You see when something's not working right, the best thing to do is tear it apart to make it better.
Title: You see when something's not working right, the best thing to do is tear it apart to make it better.
Written by Professional Scatterbrain/
pr_scatterbrain
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Rating: Pg - 13
Summary: With mere days left, Dean only has one more favour to ask. Fred wishes he didn't. He wished more than anything that it had never come to this point, this stupid, meaningless, horrid, beastly point.
Crossover: Supernatural and Drop Dead Fred.
***
Lifesaver,
Let's play a little game,
Catch me later,
But make sure you'll be there late,
Lifesaver - Emiliana Torrini
***
“Get up snotface,”
“It’s too early.” Sam grumbled, his eyes straining to open.
“That’s toooooo bad.”
***
“You know, it’s not so bad.” Dean told him as they lay out on the freshly cut grass.
Fred snorted, his entire body joining in on the reaction just to reinforce his opinion of exactly what Dean was proposing. He really didn’t think this was the sort of thing that they should be discussing, especially in the middle of a crowded park in the warm spring heat. He dug his nails into soft ground. It gave way underneath his hand, moist and gritty. The smell of earth and grass was coy and Fred really, really, didn’t want to be having this talk with Dean.
“Deano,” Fred whined.
Besides him Dean went quiet. Still too. Fred yanked a chunk of grass from the ground and played with it idly. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Natalie. Then he felt Dean’s fingers toy with the frayed cuff ends of his jacket. Pulling at a few loose strings, but gently, Dean’s blunt nails caught on the fabric.
***
Bobby’s face greeted Sam when he opened the door.
Before Sam could ask what was going on, why he was here, and the million other questions that were racing on his mind Bobby answered all of them with three coyingly simple words.
“It’s your father.”
***
“It’s not so bad,” Dean told Fred again. “He’s special. Like Elizabeth.”
Fred turned his head. But when he did he was too close to grass green eyes and bitten red lips. Dean blinked slowly, then rapidly, and then tore his eyes away. His ministrations stopped. Fred’s suit was left untouched. Fred bit a few leaves of grass off the chunk of lawn in his hand. Lizzie and Sam weren’t meant to be used in a comparison. Or in the same sentence. Ever. Evereverever.
“That’s different.” Fred reminded his friend.
Dean let out a shaky breath. Regrouping time Fred decided. He dug around in the ground, leaving the chunk of grass abandoned. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a worm. That’d be good. He’d put it in Lizzie’s hair later. That would be really fun. He wouldn’t let Dean spoil it with his ‘thoughts’. No siree. No favours of Dean’s kind would be on Fred’s ‘to do’ list in his foreseeable future.
“He’ll make you real to her.” Dean offered quietly.
Fred rolled his eyes, angry (or maybe insulted), “Already passed that bridge and took another.”
His Lizzie was happy. Fred didn’t want what Dean’s Sammy could offer. Even if it was just a little bit tempting. The memory of her brown hair and a pretty purple dress came to his mind. He wiggled in the dirt. The cracked soles of his shoes scuffed the neatly clipped grass. The gardeners wouldn’t be happy. That made Fred smile. He did it again and nudged Dean so he would too. Instead Dean turned on his side and lay one arm over Fred’s waist. Tucking his head into the crock of Fred’s shoulder he breathed in the mothball and mud scent.
They were waiting at a bridge too.
***
John had cried when he found Sam outside the house, alive, whole with not a scratch to show of the dangers he had been in. John’s own hands were blistered and his throat felt burnt from all the ash he had swallowed but Sammy, Sammy was perfect.
He didn’t even smell of smoke.
***
“I made a deal, with it.” Dean whispered.
Fred froze immediately.
“We don’t make those deals.”
“Sammy needed me. That’s what we do.”
“We don’t do that.” Fred repeated, blood cold in his veins.
Nestled in his shoulder, Fred felt Dean’s body shudder as the other man began to laugh. Fred tightens his grip on Dean, unaware of just how his arms came to be wrapped around the younger man. Somehow that made it feel worse. No, they don’t do that. Not even for... no, that bridge had been passed and another had been taken.
“We do when we’re needed. Especially when a special one needs us.” Dean told him.
Fred felt like arguing. He felt like reminding Dean of the four years in between Sam leaving John and going to college (and leaving Dean too). He’d looked after a nice kid. Her name was Julie and Dean had made her boring life fun. Fred remembered hearing about it from the other - all so happy like him at the news - and seeing it for himself once or twice.
Dean is watching with forest eyes, red lips and freckled cheeks.
Waiting.
Fred hates him then. Hates him for being Dean and doing Dean like things. They weren’t supposed to interfere with the big things. No one was meant to play ball with the high rollers. Dean will be a trophy for them. Already might be. Down, deep down in the furnace of fumes and failure he will be a centre piece - the only one of his type to willingly be lured into the depths. He will be made to glitter and to gleam while they laugh and leer and lick all the light off and out of him until nothing is left.
“You’ll like him.” Dean tries, his voice small.
Fred signs. He feels the ghost of lips pressing against his neck. Maybe a kiss. Maybe just from the words slipping from Dean’s lips. He thinks of grass, and eyes, Dean and the deal. Then of Sam. Dean’s Sam. Dean’s Sammy. One of the special ones. One of the very special ones. Maybe even special like - no, almost like - his Lizzie.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, a voice whispers. Maybe.
***
Beep, beep, beep, beep . . .
Despite the alarm Sam wakes up slowly.
He is greeted with a rare sight. Nothing. The hotel room was still dark. Which was good. His brother liked to get up early and liked to wake Sam up early, but today Sam was one step ahead. It wouldn’t work this time. No Sammy’s, or beauty sleep/girl themed insults today. No, not to today. A grin slothfully spread across his face. Running a lazy hand over his face he stretches under the cheep hotel bed covers. Then he holted. Hand paused at his crown. Slowly he trails his hand upwards - then
“Fred!”
Across the room his red headed brother let out a maniacal giggle as he stared at Sam’s half shaved head.
***
Written by Professional Scatterbrain/
pr_scatterbrain
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Rating: Pg - 13
Summary: With mere days left, Dean only has one more favour to ask. Fred wishes he didn't. He wished more than anything that it had never come to this point, this stupid, meaningless, horrid, beastly point.
Crossover: Supernatural and Drop Dead Fred.
***
Lifesaver,
Let's play a little game,
Catch me later,
But make sure you'll be there late,
Lifesaver - Emiliana Torrini
***
“Get up snotface,”
“It’s too early.” Sam grumbled, his eyes straining to open.
“That’s toooooo bad.”
***
“You know, it’s not so bad.” Dean told him as they lay out on the freshly cut grass.
Fred snorted, his entire body joining in on the reaction just to reinforce his opinion of exactly what Dean was proposing. He really didn’t think this was the sort of thing that they should be discussing, especially in the middle of a crowded park in the warm spring heat. He dug his nails into soft ground. It gave way underneath his hand, moist and gritty. The smell of earth and grass was coy and Fred really, really, didn’t want to be having this talk with Dean.
“Deano,” Fred whined.
Besides him Dean went quiet. Still too. Fred yanked a chunk of grass from the ground and played with it idly. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Natalie. Then he felt Dean’s fingers toy with the frayed cuff ends of his jacket. Pulling at a few loose strings, but gently, Dean’s blunt nails caught on the fabric.
***
Bobby’s face greeted Sam when he opened the door.
Before Sam could ask what was going on, why he was here, and the million other questions that were racing on his mind Bobby answered all of them with three coyingly simple words.
“It’s your father.”
***
“It’s not so bad,” Dean told Fred again. “He’s special. Like Elizabeth.”
Fred turned his head. But when he did he was too close to grass green eyes and bitten red lips. Dean blinked slowly, then rapidly, and then tore his eyes away. His ministrations stopped. Fred’s suit was left untouched. Fred bit a few leaves of grass off the chunk of lawn in his hand. Lizzie and Sam weren’t meant to be used in a comparison. Or in the same sentence. Ever. Evereverever.
“That’s different.” Fred reminded his friend.
Dean let out a shaky breath. Regrouping time Fred decided. He dug around in the ground, leaving the chunk of grass abandoned. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a worm. That’d be good. He’d put it in Lizzie’s hair later. That would be really fun. He wouldn’t let Dean spoil it with his ‘thoughts’. No siree. No favours of Dean’s kind would be on Fred’s ‘to do’ list in his foreseeable future.
“He’ll make you real to her.” Dean offered quietly.
Fred rolled his eyes, angry (or maybe insulted), “Already passed that bridge and took another.”
His Lizzie was happy. Fred didn’t want what Dean’s Sammy could offer. Even if it was just a little bit tempting. The memory of her brown hair and a pretty purple dress came to his mind. He wiggled in the dirt. The cracked soles of his shoes scuffed the neatly clipped grass. The gardeners wouldn’t be happy. That made Fred smile. He did it again and nudged Dean so he would too. Instead Dean turned on his side and lay one arm over Fred’s waist. Tucking his head into the crock of Fred’s shoulder he breathed in the mothball and mud scent.
They were waiting at a bridge too.
***
John had cried when he found Sam outside the house, alive, whole with not a scratch to show of the dangers he had been in. John’s own hands were blistered and his throat felt burnt from all the ash he had swallowed but Sammy, Sammy was perfect.
He didn’t even smell of smoke.
***
“I made a deal, with it.” Dean whispered.
Fred froze immediately.
“We don’t make those deals.”
“Sammy needed me. That’s what we do.”
“We don’t do that.” Fred repeated, blood cold in his veins.
Nestled in his shoulder, Fred felt Dean’s body shudder as the other man began to laugh. Fred tightens his grip on Dean, unaware of just how his arms came to be wrapped around the younger man. Somehow that made it feel worse. No, they don’t do that. Not even for... no, that bridge had been passed and another had been taken.
“We do when we’re needed. Especially when a special one needs us.” Dean told him.
Fred felt like arguing. He felt like reminding Dean of the four years in between Sam leaving John and going to college (and leaving Dean too). He’d looked after a nice kid. Her name was Julie and Dean had made her boring life fun. Fred remembered hearing about it from the other - all so happy like him at the news - and seeing it for himself once or twice.
Dean is watching with forest eyes, red lips and freckled cheeks.
Waiting.
Fred hates him then. Hates him for being Dean and doing Dean like things. They weren’t supposed to interfere with the big things. No one was meant to play ball with the high rollers. Dean will be a trophy for them. Already might be. Down, deep down in the furnace of fumes and failure he will be a centre piece - the only one of his type to willingly be lured into the depths. He will be made to glitter and to gleam while they laugh and leer and lick all the light off and out of him until nothing is left.
“You’ll like him.” Dean tries, his voice small.
Fred signs. He feels the ghost of lips pressing against his neck. Maybe a kiss. Maybe just from the words slipping from Dean’s lips. He thinks of grass, and eyes, Dean and the deal. Then of Sam. Dean’s Sam. Dean’s Sammy. One of the special ones. One of the very special ones. Maybe even special like - no, almost like - his Lizzie.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, a voice whispers. Maybe.
***
Beep, beep, beep, beep . . .
Despite the alarm Sam wakes up slowly.
He is greeted with a rare sight. Nothing. The hotel room was still dark. Which was good. His brother liked to get up early and liked to wake Sam up early, but today Sam was one step ahead. It wouldn’t work this time. No Sammy’s, or beauty sleep/girl themed insults today. No, not to today. A grin slothfully spread across his face. Running a lazy hand over his face he stretches under the cheep hotel bed covers. Then he holted. Hand paused at his crown. Slowly he trails his hand upwards - then
“Fred!”
Across the room his red headed brother let out a maniacal giggle as he stared at Sam’s half shaved head.
***