not,” Sam said quickly, holding his hands out like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “It’s not about that.”
“Well then what’s it about?”
Sam scowled, and tossed his phone onto the bed. “I told you, Dean, I can’t-”
“Tell me, yeah.” Like there had ever been anything Sam couldn’t tell him. "What? Are you a spy or something?"
Sam's eyes widened comically; Dean kind of wanted to throw the laptop at his head. He rolled his eyes and went back to skimming through the article. "Fine, whatever, don't-"
Only. It kind of made sense, the sudden ability to speak Arabic, the secretive phone calls. And Sam was a lot better at hand to hand than he had been growing up, Dean had thought it was just the height difference, but. He spun around so fast the chair nearly toppled over. "Jesus! You're a spy?"
"You're not supposed to know!" Sam said, looking a little frantic.
As if their lives weren't insane enough already. "Who the hell are you working for? The Russians?"
"The-Dean! It's not the 1960s."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Like he didn't have enough to worry about already: demons, other hunters, the FBI, and now foreign agents? He was going to have to lock the kid in a padded room.
***
It was a shame he’d discovered Sam’s big secret identity with only six months left to live, because, really, the mocking possibilities were endless. He found a website with a Get Smart ring tone for Sam’s phone that night while Sam was still busy freaking the fuck out over Dean figuring the whole thing out. By the next morning he’d managed to make five SD-6 references, and one Recruit one that was pretty impressive, if he did say so himself.
“Would you shut the hell up about it already?” Sam finally snapped when Dean made a big show of making sure the bathroom wasn’t bugged before taking a shower.
“Just gotta make sure you’re not listening to me jack off in the shower, perv,” he said, but laid off until after they found a place to eat.
Dean shook his head and snorted into his coffee as he finished the last of his eggs. “Can’t believe you’re a spy.”
There was a loud clatter as Sam dropped his fork onto his plate, scowling. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Dude, you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”
“I can keep a secret!” Sam shouted, pulling the full on bitch face.
Dean grinned. “Yeah, great job keeping it from me, double-o.”
Sam glared at him for another minute before he finally caught on to what Dean was doing. He huffed, grumbling down at his plate, “Took you long enough to figure it out,” and grabbed his fork again, stabbing at his pancakes. “Losing those observational skills in your old age, Dean?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve always been a freak; it was hard to tell the difference.”
Sam rolled his eyes, knocking his foot against Dean’s and ducking his head, but Dean caught sight of a dimple before Sam could smother the grin.
***
Things were pretty much the same. Whatever spy things Sam did, he didn’t seem to do them very often. Dean had asked him a couple times if Sam could pull some strings to get the FBI off their asses, but Sam mostly just glared whenever he brought it up.
They stopped for a couple of things after they finished up a job in southern California, and Dean wandered around looking at some of the new gadgets while Sam geeked out with one of the store’s computer guys.
“Man, I need me one of these,” he said, holding up the handheld game as Sam came up beside him.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Are you almost done?”
Dean shot him a look as he shuffled around again. “You got ants in your pants, Sammy?”
“That guy keeps staring at me.”
“What can I say, Sam?” he said, smirking. “You’re a hot piece of ass.” He followed Sam’s gaze, though. One of the clerks in the fugly green shirts was standing at the other side of the store, glowering at Sam. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickled. He set the game back on the shelf and reached for the gun he’d shoved inside his jacket.
“Dean,” Sam hissed, “you brought a gun into Buy More?”
Dean ignored him and started moving toward the end of the aisle, the guy moved to, arms held down in front of him. Ok, not a demon then. “One of your friends, Sydney?” He could practically feel Sam’s eye roll.
“Sam?”
They both spun around, Dean shoving the gun behind his back hastily, at the new voice. Dean adjusted his grip and shot a glance across the store to where the guy was standing, watching them with narrowed eyes.
Sam blinked and broke out into a blinding grin. “Hey!”
“Sam Winchester,” the guy said, shaking his head. “How are you, man?”
“Good, I’m good,” Sam said, the tense lines in his shoulders easing.
Dean ignored them, looking back toward where fugly shirt guy had been, fingers tightening on the gun again when he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back. “This is my brother, Dean,” he was saying. “Dean, this is Chuck, we went to Stanford together.”
Dean knew it was kind of ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop the knot in his stomach at the mention of Stanford. “Hey,” he muttered, and Sam shot him a look. It’d been three years, and Sam was with him now, couldn’t go back even if he wanted to anymore. Dean really needed to find a way to fix that before the deal came due.
The guy from the other side of the store appeared at Chuck’s side all of a sudden. “Chuck,” he said, staring at Sam.
Dean glared at him, and he turned the cold gaze on him, which in Dean’s opinion was a lot better than it being on Sam.
“Oh, hey man,” Chuck said, apparently oblivious. “This is my-er. This is Casey,” he said, and the guy turned his narrowed gaze onto Chuck. “We work together.”
Casey grunted, looking back at Sam. The fact that the guy had probably been planning on pulling a gun on his brother already meant Dean hated him, but the guy really was kind of an asshole.
Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them. “Do you guys know each other?”
“Uh. No,” Sam said, eyeing Casey warily. Dean took a step forward, putting himself between Casey and Sam.
Chuck’s eyes widened suddenly. “Are you going to the toga party?”
“The what?” Dean asked at the same time Casey barked, “Chuck!”
Sam’s mouth dropped open, which was apparently some kind of answer because Chuck started laughing. “Man, did they get everyone at Stanford?”
Sam blinked a couple times and then started laughing too, shaking his head. Dean kept his eye on Mr. Fugly Shirt.
Casey looked like he wanted to punch Chuck in the face, but the kid didn’t seem to concerned about any of it, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head. “So what have you been up to, man?”
“I’m just taken a road trip with my brother.”
Chuck grinned bouncing on his feet a little as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Is that like a secret mission?”
Casey growled in the back of his throat and Dean thought about shooting him in the foot just to get him to lighten the hell up.
“No, it’s not-it’s just a road trip,” Sam said, and Chuck looked a little disappointed. Sammy had always had pretty weird friends. Birds of a feather, and all that.
“Are you guys in town for long?”
“We’re just passing through actually,” Sam told him, and then started in on the geeky computer thing they’d come for in the first place. Chuck’s eyes lit up like he’d just been given free porn and the two of them headed off, leaving Dean with Casey.
They glared at each other for a few minutes before Dean said, “There a reason you were planning to pull a gun on my brother, tough guy?”
Casey scowled at him for another second, and really, the guy could probably give Sam a few lessons. “He looked suspicious,” he grunted finally.
Dean blinked. Was this guy for real? “Sam looked suspicious? Dude, you need to get your eyes checked.”
Casey glowered at him again, but Sam came back a second later, extra battery pack or whatever, in hand, promising Chuck they’d swing by the next time they were in the area, doing the whole Stanford handshake farewell.
“Dude,” Dean said, shaking his head as they headed toward the car, “you went to toga parties?”
Sam looked at him like he’d grown a second head before he grinned and shook his head. “It’s a code phrase, Dean.”
“A code phrase? Are you coming to the toga party is your super secret agent code phrase?” Dean shook his head sadly, leave it to his little brother to make something awesome totally dorky. “Man, that’s so lame.”
Sam looked slightly affronted. “It’s not lame.”
“Totally lame, Sammy.” Because, seriously, toga parties? So lame. The code phrases Dean had come up with were way cooler than that.
Secrets, Spies, and Computer Science
SPN/Chuck crossover
Words: 1,671
It was a shame he’d discovered Sam’s big secret identity with only six months left to live, because, really, the mocking possibilities were endless
Spoilers through all US aired episodes of Chuck and Supernatural
Sam hung up his phone so quick he nearly dropped it, fumbling a couple times as Dean stared at him. He couldn’t be completely sure, but he thought his brother had just been speaking Arabic. “What was that about?” he asked casually, tossing the food onto the table and opening the laptop to pull up the article on their latest hunt.
Sam stared at him silently for a second. “I can’t tell you.”
Yeah, well that just wasn’t going to fly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is this about the deal, Sam? Because I swear to God, if you-”
“It’s not,” Sam said quickly, holding his hands out like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “It’s not about that.”
“Well then what’s it about?”
Sam scowled, and tossed his phone onto the bed. “I told you, Dean, I can’t-”
“Tell me, yeah.” Like there had ever been anything Sam couldn’t tell him. "What? Are you a spy or something?"
Sam's eyes widened comically; Dean kind of wanted to throw the laptop at his head. He rolled his eyes and went back to skimming through the article. "Fine, whatever, don't-"
Only. It kind of made sense, the sudden ability to speak Arabic, the secretive phone calls. And Sam was a lot better at hand to hand than he had been growing up, Dean had thought it was just the height difference, but. He spun around so fast the chair nearly toppled over. "Jesus! You're a spy?"
"You're not supposed to know!" Sam said, looking a little frantic.
As if their lives weren't insane enough already. "Who the hell are you working for? The Russians?"
"The-Dean! It's not the 1960s."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Like he didn't have enough to worry about already: demons, other hunters, the FBI, and now foreign agents? He was going to have to lock the kid in a padded room.
***
It was a shame he’d discovered Sam’s big secret identity with only six months left to live, because, really, the mocking possibilities were endless. He found a website with a Get Smart ring tone for Sam’s phone that night while Sam was still busy freaking the fuck out over Dean figuring the whole thing out. By the next morning he’d managed to make five SD-6 references, and one Recruit one that was pretty impressive, if he did say so himself.
“Would you shut the hell up about it already?” Sam finally snapped when Dean made a big show of making sure the bathroom wasn’t bugged before taking a shower.
“Just gotta make sure you’re not listening to me jack off in the shower, perv,” he said, but laid off until after they found a place to eat.
Dean shook his head and snorted into his coffee as he finished the last of his eggs. “Can’t believe you’re a spy.”
There was a loud clatter as Sam dropped his fork onto his plate, scowling. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“Dude, you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”
“I can keep a secret!” Sam shouted, pulling the full on bitch face.
Dean grinned. “Yeah, great job keeping it from me, double-o.”
Sam glared at him for another minute before he finally caught on to what Dean was doing. He huffed, grumbling down at his plate, “Took you long enough to figure it out,” and grabbed his fork again, stabbing at his pancakes. “Losing those observational skills in your old age, Dean?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve always been a freak; it was hard to tell the difference.”
Sam rolled his eyes, knocking his foot against Dean’s and ducking his head, but Dean caught sight of a dimple before Sam could smother the grin.
***
Things were pretty much the same. Whatever spy things Sam did, he didn’t seem to do them very often. Dean had asked him a couple times if Sam could pull some strings to get the FBI off their asses, but Sam mostly just glared whenever he brought it up.
They stopped for a couple of things after they finished up a job in southern California, and Dean wandered around looking at some of the new gadgets while Sam geeked out with one of the store’s computer guys.
“Man, I need me one of these,” he said, holding up the handheld game as Sam came up beside him.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. “Are you almost done?”
Dean shot him a look as he shuffled around again. “You got ants in your pants, Sammy?”
“That guy keeps staring at me.”
“What can I say, Sam?” he said, smirking. “You’re a hot piece of ass.” He followed Sam’s gaze, though. One of the clerks in the fugly green shirts was standing at the other side of the store, glowering at Sam. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickled. He set the game back on the shelf and reached for the gun he’d shoved inside his jacket.
“Dean,” Sam hissed, “you brought a gun into Buy More?”
Dean ignored him and started moving toward the end of the aisle, the guy moved to, arms held down in front of him. Ok, not a demon then. “One of your friends, Sydney?” He could practically feel Sam’s eye roll.
“Sam?”
They both spun around, Dean shoving the gun behind his back hastily, at the new voice. Dean adjusted his grip and shot a glance across the store to where the guy was standing, watching them with narrowed eyes.
Sam blinked and broke out into a blinding grin. “Hey!”
“Sam Winchester,” the guy said, shaking his head. “How are you, man?”
“Good, I’m good,” Sam said, the tense lines in his shoulders easing.
Dean ignored them, looking back toward where fugly shirt guy had been, fingers tightening on the gun again when he wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back. “This is my brother, Dean,” he was saying. “Dean, this is Chuck, we went to Stanford together.”
Dean knew it was kind of ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop the knot in his stomach at the mention of Stanford. “Hey,” he muttered, and Sam shot him a look. It’d been three years, and Sam was with him now, couldn’t go back even if he wanted to anymore. Dean really needed to find a way to fix that before the deal came due.
The guy from the other side of the store appeared at Chuck’s side all of a sudden. “Chuck,” he said, staring at Sam.
Dean glared at him, and he turned the cold gaze on him, which in Dean’s opinion was a lot better than it being on Sam.
“Oh, hey man,” Chuck said, apparently oblivious. “This is my-er. This is Casey,” he said, and the guy turned his narrowed gaze onto Chuck. “We work together.”
Casey grunted, looking back at Sam. The fact that the guy had probably been planning on pulling a gun on his brother already meant Dean hated him, but the guy really was kind of an asshole.
Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them. “Do you guys know each other?”
“Uh. No,” Sam said, eyeing Casey warily. Dean took a step forward, putting himself between Casey and Sam.
Chuck’s eyes widened suddenly. “Are you going to the toga party?”
“The what?” Dean asked at the same time Casey barked, “Chuck!”
Sam’s mouth dropped open, which was apparently some kind of answer because Chuck started laughing. “Man, did they get everyone at Stanford?”
Sam blinked a couple times and then started laughing too, shaking his head. Dean kept his eye on Mr. Fugly Shirt.
Casey looked like he wanted to punch Chuck in the face, but the kid didn’t seem to concerned about any of it, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head. “So what have you been up to, man?”
“I’m just taken a road trip with my brother.”
Chuck grinned bouncing on his feet a little as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Is that like a secret mission?”
Casey growled in the back of his throat and Dean thought about shooting him in the foot just to get him to lighten the hell up.
“No, it’s not-it’s just a road trip,” Sam said, and Chuck looked a little disappointed. Sammy had always had pretty weird friends. Birds of a feather, and all that.
“Are you guys in town for long?”
“We’re just passing through actually,” Sam told him, and then started in on the geeky computer thing they’d come for in the first place. Chuck’s eyes lit up like he’d just been given free porn and the two of them headed off, leaving Dean with Casey.
They glared at each other for a few minutes before Dean said, “There a reason you were planning to pull a gun on my brother, tough guy?”
Casey scowled at him for another second, and really, the guy could probably give Sam a few lessons. “He looked suspicious,” he grunted finally.
Dean blinked. Was this guy for real? “Sam looked suspicious? Dude, you need to get your eyes checked.”
Casey glowered at him again, but Sam came back a second later, extra battery pack or whatever, in hand, promising Chuck they’d swing by the next time they were in the area, doing the whole Stanford handshake farewell.
“Dude,” Dean said, shaking his head as they headed toward the car, “you went to toga parties?”
Sam looked at him like he’d grown a second head before he grinned and shook his head. “It’s a code phrase, Dean.”
“A code phrase? Are you coming to the toga party is your super secret agent code phrase?” Dean shook his head sadly, leave it to his little brother to make something awesome totally dorky. “Man, that’s so lame.”
Sam looked slightly affronted. “It’s not lame.”
“Totally lame, Sammy.” Because, seriously, toga parties? So lame. The code phrases Dean had come up with were way cooler than that.