Fic: Maketh The Man
Title: Maketh The Man
Author: Corona
Fandom: Reaper
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "Are you wearing your dad's clothes?" Sock picks at the material. "This troubles me."
Sam's life has become complicated in a variety of ways since he turned twenty one. Not a day goes by without the possibility of interesting death popping up. He's just starting to realise that sometimes interesting death can be worse than gruesome death.
This Thursday feels especially likely to end badly, it's just a question of how it's going to start.
Sam gets his answer pretty much straight after he stumbles out of bed.
Because though he's mostly still asleep while getting dressed he's still fairly certain that his clothes fit yesterday.
Today...not so much.
He stares at himself in the mirror, not entirely sure whether he's actually awake because...yeah. His jeans won't do up and his shirt takes two minutes to put on, only to tear across the shoulders.
All of his clothes have been miniaturised.
"For the love of-" sudden movement gives him another rip down his arm. "Oh that's great, that's fantastic."
"That's a brave choice."
Sam's no longer alone, now there's an extraordinarily annoying expression of amusement over his left shoulder. The devil doesn't just stand in the room, he takes up all the space, even the parts Sam was sure he was occupying not half a second ago.
"Could you not do that!"
"And miss the opportunity to see that expression, never." No one who can talk through a smile that wide has any business not being up to something.
"I take it this-" Sam waves a hand over the epic failure that is currently his wardrobe. "Is my supernatural power of the moment. " He drops his hand, then changes his mind and gestures again in a way that he really hopes conveys a sense of 'what the hell!' "What am I supposed to wear?"
There's a long pause where annoyance and amusement tangle in the middle of the room.
"I consider making things awkward a highlight of my day," the devil tells him. Which is not an answer, at all.
"Yeah, yeah I noticed that."
Sam tugs at both sides of his shirt, but there's no way they're going to meet.
And even if they do he's going to look like an extra from a seventies porn film.
"It's all just pointing and laughing with you isn't it."
"Oh don't be like that. I'm sure I could find you something to wear, something smart, something stylish. Something just like mine." The devil smoothes the edges of his suit in a way which shouldn't manage to convey half the things it does.
Sam's shirt is starting to look a whole lot better all the time.
"I think I'll pass," Sam says carefully. If nothing else it would probably try to eat him the moment he put it on.
Sam picks at the sides of his shirt again, wondering if he could do something with tape, or two shirts sewn together or something? The left side of his shirt falls off while he's trying to fix it. He glares at the mirror.
"How exactly is this supposed to help me find anyone. I'm starting to think some of these powers are just an excuse to make me looks like a complete idiot."
The devil lays a hand on his shoulder and gestures at the mirror.
"No sometimes that's just an unexpected bonus!"
Sam's frown of protest morphs abruptly into petulant misery.
"Could we, you think, sometimes just skip the ritual humiliation and get down to business?"
The devil laughs sharply.
"Anyone would think you don't enjoy these moments of witty banter Sam, I think I actually feel wounded."
He doesn't look wounded he still looks amused, and devious, though Sam's starting to suspect that's some sort of baseline where the devil's concerned.
"I think you take a perverse satisfaction in making me look stupid, or getting me arrested or just generally making me fate's bitch."
Though Sam suspects that in this scenario 'fate' and 'the devil' are pretty interchangeable.
The hand that's still on his shoulder shakes him, just a little and there's a laugh to go along with it.
"You should really be careful where you take your analogies Sam, I might insist you put out."
"That's not funny!" Sam tells the mirror.
But when he turns around the devil is gone.
***
"What are you wearing?" Ben says the moment he sees him, he sounds horrified.
His horror appears to be a theme of the morning.
"Are you wearing your dad's clothes?" Sock picks at the material. "This troubles me."
"None of my clothes fit," Sam explains, then dumps the chest on the table between them. "Stupid devil powers shrunk my wardrobe."
Sock is still poking the sleeve of his shirt like a man faced with alien skin.
"So you borrowed your dad's, there were other options you know."
"Such as?"
"Coming to work naked?" Sock suggests, like it's a perfectly legitimate choice.
"I'm fairly certain Ted wouldn't let me work naked," Sam points out.
"That's very true," Ben agrees. "Ted is not a friend of random nudity."
"Or surprise nudity," Sock adds, with the air of a man who has the proof to back it up.
"I wasn't going to come to work naked," Sam insists, because he does still have some dignity, most of the time, when the universe doesn't hate him.
One of the cuffs of his shirt rolls down and his hand disappears.
"Maybe you should have," Sock says, he pats him on the shoulder.
"That's not funny, this morning has been weird enough as it is."
Sock throws himself into a chair. "Define weird, hopefully in a way that will shock and intrigue me."
"Aside from the fact that none of my clothes fit and I spent half the morning being mocked by the devil and the other half wandering around naked desperately trying to find something to wear?"
"Was there inappropriate touching?" Sock asks "Sam, did the devil touch you inappropriately?"
"What? No!"
Sam sits down, carefully ignores the fact that his pants have unrolled over his shoes.
Sock drags the chest over the other side of the table, flips the lid back
"Whoah!"
"What?"
Sock dips a finger into the smoky interior, there's a clank of metal and the finger appears again holding a shiny tangled set of handcuffs.
Sam lets the corner of his mouth curl up because yeah that fits kind of perfectly with the morning he's having so far, then he lets his head thump against the chair back.
"Are you sure there was no inappropriate touching, because you could totally tell us if there was," Sock leans forward far enough to clap him on the shoulder. "Every detail man."
"Are you done?" Sam tries to snatch the handcuffs back off of him.
"These are warm," Sock says quietly. "I'm finding that unbearably naughty right now."
"It has to be a stripper," Ben offers. "The clothes, the handcuffs."
"The inappropriate touching," Sock adds through a metal bracelet.
"There was no inappropriate touching," Sam insists.
"Still, handcuffs Sam?"
Sock's suggestive eyebrows paint the conversation with a whole extra layer of wrong.
Ben wags a finger at him. "The clues are getting easier, the devil must think you're getting stupider."
"Either that or he wants us to research strippers."
"Dead strippers," Ben points out.
"But still strippers!" Sock is still fiddling with the vessel in a way Sam is fairly sure can actually be considered inappropriate touching.
"Sock do not put them on, they didn't come with a key-"
There's a click, which sounds depressingly final.
"Not funny Sock, not funny at all."
Author: Corona
Fandom: Reaper
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: "Are you wearing your dad's clothes?" Sock picks at the material. "This troubles me."
Sam's life has become complicated in a variety of ways since he turned twenty one. Not a day goes by without the possibility of interesting death popping up. He's just starting to realise that sometimes interesting death can be worse than gruesome death.
This Thursday feels especially likely to end badly, it's just a question of how it's going to start.
Sam gets his answer pretty much straight after he stumbles out of bed.
Because though he's mostly still asleep while getting dressed he's still fairly certain that his clothes fit yesterday.
Today...not so much.
He stares at himself in the mirror, not entirely sure whether he's actually awake because...yeah. His jeans won't do up and his shirt takes two minutes to put on, only to tear across the shoulders.
All of his clothes have been miniaturised.
"For the love of-" sudden movement gives him another rip down his arm. "Oh that's great, that's fantastic."
"That's a brave choice."
Sam's no longer alone, now there's an extraordinarily annoying expression of amusement over his left shoulder. The devil doesn't just stand in the room, he takes up all the space, even the parts Sam was sure he was occupying not half a second ago.
"Could you not do that!"
"And miss the opportunity to see that expression, never." No one who can talk through a smile that wide has any business not being up to something.
"I take it this-" Sam waves a hand over the epic failure that is currently his wardrobe. "Is my supernatural power of the moment. " He drops his hand, then changes his mind and gestures again in a way that he really hopes conveys a sense of 'what the hell!' "What am I supposed to wear?"
There's a long pause where annoyance and amusement tangle in the middle of the room.
"I consider making things awkward a highlight of my day," the devil tells him. Which is not an answer, at all.
"Yeah, yeah I noticed that."
Sam tugs at both sides of his shirt, but there's no way they're going to meet.
And even if they do he's going to look like an extra from a seventies porn film.
"It's all just pointing and laughing with you isn't it."
"Oh don't be like that. I'm sure I could find you something to wear, something smart, something stylish. Something just like mine." The devil smoothes the edges of his suit in a way which shouldn't manage to convey half the things it does.
Sam's shirt is starting to look a whole lot better all the time.
"I think I'll pass," Sam says carefully. If nothing else it would probably try to eat him the moment he put it on.
Sam picks at the sides of his shirt again, wondering if he could do something with tape, or two shirts sewn together or something? The left side of his shirt falls off while he's trying to fix it. He glares at the mirror.
"How exactly is this supposed to help me find anyone. I'm starting to think some of these powers are just an excuse to make me looks like a complete idiot."
The devil lays a hand on his shoulder and gestures at the mirror.
"No sometimes that's just an unexpected bonus!"
Sam's frown of protest morphs abruptly into petulant misery.
"Could we, you think, sometimes just skip the ritual humiliation and get down to business?"
The devil laughs sharply.
"Anyone would think you don't enjoy these moments of witty banter Sam, I think I actually feel wounded."
He doesn't look wounded he still looks amused, and devious, though Sam's starting to suspect that's some sort of baseline where the devil's concerned.
"I think you take a perverse satisfaction in making me look stupid, or getting me arrested or just generally making me fate's bitch."
Though Sam suspects that in this scenario 'fate' and 'the devil' are pretty interchangeable.
The hand that's still on his shoulder shakes him, just a little and there's a laugh to go along with it.
"You should really be careful where you take your analogies Sam, I might insist you put out."
"That's not funny!" Sam tells the mirror.
But when he turns around the devil is gone.
***
"What are you wearing?" Ben says the moment he sees him, he sounds horrified.
His horror appears to be a theme of the morning.
"Are you wearing your dad's clothes?" Sock picks at the material. "This troubles me."
"None of my clothes fit," Sam explains, then dumps the chest on the table between them. "Stupid devil powers shrunk my wardrobe."
Sock is still poking the sleeve of his shirt like a man faced with alien skin.
"So you borrowed your dad's, there were other options you know."
"Such as?"
"Coming to work naked?" Sock suggests, like it's a perfectly legitimate choice.
"I'm fairly certain Ted wouldn't let me work naked," Sam points out.
"That's very true," Ben agrees. "Ted is not a friend of random nudity."
"Or surprise nudity," Sock adds, with the air of a man who has the proof to back it up.
"I wasn't going to come to work naked," Sam insists, because he does still have some dignity, most of the time, when the universe doesn't hate him.
One of the cuffs of his shirt rolls down and his hand disappears.
"Maybe you should have," Sock says, he pats him on the shoulder.
"That's not funny, this morning has been weird enough as it is."
Sock throws himself into a chair. "Define weird, hopefully in a way that will shock and intrigue me."
"Aside from the fact that none of my clothes fit and I spent half the morning being mocked by the devil and the other half wandering around naked desperately trying to find something to wear?"
"Was there inappropriate touching?" Sock asks "Sam, did the devil touch you inappropriately?"
"What? No!"
Sam sits down, carefully ignores the fact that his pants have unrolled over his shoes.
Sock drags the chest over the other side of the table, flips the lid back
"Whoah!"
"What?"
Sock dips a finger into the smoky interior, there's a clank of metal and the finger appears again holding a shiny tangled set of handcuffs.
Sam lets the corner of his mouth curl up because yeah that fits kind of perfectly with the morning he's having so far, then he lets his head thump against the chair back.
"Are you sure there was no inappropriate touching, because you could totally tell us if there was," Sock leans forward far enough to clap him on the shoulder. "Every detail man."
"Are you done?" Sam tries to snatch the handcuffs back off of him.
"These are warm," Sock says quietly. "I'm finding that unbearably naughty right now."
"It has to be a stripper," Ben offers. "The clothes, the handcuffs."
"The inappropriate touching," Sock adds through a metal bracelet.
"There was no inappropriate touching," Sam insists.
"Still, handcuffs Sam?"
Sock's suggestive eyebrows paint the conversation with a whole extra layer of wrong.
Ben wags a finger at him. "The clues are getting easier, the devil must think you're getting stupider."
"Either that or he wants us to research strippers."
"Dead strippers," Ben points out.
"But still strippers!" Sock is still fiddling with the vessel in a way Sam is fairly sure can actually be considered inappropriate touching.
"Sock do not put them on, they didn't come with a key-"
There's a click, which sounds depressingly final.
"Not funny Sock, not funny at all."