The Opposite Problem (Supernatural fanfiction)
I took a break from writing Dean/Cas to work up a couple of OCs. I like OCs. I have a bit of a collection, but I usually can't manage to work them into another story after I've used them once.
This is barely an SPN fic. No canon characters, and only a few mentions of hunting. Mostly I wanted to explore how hunting would be more difficult for guys who don't look like Sam and Dean.
The title refers to Sam and Dean's problem of being mistaken for lovers when they're actually brothers.
(xenoamorist made me this lovely header!)
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"I'll get the bags," said Jeremy as he pulled their van into the motel parking lot, "You want to get us a room?"
"Sure," said Matt as they stepped in tandem out into the sun.
Jeremy missed the air conditioning of the van almost immediately. The waves of heat coming off the asphalt were so intense that they were almost nauseating. "Remind me why we came to Texas in the middle of the summer?" he moaned.
Matt twitched an eyebrow as he passed Jeremy on his way to the lobby doors. "Remind me why we came to Texas at all?" he said darkly, "Hurry up with the bags; it'll be cooler inside."
The remaining cool air from inside the van quickly dispersed when Jeremy opened the back doors. As always, he made sure that the sheets over the windows were secured and that all the weapons kits were locked. The van was old and beat-up enough that no one in their right mind would try to steal it, but Matt and Jeremy tried to discourage snooping as much as possible. The contents of half of those locked boxes would have convinced everyone in town that they were planning on arming a militia. The contents of the other half would have convinced everyone in town that they were in one of the freakier satanic cults.
Once everything was properly locked down, Jeremy grabbed their pair of overnight duffels - nothing more interesting in those than toothbrushes, a change of clothes, some holy water, and their side arms - and began to follow Matt inside.
On his way across the parking lot, he felt the tingle at the back of his neck that he had learned to heed whenever the job took them to small-town Deep South. He glanced toward the sidewalk and, sure enough, a couple of teenagers had slowed to stare at him. Jeremy stared right back, smiling disarmingly. He could tell that these weren't the kind of teens who would come back later and key the van; they were just curious. Soon they looked down and shuffled away.
Jeremy continued inside, sighing contentedly at the welcome blast of cool air. The man behind the desk was saying to Matt, "Just a moment, Mister Ihara. I'll run this and be right back," as he walked off with Matt's credit card. He pronounced Matt's last name as "eye-hair-a." Matt bristled slightly in the way that only Jeremy would ever have noticed.
Jeremy came up behind Matt and whispered in his ear, "Give him a break. At least he didn't ask where you're from."
Matt jumped a little, then relaxed and pivoted to let Jeremy join him in leaning against the front desk. "What took you?" he said.
"Just making friendly with the locals," said Jeremy. He immediately regretted it when Matt narrowed his eyes.
"Trouble?" Matt asked.
Jeremy sighed. "Don't worry. Just some kids who've never seen an Asian guy before."
Matt pressed his lips together. "If our van gets keyed again, I'm going to fucking shoot somebody."
"Shhh," Jeremy warned as the man returned with Matt's credit card.
"Everything checks out," he said, handing the card back to Matt, "How many nights will you be staying with us?"
Matt glanced at Jeremy, questioning. Jeremy considered for a moment. If the trouble was a ghost, like they expected, it wouldn't take long to solve. But if it was something else, they might have to spend a few days researching before getting down to business. He answered, "At least two. If we need to stay longer, we'll pay night-by-night. Is that okay?"
The man shrugged with a smile. "As long as I get paid, it's fine by me, Mister Ihara."
Matt rolled his eyes. Jeremy forced a smile. "My name's Kim," he corrected. Then, when the man began to look terribly confused, he added, "Jeremy Kim."
"Oh," said the man with a nervous laugh, "I just assumed that you two were brothers."
Shit.
Matt perked up immediately, giving Jeremy a conspiratorial smile. "The usual wager?" he said.
"Not now, Matt…" Jeremy tried to say.
But Matt was already asking the man, "What makes you think we're related?"
The man's eyes flicked back and forth between Matt and Jeremy. "I dunno," he said, "You just look alike, I guess."
Matt turned to look at Jeremy, his humorless smile screaming, "I told you so."
Matt was tall, and his lean muscles were visible under his tank top. His face was angular, his nose pointed, and his lips thin. Jeremy was nearly a head shorter and half again as heavy, his pudgy belly poking out from under his t-shirt. He had a full mouth and a nose that looked like it had been squashed against his face. Except for their black hair and creaseless eyelids, they could not have looked less alike.
Jeremy pulled a wrinkled five dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it against Matt's chest. "You win, asshole," he muttered.
The poor man behind the desk looked completely baffled, but he bravely continued with his duties. "Uh," he said, "So, then. Two queens?"
Matt's glare dared the man to question him as he said pointedly, "One king."
To his credit, the man said nothing but, "Yours is room seven, on the ground floor. Have a nice stay," as he handed Matt the room key.
Jeremy waited until they had crossed the parking lot again, found their room, and closed the door. It was muggy. The air conditioning was broken. "He wasn't trying to insult us, you know," said Jeremy, slinging the bags at the foot of the bed, "He just didn't know any better."
"Well, he oughta," said Matt defensively, "And you shouldn't apologize for people like that."
It was one of those old arguments that every couple accumulates. It came up every once in a while but never seemed to get resolved. This time, instead of letting it escalate, Jeremy turned back toward the door. "I'm going to the coroner's office," he said, "The sooner we finish this hunt, the sooner we can get out of here."
"I ain't complaining," Matt said, stripping off his shirt to combat the heat as he flopped onto the bed.
Jeremy retrieved his suit and fake FBI badge from the van and returned to the room to change. A little primping, and he managed to make himself look official enough. Matt stayed splayed on the bed. He would have to stay in the motel room and work the phone. Unlike some hunters who could bluff their way through any door with a smile and a wink, Jeremy had to plan ahead for the suspicion that he was sure to meet with. When the coroner asked to talk to his supervisor, as they always did, Jeremy would rely on Matt's California-bred accent to give him an air of legitimacy. Over the phone, no one could tell that Matt wasn't white.
As Jeremy went for the door again, this time to leave, Matt jumped up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry," Matt said awkwardly.
Jeremy turned and lifted his eyebrows. "What for?"
"You always want to see the best in people," Matt sighed, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets, "And I always end up pointing out the worst." He ducked his head so that he was looking at Jeremy through his eyelashes, even despite the height difference.
Jeremy leaned in and gave Matt a kiss, letting it linger. Their line of work was a dangerous one, so they always tried not to leave each other on a bad note. If something happened while they were apart, God forbid, Jeremy wanted to remember the apology instead of the argument.
"It's okay," said Jeremy as he walked out the door, "You're usually right."
This is barely an SPN fic. No canon characters, and only a few mentions of hunting. Mostly I wanted to explore how hunting would be more difficult for guys who don't look like Sam and Dean.
The title refers to Sam and Dean's problem of being mistaken for lovers when they're actually brothers.
(xenoamorist made me this lovely header!)
-----
"I'll get the bags," said Jeremy as he pulled their van into the motel parking lot, "You want to get us a room?"
"Sure," said Matt as they stepped in tandem out into the sun.
Jeremy missed the air conditioning of the van almost immediately. The waves of heat coming off the asphalt were so intense that they were almost nauseating. "Remind me why we came to Texas in the middle of the summer?" he moaned.
Matt twitched an eyebrow as he passed Jeremy on his way to the lobby doors. "Remind me why we came to Texas at all?" he said darkly, "Hurry up with the bags; it'll be cooler inside."
The remaining cool air from inside the van quickly dispersed when Jeremy opened the back doors. As always, he made sure that the sheets over the windows were secured and that all the weapons kits were locked. The van was old and beat-up enough that no one in their right mind would try to steal it, but Matt and Jeremy tried to discourage snooping as much as possible. The contents of half of those locked boxes would have convinced everyone in town that they were planning on arming a militia. The contents of the other half would have convinced everyone in town that they were in one of the freakier satanic cults.
Once everything was properly locked down, Jeremy grabbed their pair of overnight duffels - nothing more interesting in those than toothbrushes, a change of clothes, some holy water, and their side arms - and began to follow Matt inside.
On his way across the parking lot, he felt the tingle at the back of his neck that he had learned to heed whenever the job took them to small-town Deep South. He glanced toward the sidewalk and, sure enough, a couple of teenagers had slowed to stare at him. Jeremy stared right back, smiling disarmingly. He could tell that these weren't the kind of teens who would come back later and key the van; they were just curious. Soon they looked down and shuffled away.
Jeremy continued inside, sighing contentedly at the welcome blast of cool air. The man behind the desk was saying to Matt, "Just a moment, Mister Ihara. I'll run this and be right back," as he walked off with Matt's credit card. He pronounced Matt's last name as "eye-hair-a." Matt bristled slightly in the way that only Jeremy would ever have noticed.
Jeremy came up behind Matt and whispered in his ear, "Give him a break. At least he didn't ask where you're from."
Matt jumped a little, then relaxed and pivoted to let Jeremy join him in leaning against the front desk. "What took you?" he said.
"Just making friendly with the locals," said Jeremy. He immediately regretted it when Matt narrowed his eyes.
"Trouble?" Matt asked.
Jeremy sighed. "Don't worry. Just some kids who've never seen an Asian guy before."
Matt pressed his lips together. "If our van gets keyed again, I'm going to fucking shoot somebody."
"Shhh," Jeremy warned as the man returned with Matt's credit card.
"Everything checks out," he said, handing the card back to Matt, "How many nights will you be staying with us?"
Matt glanced at Jeremy, questioning. Jeremy considered for a moment. If the trouble was a ghost, like they expected, it wouldn't take long to solve. But if it was something else, they might have to spend a few days researching before getting down to business. He answered, "At least two. If we need to stay longer, we'll pay night-by-night. Is that okay?"
The man shrugged with a smile. "As long as I get paid, it's fine by me, Mister Ihara."
Matt rolled his eyes. Jeremy forced a smile. "My name's Kim," he corrected. Then, when the man began to look terribly confused, he added, "Jeremy Kim."
"Oh," said the man with a nervous laugh, "I just assumed that you two were brothers."
Shit.
Matt perked up immediately, giving Jeremy a conspiratorial smile. "The usual wager?" he said.
"Not now, Matt…" Jeremy tried to say.
But Matt was already asking the man, "What makes you think we're related?"
The man's eyes flicked back and forth between Matt and Jeremy. "I dunno," he said, "You just look alike, I guess."
Matt turned to look at Jeremy, his humorless smile screaming, "I told you so."
Matt was tall, and his lean muscles were visible under his tank top. His face was angular, his nose pointed, and his lips thin. Jeremy was nearly a head shorter and half again as heavy, his pudgy belly poking out from under his t-shirt. He had a full mouth and a nose that looked like it had been squashed against his face. Except for their black hair and creaseless eyelids, they could not have looked less alike.
Jeremy pulled a wrinkled five dollar bill out of his pocket and slapped it against Matt's chest. "You win, asshole," he muttered.
The poor man behind the desk looked completely baffled, but he bravely continued with his duties. "Uh," he said, "So, then. Two queens?"
Matt's glare dared the man to question him as he said pointedly, "One king."
To his credit, the man said nothing but, "Yours is room seven, on the ground floor. Have a nice stay," as he handed Matt the room key.
Jeremy waited until they had crossed the parking lot again, found their room, and closed the door. It was muggy. The air conditioning was broken. "He wasn't trying to insult us, you know," said Jeremy, slinging the bags at the foot of the bed, "He just didn't know any better."
"Well, he oughta," said Matt defensively, "And you shouldn't apologize for people like that."
It was one of those old arguments that every couple accumulates. It came up every once in a while but never seemed to get resolved. This time, instead of letting it escalate, Jeremy turned back toward the door. "I'm going to the coroner's office," he said, "The sooner we finish this hunt, the sooner we can get out of here."
"I ain't complaining," Matt said, stripping off his shirt to combat the heat as he flopped onto the bed.
Jeremy retrieved his suit and fake FBI badge from the van and returned to the room to change. A little primping, and he managed to make himself look official enough. Matt stayed splayed on the bed. He would have to stay in the motel room and work the phone. Unlike some hunters who could bluff their way through any door with a smile and a wink, Jeremy had to plan ahead for the suspicion that he was sure to meet with. When the coroner asked to talk to his supervisor, as they always did, Jeremy would rely on Matt's California-bred accent to give him an air of legitimacy. Over the phone, no one could tell that Matt wasn't white.
As Jeremy went for the door again, this time to leave, Matt jumped up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry," Matt said awkwardly.
Jeremy turned and lifted his eyebrows. "What for?"
"You always want to see the best in people," Matt sighed, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets, "And I always end up pointing out the worst." He ducked his head so that he was looking at Jeremy through his eyelashes, even despite the height difference.
Jeremy leaned in and gave Matt a kiss, letting it linger. Their line of work was a dangerous one, so they always tried not to leave each other on a bad note. If something happened while they were apart, God forbid, Jeremy wanted to remember the apology instead of the argument.
"It's okay," said Jeremy as he walked out the door, "You're usually right."