SPN fic: Pissing against the wind
Sep. 30th, 2007 06:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshOkay, here it is. The 'I will write fic if it kills me' fic.
Title: Pissing against the wind
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: gen
Rating: S for swearing
Word count: 1228
Disclaimer: Kripke and the CW own Supernatural, d'uh. I'm just having some fun.
Spoilers: general, takes place sometime during the year after the season two finale but only very vague references to AHBL2.
Summary: The boys, after a successful hunt.
Pissing Against the Wind
“Damn idiots. More money than brains,” Dean muttered as he limped to the car. Sam agreed heartily as he dragged after his brother, feeling every inch of the beating he’d taken that evening.
The idiots in question were a wealthy couple who lived in a small town half an hour north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The reason this particular couple had earned Dean’s contempt loomed behind them as they walked across a perfectly manicured lawn, an impressive tower of stone that had been imported from Scotland and reconstructed, piece by piece, as the cornerstone of the couple’s modern day reinterpretation of a medieval castle.
Unfortunately, the schmucks had also, unwittingly, imported a Redcap that had been living in the castle for the past five hundred years or so, which was where Dean and Sam had come in. They’d successfully dispatched the goblin-like creature, but they’d both been well and truly beat down in the process. All Sam wanted now was a hot shower and a bed.
Dean slid into the car stiffly, giving every appearance of a man who was determined to sit without bending any part of his body.
“Want me to drive?” Sam asked, knowing the answer would be no even before Dean glared at him. Well, he’d offered. Dean was absurdly stubborn when he was hurt, more determined to do everything himself than he ever was when he was whole and well.
Honestly, Sam was just as glad to not be driving. Pretty much every cold, shivering part of him ached, the inevitable result of getting tossed down a flight of stairs, landing in a puddle of icy, stagnant water and then after climbing, dripping, back up the stairs, being thrown against a stone wall. Dean had avoided the whole flying through the air thing, but he’d taken an iron-booted kick to the thigh and that had to be hurting like a bitch.
The ten-minute drive to the motel passed in a blur for Sam, head resting against the cool glass of the window, hoping it would take the sting out of a small but bloody cut on his forehead, but only succeeding in smearing the window with blood. Dean would be pissed later and insist he clean it, but for now Sam couldn’t be bothered to care. When the car stopped, he pulled his focus back to the here and now, gathering himself up and climbing out of the car with more effort than such a simple action should have required. Grabbing his duffle from the trunk, he followed Dean to their room, but was prevented from entering by Dean’s body, frozen in the doorway.
Wondering what the problem was, Sam peered over his brother’s shoulder, only to freeze in his own turn. “What the fuck?” he asked, really hoping the sight that met his eyes was the result of a more severe head injury than he’d thought he had.
They had booked the room earlier that day, pulling in to the parking lot in response to the flashing ‘vacancy’ sign. At the time, they’d been told that it was too early to actually get into the room, so this was their first real look at the place. Once over his initial shock, Sam smirked (it had been Dean who’d chosen the place, after all) and pushed his brother into the room. “Come on, man,” he murmured, careful to keep any laughter out of his voice as he spoke, “it’s too late to do anything about it tonight.”
“No wonder that bitch gave me a weird look when I asked for two beds,” Dean cursed as he walked into the room. It had two beds, certainly, and Sam tried not to picture the sort of people who requested a room like this and then wanted two beds. Other than Dean, of course. Both queen-sized beds were draped with fluffy red comforters and heart-shaped red and white pillows. There was a gas fireplace set along one wall and a minibar beside the TV. The piece de resistance, however, had to be the red tiled, heart-shaped whirlpool tub in the corner.
There were so many things Sam wanted to say in response to this room, but he manfully restrained them all, for now. Instead, he dropped his bag on the closest bed, peeled off his still-wet jacket, kicked off his boots and headed for the bathroom, which he was relieved to see had a normal tub/shower combo. Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed in old sweats and a threadbare tee-shirt, he felt a good seventy percent better. The ibuprofen that he swallowed with a glass of water would hopefully take care of at least another ten percent. Sleep would take care of the rest. Flopping down on his bed with a tired sigh, he looked at the clock. Not quite eleven and all he wanted to do was sleep, possibly for a week.
“Get your pansy ass dressed,” Dean ordered as he headed for his own turn at the shower. “We’re going out.”
When had ‘going out,’ which translated into ‘getting Dean laid,’ become a team sport? Sam pondered this question as he struggled upright and pulled on a reasonably clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeve tee-shirt that only smelled a little. Hm, might be time to do some laundry, he mused absently, as he pulled his boots back on and tucked his wallet in his back pocket. Digging through his duffle, he found his favorite striped button-up, an old shirt that Jess had given him on what turned out to be their last Christmas, and shrugged it on. His jacket wouldn’t be dry till tomorrow at the earliest, but he had a thick hoodie at the bottom of the bag that would do well enough. Throwing it onto the bed, he pulled out his laptop and fired it up, taking advantage of the motel’s wireless network.
He’d found some promising leads and was completely absorbed in his research when Dean came back out to the main room, unable to hide his limp but otherwise looking as fresh as if he’d had a solid eight hours sleep.
“Find anything interesting?” Dean asked as he dressed.
“Looks like there’s a poltergeist haunting an old farmhouse about two and a half hours from here, near Zanesville,” Sam offered, clicking out of his current screen.
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Ohio?”
“Yup.”
“Any deaths?”
“Two.” Sam pulled up the relevant files but Dean waved him off.
“Fill me in tomorrow.”
Changing moods swiftly, Dean pulled up a leer. “Let’s go, Sammy. There’s cold, lonely girls out there, just waiting for us to warm them up. We don’t want to keep them waiting too long.”
Carefully locking away the files he didn’t want Dean to see, Sam closed the lid of the computer and slid it into his bag. “But Dean,” he protested, scrunching his face up in innocent protest, “I thought this room meant you were finally ready to acknowledge our secret but deep and abiding love.” Dodging the knuckle punch Dean sent his way, Sam finally loosed the laughter that had been bubbling in his throat for the past hour, grabbed his hoodie, and followed his brother out the door, the laptop left behind. Tonight wasn’t about work, it was about decompression and, although neither brother would ever admit it, spending time together while they still could, just in case.
end
a/n: No motels were harmed in the making of this fic. Also, the title of the fic is paraphrased from an Incubus song, Out from Under.
Title: Pissing against the wind
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: gen
Rating: S for swearing
Word count: 1228
Disclaimer: Kripke and the CW own Supernatural, d'uh. I'm just having some fun.
Spoilers: general, takes place sometime during the year after the season two finale but only very vague references to AHBL2.
Summary: The boys, after a successful hunt.
Pissing Against the Wind
“Damn idiots. More money than brains,” Dean muttered as he limped to the car. Sam agreed heartily as he dragged after his brother, feeling every inch of the beating he’d taken that evening.
The idiots in question were a wealthy couple who lived in a small town half an hour north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The reason this particular couple had earned Dean’s contempt loomed behind them as they walked across a perfectly manicured lawn, an impressive tower of stone that had been imported from Scotland and reconstructed, piece by piece, as the cornerstone of the couple’s modern day reinterpretation of a medieval castle.
Unfortunately, the schmucks had also, unwittingly, imported a Redcap that had been living in the castle for the past five hundred years or so, which was where Dean and Sam had come in. They’d successfully dispatched the goblin-like creature, but they’d both been well and truly beat down in the process. All Sam wanted now was a hot shower and a bed.
Dean slid into the car stiffly, giving every appearance of a man who was determined to sit without bending any part of his body.
“Want me to drive?” Sam asked, knowing the answer would be no even before Dean glared at him. Well, he’d offered. Dean was absurdly stubborn when he was hurt, more determined to do everything himself than he ever was when he was whole and well.
Honestly, Sam was just as glad to not be driving. Pretty much every cold, shivering part of him ached, the inevitable result of getting tossed down a flight of stairs, landing in a puddle of icy, stagnant water and then after climbing, dripping, back up the stairs, being thrown against a stone wall. Dean had avoided the whole flying through the air thing, but he’d taken an iron-booted kick to the thigh and that had to be hurting like a bitch.
The ten-minute drive to the motel passed in a blur for Sam, head resting against the cool glass of the window, hoping it would take the sting out of a small but bloody cut on his forehead, but only succeeding in smearing the window with blood. Dean would be pissed later and insist he clean it, but for now Sam couldn’t be bothered to care. When the car stopped, he pulled his focus back to the here and now, gathering himself up and climbing out of the car with more effort than such a simple action should have required. Grabbing his duffle from the trunk, he followed Dean to their room, but was prevented from entering by Dean’s body, frozen in the doorway.
Wondering what the problem was, Sam peered over his brother’s shoulder, only to freeze in his own turn. “What the fuck?” he asked, really hoping the sight that met his eyes was the result of a more severe head injury than he’d thought he had.
They had booked the room earlier that day, pulling in to the parking lot in response to the flashing ‘vacancy’ sign. At the time, they’d been told that it was too early to actually get into the room, so this was their first real look at the place. Once over his initial shock, Sam smirked (it had been Dean who’d chosen the place, after all) and pushed his brother into the room. “Come on, man,” he murmured, careful to keep any laughter out of his voice as he spoke, “it’s too late to do anything about it tonight.”
“No wonder that bitch gave me a weird look when I asked for two beds,” Dean cursed as he walked into the room. It had two beds, certainly, and Sam tried not to picture the sort of people who requested a room like this and then wanted two beds. Other than Dean, of course. Both queen-sized beds were draped with fluffy red comforters and heart-shaped red and white pillows. There was a gas fireplace set along one wall and a minibar beside the TV. The piece de resistance, however, had to be the red tiled, heart-shaped whirlpool tub in the corner.
There were so many things Sam wanted to say in response to this room, but he manfully restrained them all, for now. Instead, he dropped his bag on the closest bed, peeled off his still-wet jacket, kicked off his boots and headed for the bathroom, which he was relieved to see had a normal tub/shower combo. Twenty minutes later, showered, dressed in old sweats and a threadbare tee-shirt, he felt a good seventy percent better. The ibuprofen that he swallowed with a glass of water would hopefully take care of at least another ten percent. Sleep would take care of the rest. Flopping down on his bed with a tired sigh, he looked at the clock. Not quite eleven and all he wanted to do was sleep, possibly for a week.
“Get your pansy ass dressed,” Dean ordered as he headed for his own turn at the shower. “We’re going out.”
When had ‘going out,’ which translated into ‘getting Dean laid,’ become a team sport? Sam pondered this question as he struggled upright and pulled on a reasonably clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeve tee-shirt that only smelled a little. Hm, might be time to do some laundry, he mused absently, as he pulled his boots back on and tucked his wallet in his back pocket. Digging through his duffle, he found his favorite striped button-up, an old shirt that Jess had given him on what turned out to be their last Christmas, and shrugged it on. His jacket wouldn’t be dry till tomorrow at the earliest, but he had a thick hoodie at the bottom of the bag that would do well enough. Throwing it onto the bed, he pulled out his laptop and fired it up, taking advantage of the motel’s wireless network.
He’d found some promising leads and was completely absorbed in his research when Dean came back out to the main room, unable to hide his limp but otherwise looking as fresh as if he’d had a solid eight hours sleep.
“Find anything interesting?” Dean asked as he dressed.
“Looks like there’s a poltergeist haunting an old farmhouse about two and a half hours from here, near Zanesville,” Sam offered, clicking out of his current screen.
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Ohio?”
“Yup.”
“Any deaths?”
“Two.” Sam pulled up the relevant files but Dean waved him off.
“Fill me in tomorrow.”
Changing moods swiftly, Dean pulled up a leer. “Let’s go, Sammy. There’s cold, lonely girls out there, just waiting for us to warm them up. We don’t want to keep them waiting too long.”
Carefully locking away the files he didn’t want Dean to see, Sam closed the lid of the computer and slid it into his bag. “But Dean,” he protested, scrunching his face up in innocent protest, “I thought this room meant you were finally ready to acknowledge our secret but deep and abiding love.” Dodging the knuckle punch Dean sent his way, Sam finally loosed the laughter that had been bubbling in his throat for the past hour, grabbed his hoodie, and followed his brother out the door, the laptop left behind. Tonight wasn’t about work, it was about decompression and, although neither brother would ever admit it, spending time together while they still could, just in case.
end
a/n: No motels were harmed in the making of this fic. Also, the title of the fic is paraphrased from an Incubus song, Out from Under.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 05:11 am (UTC)Favorite lines:
When had ‘going out,’ which translated into ‘getting Dean laid,’ become a team sport?
LOL!
“But Dean,” he protested, scrunching his face up in innocent protest, “I thought this room meant you were finally ready to acknowledge our secret but deep and abiding love.”
ROTFLOL!
Tonight wasn’t about work, it was about decompression and, although neither brother would ever admit it, spending time together while they still could, just in case.
Sweet and bittersweet. *hugs them*
no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 12:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 09:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-01 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-23 11:13 am (UTC)bwa ha ha! :) but, *shudders*, wincest... *sporks eye*
This was sweet. I like the Redcap in the scottish castle in Pittsburgh... isn't that house on Devon drive? And that Dean tries to sit without bending anything, lol.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-23 11:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 10:43 pm (UTC)