Not Yet Dead- Supernatural Fic
Not Yet Dead
by Tracy (lunarknightz)
Rating: PG
Category: Banter, with optional side of cheese.
Summary: Dead people don't have to pay taxes.
Spoilers: "The Benders"
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I really wish I did, because then I could play with Dean and Sam the whole time.
“Here we go.” Sam grunted, unceremoniously dropping a pile of papers on the thin wooden hotel table. “Time to get ready for the happiest day of the year.” He said with a sigh.
Dean looked up from “The Flash” comic book he was reading. “Don’t even kid, Sammy. It’s nowhere near International Talk Like A Pirate Day.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re really strange and off-putting, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dean said, leaning back against the pillows of the bed, and turning his attention back to his comic book.
“Seriously Dean. Do the words Income Tax ring a bell? Or the fact that they’re due soon?”
Dean peered over the top edge of the comic book. “Do I look like someone who keeps all his receipts in a shoe box? The last I checked, buddy boy, spook hunting and hustling pool don’t provide you with W2s. Besides, what am I supposed to do, write of bullets and bulk amounts of rock salt as a business expense?” He paused slightly, dropping the comic book on the bed beside him. “Taxes were not meant for men like me, little man.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ve been taller than you for quite some time now.”
“Not according to my driver’s license. I tell you, flirt with the right chicks in the DMV, and the government database will think you’re like a god. My height’s officially listed as six feet four.” He bragged.
“I’m six four! You’re…shrimpy.” Sam threw his hands in the air. “Not to mention insane.”
”Shrimpy or not, I can still kick your ass.”
“ You wish.” Sam sighed. “Some of us have to be on the level, Dean.”
“If you got any more level, Sammy, you’d be a square.”
“I’ve had two real jobs within the past year, Dean. I think it would be a hell of a lot better to file up front than be trailed by a bunch of IRS agents. I don’t think Dad’s training prepared us for fighting those type of demons.”
“You actually worked?”
“Work study in the library, doing the school year. And then in the Summer to make a little extra money, I was a…” Sam coughed and mumbled the few words, saying them quickly to run them together. “Iwasasandwichartist.”
“What?”
Sam mumbled again.
“Huh?”
“Sandwich Artist!” Sam yelled. “I was a sandwich artist, okay?”
“At the place with the guy with the huge pants?”
“Yes, Subway. It’s not easy work, you know. People can be so stinking demanding.”
“Maybe I should just call you Jared.” Dean laughed. “Mom always did call you chubby cheeks.”
“She did not!”
“Why in the hell do I ever tell you anything?”
“Because clearly your angst is that which must be shared with the world. And nine times out of ten, I’m the only one close enough to listen.”
Sam picked up a tax form and tossed it on Dean’s bed.
“What in the hell is this?”
“It’s the law, Dean.”
“If we’re going by the very letter of the law here, Sammy boy, I don’t have to do this at all.” Dean tossed it back to him.
“I don’t think the IRS will see it that way.”
“Would you get over the stinking IRS already? They’re not going to be coming after me, you doofus. And they probably don’t give a shit about the mint you made slinging sandwiches!”
“Dean…”
Dean held up a hand to silence his brother. “The government thinks I’m dead.”
“What?”
“Remember that shapeshifter? He died, as me. The pretty little sheriff out in Deliverance land? Looked me up on her database. Saw it for myself. Call me Tom Sawyer, because I’ve just lived past my own funeral.”
“Isn’t there someone we should talk to and get this straightened out?”
“Why in the hell should we? I think I’m gonna like being dead.”
“But you’re not dead yet.”
“Technicality.” Dean grinned. “With the bonus of feeling like I’m in a Monty Python skit.”
Sam glared at his brother. “You suck.”
by Tracy (lunarknightz)
Rating: PG
Category: Banter, with optional side of cheese.
Summary: Dead people don't have to pay taxes.
Spoilers: "The Benders"
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I really wish I did, because then I could play with Dean and Sam the whole time.
“Here we go.” Sam grunted, unceremoniously dropping a pile of papers on the thin wooden hotel table. “Time to get ready for the happiest day of the year.” He said with a sigh.
Dean looked up from “The Flash” comic book he was reading. “Don’t even kid, Sammy. It’s nowhere near International Talk Like A Pirate Day.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re really strange and off-putting, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dean said, leaning back against the pillows of the bed, and turning his attention back to his comic book.
“Seriously Dean. Do the words Income Tax ring a bell? Or the fact that they’re due soon?”
Dean peered over the top edge of the comic book. “Do I look like someone who keeps all his receipts in a shoe box? The last I checked, buddy boy, spook hunting and hustling pool don’t provide you with W2s. Besides, what am I supposed to do, write of bullets and bulk amounts of rock salt as a business expense?” He paused slightly, dropping the comic book on the bed beside him. “Taxes were not meant for men like me, little man.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ve been taller than you for quite some time now.”
“Not according to my driver’s license. I tell you, flirt with the right chicks in the DMV, and the government database will think you’re like a god. My height’s officially listed as six feet four.” He bragged.
“I’m six four! You’re…shrimpy.” Sam threw his hands in the air. “Not to mention insane.”
”Shrimpy or not, I can still kick your ass.”
“ You wish.” Sam sighed. “Some of us have to be on the level, Dean.”
“If you got any more level, Sammy, you’d be a square.”
“I’ve had two real jobs within the past year, Dean. I think it would be a hell of a lot better to file up front than be trailed by a bunch of IRS agents. I don’t think Dad’s training prepared us for fighting those type of demons.”
“You actually worked?”
“Work study in the library, doing the school year. And then in the Summer to make a little extra money, I was a…” Sam coughed and mumbled the few words, saying them quickly to run them together. “Iwasasandwichartist.”
“What?”
Sam mumbled again.
“Huh?”
“Sandwich Artist!” Sam yelled. “I was a sandwich artist, okay?”
“At the place with the guy with the huge pants?”
“Yes, Subway. It’s not easy work, you know. People can be so stinking demanding.”
“Maybe I should just call you Jared.” Dean laughed. “Mom always did call you chubby cheeks.”
“She did not!”
“Why in the hell do I ever tell you anything?”
“Because clearly your angst is that which must be shared with the world. And nine times out of ten, I’m the only one close enough to listen.”
Sam picked up a tax form and tossed it on Dean’s bed.
“What in the hell is this?”
“It’s the law, Dean.”
“If we’re going by the very letter of the law here, Sammy boy, I don’t have to do this at all.” Dean tossed it back to him.
“I don’t think the IRS will see it that way.”
“Would you get over the stinking IRS already? They’re not going to be coming after me, you doofus. And they probably don’t give a shit about the mint you made slinging sandwiches!”
“Dean…”
Dean held up a hand to silence his brother. “The government thinks I’m dead.”
“What?”
“Remember that shapeshifter? He died, as me. The pretty little sheriff out in Deliverance land? Looked me up on her database. Saw it for myself. Call me Tom Sawyer, because I’ve just lived past my own funeral.”
“Isn’t there someone we should talk to and get this straightened out?”
“Why in the hell should we? I think I’m gonna like being dead.”
“But you’re not dead yet.”
“Technicality.” Dean grinned. “With the bonus of feeling like I’m in a Monty Python skit.”
Sam glared at his brother. “You suck.”