Fresh Fic
This is vaguely crackish. Sort of, crack lite. It's just that I got this one line in my head and I could hear the red-eyed demon saying it so clearly I had to come up with a ... something to wrap around it. I'm on an angst break so I got the boys too drunk to emote.
Sam/Dean 'cest lite, pg-15 maybe, 1,061 words, and did I mention cracked?
Council for the Defense
Dean's expecting hellhounds. Everyone else got hellhounds, right? But they're on day 365 and no hellhounds. He leans back against the car -- carefully parked to one side of the crossroads -- hands in his jacket pockets and thinks, Well that just fucking figures; I'm never going to get to have a damned dog. Which is when he realizes he's probably had a bit too much to drink but damned if he was going to Hell sober.
Beside him, Sam shifts and says like he was reading Dean's mind, "We could have taken out hellhounds."
"You could have," Dean snorts. "I kept my end of the deal. No weaseling, no welching. No researching ways to kick hellhound butt."
"Whatever." Sam's not exactly sober either but he's had a lot less than Dean.
He's freaking a lot less than Dean expected too but his brows are drawn in and his mouth is pressed into a thin pink line and that distracts Dean just a bit. "Hey. You think we've got time to go again?"
And Sam almost laughs. "I saw the way you got out of the car, Dean. You're still feeling the last time. Times."
True. The last couple of days had mostly consisted of whiskey and sex and if he had to face facts, between the alcohol and exhaustion, Dean wasn't entirely certain he could even get it up. Still, no reason to go out a quitter. "I was thinking you could blow me."
"Because there's nothing like facing down a demon with my brother's dick in my mouth."
"That's what I'm saying."
"No."
Dean sighs. "Every party needs a pooper, Sammy."
And they're out of time before Sam can protest.
"Hello Dean." She smiles, all teeth and promises. "Sam. Here to wave bye-bye as your big brother goes off to eternal torment?"
"Not exactly."
"What exactly then?" She rests her weight on one hip, the curve lush and inviting under the black evening gown.
Dean wastes a moment wondering how the demon always manages to find a woman in something low cut and basic black and wastes another moment wondering if they're real. Demonically enhanced? Definitely defying gravity. Given that they're the last tits he'll ever see, he's properly appreciative.
"I know what you've been up to, Sammy," she continues, her eyes flaring red. "You tried to make more demon killing bullets for the Colt - but that didn't work. You're standing in a devil's-trap and there's half a dozen more around here - but fool me twice shame on me. You even had him blessed by priests from every major and a few minor religions - which took conjones I admit given that we both know what Dean's done over the years. There's the binding tattoos, the silver piercings, and the fact you've been diluting his Jack with holy water for the last two days."
"Hey! You watered my whiskey?"
"Not now, Dean."
"Dude, hate to break it to you but now's all we've got."
Her smile broadens. "He's right, Sammy. And I know what you're going to do now. We've all felt you exploring the possibilities of your power."
He's suddenly a lot soberer than he wants to be and he half turns, enough to see Sam's expression. "Sam?"
Sam looks sheepish. "I was going to tell you."
"When? After you've gone all mano a'..." Dean frowns and glances at the demon who shrugs. "...femo and got yourself killed?"
"It wasn't going to be like that." Sheepish has turned a bit sulky.
"And it's not going to be like that," the demon tells Dean reassuringly. "I'll have you in Hell before Sammy can make a move."
Dean's actually reassured. And that's more than just a bit disturbing.
"Fair's fair, boys. And a bargain's a bargain. Dean's soul is mine."
The Impala's shocks sigh in what sounds like relief as Sam straightens. "No, it isn't. It's mine."
Dean and the demon turn to look at him together.
"How cliché," she says.
Dean's embarrassed to admit he's thinking the same thing.
"He gave it to me when he was nineteen."
"Really?" She rolls her eyes, clearly just playing along. "And you have proof of this?"
Sam smiles. The dimples are mesmerizing. "Oh yeah." He slips off his jacket, and his hoodie, and his shirt...
"Some time tonight," the demon sighs. "I'm on the clock."
...and finally his t-shirt. The words, slightly raised on Sam's skin are hard to read in the moonlight. Dean squints a little and finally makes out:
yours
body and soul
D
He frowns. And suddenly remembers. Dad off on a hunt for almost two weeks. Sammy all over him. Literally. He'd never been able to say no to Sam. And God damn but the sex had been amazing. After, a little light-headed and carried away by the moment, he'd licked the words onto Sam's chest.
"This is what I was using my power for," Sam says. "It took me a while to find it."
Dean clears his throat. "Hate to mention this Sammy, but spit doesn't last eight years."
"Everything that was, is."
Everything? That could definitely come back to bite him on the ass. He feels his cheeks flush. "I didn't think you knew I'd done it."
"I was fifteen, Dean. I could spell."
Frowning, the demon holds up a hand. "So you're saying that Dean's soul was never his to bargain with?"
Sam shrugs. The words ripple. "Should have checked for liens."
"So you're saying," the demon repeats, "that you're using under-aged, homosexual incest as a way of staying out of Hell?"
"That's what I'm saying."
"Well." She looks impressed. "That's a first."
Dean blinks. Realizes. "So I'm off the hook?"
She snickers. "Mine," she says, and muttering under her breath, disappears.
After a long moment, Dean sighs. "I gave it to you when I was four."
"I know." Sam starts relayering. "But you didn't write it down."
He's still too drunk to drive so he sits behind the wheel and waits for the alcohol to work its way out of his system and the reaction to set in. He's not going to die. Well, not tonight anyway, tomorrow is, as they say, another day. "Hey," he says, as Sam's weight settles against his side. "Did you catch what she was saying as she left?"
He feels Sam shrug. "Something about hot pokers and Matt Groening's ass."
-end-
Sam/Dean 'cest lite, pg-15 maybe, 1,061 words, and did I mention cracked?
Council for the Defense
Dean's expecting hellhounds. Everyone else got hellhounds, right? But they're on day 365 and no hellhounds. He leans back against the car -- carefully parked to one side of the crossroads -- hands in his jacket pockets and thinks, Well that just fucking figures; I'm never going to get to have a damned dog. Which is when he realizes he's probably had a bit too much to drink but damned if he was going to Hell sober.
Beside him, Sam shifts and says like he was reading Dean's mind, "We could have taken out hellhounds."
"You could have," Dean snorts. "I kept my end of the deal. No weaseling, no welching. No researching ways to kick hellhound butt."
"Whatever." Sam's not exactly sober either but he's had a lot less than Dean.
He's freaking a lot less than Dean expected too but his brows are drawn in and his mouth is pressed into a thin pink line and that distracts Dean just a bit. "Hey. You think we've got time to go again?"
And Sam almost laughs. "I saw the way you got out of the car, Dean. You're still feeling the last time. Times."
True. The last couple of days had mostly consisted of whiskey and sex and if he had to face facts, between the alcohol and exhaustion, Dean wasn't entirely certain he could even get it up. Still, no reason to go out a quitter. "I was thinking you could blow me."
"Because there's nothing like facing down a demon with my brother's dick in my mouth."
"That's what I'm saying."
"No."
Dean sighs. "Every party needs a pooper, Sammy."
And they're out of time before Sam can protest.
"Hello Dean." She smiles, all teeth and promises. "Sam. Here to wave bye-bye as your big brother goes off to eternal torment?"
"Not exactly."
"What exactly then?" She rests her weight on one hip, the curve lush and inviting under the black evening gown.
Dean wastes a moment wondering how the demon always manages to find a woman in something low cut and basic black and wastes another moment wondering if they're real. Demonically enhanced? Definitely defying gravity. Given that they're the last tits he'll ever see, he's properly appreciative.
"I know what you've been up to, Sammy," she continues, her eyes flaring red. "You tried to make more demon killing bullets for the Colt - but that didn't work. You're standing in a devil's-trap and there's half a dozen more around here - but fool me twice shame on me. You even had him blessed by priests from every major and a few minor religions - which took conjones I admit given that we both know what Dean's done over the years. There's the binding tattoos, the silver piercings, and the fact you've been diluting his Jack with holy water for the last two days."
"Hey! You watered my whiskey?"
"Not now, Dean."
"Dude, hate to break it to you but now's all we've got."
Her smile broadens. "He's right, Sammy. And I know what you're going to do now. We've all felt you exploring the possibilities of your power."
He's suddenly a lot soberer than he wants to be and he half turns, enough to see Sam's expression. "Sam?"
Sam looks sheepish. "I was going to tell you."
"When? After you've gone all mano a'..." Dean frowns and glances at the demon who shrugs. "...femo and got yourself killed?"
"It wasn't going to be like that." Sheepish has turned a bit sulky.
"And it's not going to be like that," the demon tells Dean reassuringly. "I'll have you in Hell before Sammy can make a move."
Dean's actually reassured. And that's more than just a bit disturbing.
"Fair's fair, boys. And a bargain's a bargain. Dean's soul is mine."
The Impala's shocks sigh in what sounds like relief as Sam straightens. "No, it isn't. It's mine."
Dean and the demon turn to look at him together.
"How cliché," she says.
Dean's embarrassed to admit he's thinking the same thing.
"He gave it to me when he was nineteen."
"Really?" She rolls her eyes, clearly just playing along. "And you have proof of this?"
Sam smiles. The dimples are mesmerizing. "Oh yeah." He slips off his jacket, and his hoodie, and his shirt...
"Some time tonight," the demon sighs. "I'm on the clock."
...and finally his t-shirt. The words, slightly raised on Sam's skin are hard to read in the moonlight. Dean squints a little and finally makes out:
yours
body and soul
D
He frowns. And suddenly remembers. Dad off on a hunt for almost two weeks. Sammy all over him. Literally. He'd never been able to say no to Sam. And God damn but the sex had been amazing. After, a little light-headed and carried away by the moment, he'd licked the words onto Sam's chest.
"This is what I was using my power for," Sam says. "It took me a while to find it."
Dean clears his throat. "Hate to mention this Sammy, but spit doesn't last eight years."
"Everything that was, is."
Everything? That could definitely come back to bite him on the ass. He feels his cheeks flush. "I didn't think you knew I'd done it."
"I was fifteen, Dean. I could spell."
Frowning, the demon holds up a hand. "So you're saying that Dean's soul was never his to bargain with?"
Sam shrugs. The words ripple. "Should have checked for liens."
"So you're saying," the demon repeats, "that you're using under-aged, homosexual incest as a way of staying out of Hell?"
"That's what I'm saying."
"Well." She looks impressed. "That's a first."
Dean blinks. Realizes. "So I'm off the hook?"
She snickers. "Mine," she says, and muttering under her breath, disappears.
After a long moment, Dean sighs. "I gave it to you when I was four."
"I know." Sam starts relayering. "But you didn't write it down."
He's still too drunk to drive so he sits behind the wheel and waits for the alcohol to work its way out of his system and the reaction to set in. He's not going to die. Well, not tonight anyway, tomorrow is, as they say, another day. "Hey," he says, as Sam's weight settles against his side. "Did you catch what she was saying as she left?"
He feels Sam shrug. "Something about hot pokers and Matt Groening's ass."
-end-