Ficlet: Pop/Supernatural crossover (Lance/Dean)
Reposted to have it all in one.
The first half of this had been going around in my head for a while and finally came out after a comment from turloughishere; the second half was written for geneli4. All apologies and bows to everybody who ever wrote Popslash crack.
"And JC, he was a cat once," the kid with the buzz cut said, the only one Dean knew the name of: Timberlake. "For two weeks!"
"God, does he ever shut up?" Dean muttered and Sam shot him a Glare.
"Look," the short blond one with Dean's eyes said. "We appreciate the effort, really. This... thing haunting our stage..."
"Spirit," Sam supplied helpfully.
"Yeah. Anyway, we've had much worse. This is nothing we can't deal with."
Dean had pegged them all pretty quickly: there was the funny short one with the beard, the overambitious one, Timberlake, who babbled on and on about the supernatural experiences he'd had in his life - the stuff Dean saw in a week - the easy one with the big grin, the curly-haired skinny one who spent half of his time staring into space. Until now he'd thought the blonde one was the most intelligent; he had Dean's eyes after all, and Dean had caught him checking Dean out as soon as Dean had stepped through the door, so he must have some brains. Now, however, with them absolutely refusing any help, Dean wasn't so sure anymore.
"Look," he said. If he explained it one more time, slowly, maybe one of them would get it. "This is not some turning into fairies or waking up in each other's bodies crap. Someone could get hurt. You told us that a couple of weeks ago one of you already caught his leg in a trap door. The next time, something worse could happen."
The easy one suddenly looked a little less so. "How do you get rid of it?"
"We already know who it is," Sam explained. "Dustin MacDonald, he was a roadie on your last tour before he got kicked out for stealing. Died from an electrical shortage a few months ago. He must've left something of his somewhere in or on the stage. We need to find it and then salt and burn it."
The one with the beard snorted. "No way will Anthony let you burn something on his stage. He'll kick your ass before you even come near it with a lighter."
"We don't need to burn it on the stage," you smartass, Dean almost added. Stupid boybanders. It wasn’t enough that their music was an insult to every honest to God real band there'd ever been, they had to question your intelligence too. "We just need to find it and take it somewhere to burn it."
They all looked still skeptical - except the skinny one that Dean wasn't sure had listened to him at all - but finally the blond one said, "All right."
"You'll let us help?" Sam asked.
"It's not like we have much of a choice, right?" The blond one shrugged. "I think it's best if we split up. You're coming with me." He snapped his fingers at Dean.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
The blond one just rolled his eyes and grabbed Dean's hand. "There's something in a storage room backstage I saw yesterday, I think we should check it out."
***
When the kid had finally found the storage room, dragging Dean inside, and pointed to a couple of boxes in the corner, Dean was so startled that he couldn't keep the words out of his mouth, "What the fuck, are you kidding me?"
The kid arched one eyebrow. "Why, what did you think we'd be doing here?"
There really was no nice way to say I thought 'there might be a poltergeist in the back room' was a euphemism for 'I want to get you somewhere out of the way so I can blow you', so Dean kept his mouth shut.
"Now can you help or not?" the kid asked impatiently.
It did turn out to be a poltergeist, after all, although a minor one. A few holes hacked into the walls - maybe a little bigger than necessary, he could just blame it on the boybanders destroying the venue - a few herb satchels stuffed inside and the thing was over. Piece of cake.
Until he turned around and found himself slammed back against the closed door. The kid's mouth was on his before his hunter reflexes could kick in. "Is it dead?" the kid muttered when he broke the kiss.
"Well, it wasn't really alive to begin -" The kid slid his knee up high between Dean's legs. "It's dead," Dean said quickly.
"Good," the kid purred and shifted, bringing Dean's dick in sharp alignment with his own.
Dean grunted. "Watch it, kid."
"It's Lance."
"Isn't that a bit much to say, I mean not that you're -"
"That's my name."
"Oh. All right. Whatever. Do that again?"
It really was a bit embarrassing how fast Dean came, but the kid - Lance, whatever - wasn't far behind him, and anyway, Dean was not the one who'd just messed up his stage make-up.
"I think we should go find the others," Lance said as he tucked himself back in. "Save your brother from Chris."
Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Sammy, he's a big boy. He doesn't need saving, he can watch out for himse-"
"Believe me," Lance said pointedly. "He does."
The first half of this had been going around in my head for a while and finally came out after a comment from turloughishere; the second half was written for geneli4. All apologies and bows to everybody who ever wrote Popslash crack.
"And JC, he was a cat once," the kid with the buzz cut said, the only one Dean knew the name of: Timberlake. "For two weeks!"
"God, does he ever shut up?" Dean muttered and Sam shot him a Glare.
"Look," the short blond one with Dean's eyes said. "We appreciate the effort, really. This... thing haunting our stage..."
"Spirit," Sam supplied helpfully.
"Yeah. Anyway, we've had much worse. This is nothing we can't deal with."
Dean had pegged them all pretty quickly: there was the funny short one with the beard, the overambitious one, Timberlake, who babbled on and on about the supernatural experiences he'd had in his life - the stuff Dean saw in a week - the easy one with the big grin, the curly-haired skinny one who spent half of his time staring into space. Until now he'd thought the blonde one was the most intelligent; he had Dean's eyes after all, and Dean had caught him checking Dean out as soon as Dean had stepped through the door, so he must have some brains. Now, however, with them absolutely refusing any help, Dean wasn't so sure anymore.
"Look," he said. If he explained it one more time, slowly, maybe one of them would get it. "This is not some turning into fairies or waking up in each other's bodies crap. Someone could get hurt. You told us that a couple of weeks ago one of you already caught his leg in a trap door. The next time, something worse could happen."
The easy one suddenly looked a little less so. "How do you get rid of it?"
"We already know who it is," Sam explained. "Dustin MacDonald, he was a roadie on your last tour before he got kicked out for stealing. Died from an electrical shortage a few months ago. He must've left something of his somewhere in or on the stage. We need to find it and then salt and burn it."
The one with the beard snorted. "No way will Anthony let you burn something on his stage. He'll kick your ass before you even come near it with a lighter."
"We don't need to burn it on the stage," you smartass, Dean almost added. Stupid boybanders. It wasn’t enough that their music was an insult to every honest to God real band there'd ever been, they had to question your intelligence too. "We just need to find it and take it somewhere to burn it."
They all looked still skeptical - except the skinny one that Dean wasn't sure had listened to him at all - but finally the blond one said, "All right."
"You'll let us help?" Sam asked.
"It's not like we have much of a choice, right?" The blond one shrugged. "I think it's best if we split up. You're coming with me." He snapped his fingers at Dean.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
The blond one just rolled his eyes and grabbed Dean's hand. "There's something in a storage room backstage I saw yesterday, I think we should check it out."
***
When the kid had finally found the storage room, dragging Dean inside, and pointed to a couple of boxes in the corner, Dean was so startled that he couldn't keep the words out of his mouth, "What the fuck, are you kidding me?"
The kid arched one eyebrow. "Why, what did you think we'd be doing here?"
There really was no nice way to say I thought 'there might be a poltergeist in the back room' was a euphemism for 'I want to get you somewhere out of the way so I can blow you', so Dean kept his mouth shut.
"Now can you help or not?" the kid asked impatiently.
It did turn out to be a poltergeist, after all, although a minor one. A few holes hacked into the walls - maybe a little bigger than necessary, he could just blame it on the boybanders destroying the venue - a few herb satchels stuffed inside and the thing was over. Piece of cake.
Until he turned around and found himself slammed back against the closed door. The kid's mouth was on his before his hunter reflexes could kick in. "Is it dead?" the kid muttered when he broke the kiss.
"Well, it wasn't really alive to begin -" The kid slid his knee up high between Dean's legs. "It's dead," Dean said quickly.
"Good," the kid purred and shifted, bringing Dean's dick in sharp alignment with his own.
Dean grunted. "Watch it, kid."
"It's Lance."
"Isn't that a bit much to say, I mean not that you're -"
"That's my name."
"Oh. All right. Whatever. Do that again?"
It really was a bit embarrassing how fast Dean came, but the kid - Lance, whatever - wasn't far behind him, and anyway, Dean was not the one who'd just messed up his stage make-up.
"I think we should go find the others," Lance said as he tucked himself back in. "Save your brother from Chris."
Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Sammy, he's a big boy. He doesn't need saving, he can watch out for himse-"
"Believe me," Lance said pointedly. "He does."