SPN FIC - Idol Fever
A little bit of fluff, created for the comment fic challenge at spn_bigpretzel, in response to mamapranayama's request: "I would love to see a fic where the boys meet a real celebrity and silliness ensues."
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Nothing current
LENGTH: 984 words
IDOL FEVER
By Carol Davis
They came in for the basics - bottled water, coffee, a couple of stale Danish, Dean's beloved beef jerky (a substance Sam had sworn never again to put in his mouth; Tucumcari was still too strong a memory) - and to use the rest room. A simple pit stop. In and out. Five minutes, tops. Ten, if Dean insisted on browsing through the porn.
No complications.
But when Sam gathered up their purchases and turned to ask if his brother was ready to go, he was greeted by a Dean the color of week-old snow.
"Dude?" Sam hissed.
Dean wasn't looking at him. "It's him," he whispered.
"Who? Dick Roman?"
Any confirmation of that from Dean, and the groceries would go flying, so Sam could have both hands free to fight. His gun was tucked against the small of his back, easy to grab, for what little good it would do against the chief Leviathan - or any Leviathan, for that matter. Gut churning, Sam turned slowly and followed Dean's sight line. Yes: there was a guy halfway down the mini-mart's cooler aisle, but it wasn't Dick Roman. The guy did look vaguely familiar, but not in a way Sam could place.
"Who -?" Sam asked.
"Him." Then Dean did turn to look at Sam. Blushing. BLUSHING, for crying out loud.
"Who?"
"Dr. Sexy, idiot."
Sam took another look. All he could see was the guy's back and a bit of the left side of his face. The hair seemed right, but... "Dr. Sexy is in a mini-mart in Columbus, Ohio."
"Apparently, yeah."
Stranger things had happened - Sam and Dean had taken part in an episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D. (again, not a memory Sam was at all fond of), but that had been thanks to the Trickster, who'd been dead for going on two years. At least, they assumed he was dead.
"Again??" Sam moaned. "Aw, Dean, not this right now."
Then a thought occurred to him.
"You don't mean Dr. Sexy the character. You mean the actor who plays Dr. Sexy."
"Well, yeah, asshat."
But Dean was still blushing.
Sam spent a minute dividing his attention between the guy in the cooler aisle and his brother. His 33-year-old, to-Sam's-knowledge completely straight brother. Who was both pale as a ghost and beet red at the same time.
"My God, man," Sam said. "Look at yourself."
Dean's expression shifted. Turned sulky and petulant. "He's the epitome of everything you could hope to achieve in this life, Sam. One of the top surgeons in the world. A magnet to beautiful women. Funny. Plays an awesome game of racquetball."
"Racquetball."
"Yeah."
"You're telling me you have this secret longing to play racquetball."
"Well...no. But..."
"You do realize that the character does all that stuff? That this guy isn't a surgeon, may never have been on a racquetball court in his life - outside of a soundstage - and may well be lousy with women?" Before Dean could answer, Sam told him, "Let's just get out of here. We've still got a couple hundred miles to go, and it'd be nice if we got there before dark."
Of course, Dean didn't move. Not toward the door, at least. He was watching Dr. Sexy. "Makes sense," he muttered. "He's got family in this area. Couple cousins, I think. And it's his birthday in a couple days. He's here for that. You figure?"
"I don't know. I'm trying to figure out how the hell you know all that."
"I read."
Sam heaved a sigh. "Great. Well...just go say hello, then. Get an autograph or whatever."
Dean flinched. Other than that, he didn't move - not until the object of his devotion came striding up the aisle, brushed back Sam and Dean, and headed for the checkout stand to pay for the drink he'd pulled out of the cooler.
"You're an eight-year-old girl," Sam said, and set off after Dean's idol, with Dean hissing, "No! Sam! No!" into his wake.
The feverish - and almost fatal - attention of Becky Rosen was very much on Sam's mind as he approached the actor, who sported little of the Dr. Sexy persona. The guy was smiling when he reached the checkout stand, and Sam watched him chat a little with the clerk as he paid for his drink.
When the man turned to go, Sam said, "Hey, um, excuse me."
He kept his explanation brief, and hoped Dean wouldn't slump to the floor in the middle of it. To his great relief, Dean managed to conjure up a reasonably normal smile and nod (and a small wave) when the actor acknowledged his presence in the chips-and-dip aisle.
A minute later the guy was gone, and Sam held an autographed copy of People magazine in his hands.
Through the store's front display window, they watched the actor climb into a big white SUV and drive away.
"My God, man, that was AWESOME," Dean murmured.
"You didn't say a word to him."
Dean pouted at that. "I waved."
Shaking his head, Sam handed him the autographed magazine, laid a hand against Dean's back and began to steer him toward the door. "You're something else, you know that?" he chuckled.
Dean grinned at him. "And a chick magnet."
"Hmm," Sam said. "Tell you what. When this Leviathan thing is over, we'll get you some racquetball lessons."
"Or...I could become an actor. Pays better."
"But look at the crap they have to put up with."
Dean was puzzling that out as Sam pushed open the mini-mart's double doors. "You saying I'm crap? Dude. I waved. You're the one who -"
Sam gestured toward the magazine. "Give it back, then."
"What? No."
"Then..."
"Thank you," Dean muttered.
Sam pushed him on outside, into a day so brilliant and flawless it might well have been one of the Trickster's inventions. "You're welcome, man," he laughed. "You're welcome."
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Nothing current
LENGTH: 984 words
IDOL FEVER
By Carol Davis
They came in for the basics - bottled water, coffee, a couple of stale Danish, Dean's beloved beef jerky (a substance Sam had sworn never again to put in his mouth; Tucumcari was still too strong a memory) - and to use the rest room. A simple pit stop. In and out. Five minutes, tops. Ten, if Dean insisted on browsing through the porn.
No complications.
But when Sam gathered up their purchases and turned to ask if his brother was ready to go, he was greeted by a Dean the color of week-old snow.
"Dude?" Sam hissed.
Dean wasn't looking at him. "It's him," he whispered.
"Who? Dick Roman?"
Any confirmation of that from Dean, and the groceries would go flying, so Sam could have both hands free to fight. His gun was tucked against the small of his back, easy to grab, for what little good it would do against the chief Leviathan - or any Leviathan, for that matter. Gut churning, Sam turned slowly and followed Dean's sight line. Yes: there was a guy halfway down the mini-mart's cooler aisle, but it wasn't Dick Roman. The guy did look vaguely familiar, but not in a way Sam could place.
"Who -?" Sam asked.
"Him." Then Dean did turn to look at Sam. Blushing. BLUSHING, for crying out loud.
"Who?"
"Dr. Sexy, idiot."
Sam took another look. All he could see was the guy's back and a bit of the left side of his face. The hair seemed right, but... "Dr. Sexy is in a mini-mart in Columbus, Ohio."
"Apparently, yeah."
Stranger things had happened - Sam and Dean had taken part in an episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D. (again, not a memory Sam was at all fond of), but that had been thanks to the Trickster, who'd been dead for going on two years. At least, they assumed he was dead.
"Again??" Sam moaned. "Aw, Dean, not this right now."
Then a thought occurred to him.
"You don't mean Dr. Sexy the character. You mean the actor who plays Dr. Sexy."
"Well, yeah, asshat."
But Dean was still blushing.
Sam spent a minute dividing his attention between the guy in the cooler aisle and his brother. His 33-year-old, to-Sam's-knowledge completely straight brother. Who was both pale as a ghost and beet red at the same time.
"My God, man," Sam said. "Look at yourself."
Dean's expression shifted. Turned sulky and petulant. "He's the epitome of everything you could hope to achieve in this life, Sam. One of the top surgeons in the world. A magnet to beautiful women. Funny. Plays an awesome game of racquetball."
"Racquetball."
"Yeah."
"You're telling me you have this secret longing to play racquetball."
"Well...no. But..."
"You do realize that the character does all that stuff? That this guy isn't a surgeon, may never have been on a racquetball court in his life - outside of a soundstage - and may well be lousy with women?" Before Dean could answer, Sam told him, "Let's just get out of here. We've still got a couple hundred miles to go, and it'd be nice if we got there before dark."
Of course, Dean didn't move. Not toward the door, at least. He was watching Dr. Sexy. "Makes sense," he muttered. "He's got family in this area. Couple cousins, I think. And it's his birthday in a couple days. He's here for that. You figure?"
"I don't know. I'm trying to figure out how the hell you know all that."
"I read."
Sam heaved a sigh. "Great. Well...just go say hello, then. Get an autograph or whatever."
Dean flinched. Other than that, he didn't move - not until the object of his devotion came striding up the aisle, brushed back Sam and Dean, and headed for the checkout stand to pay for the drink he'd pulled out of the cooler.
"You're an eight-year-old girl," Sam said, and set off after Dean's idol, with Dean hissing, "No! Sam! No!" into his wake.
The feverish - and almost fatal - attention of Becky Rosen was very much on Sam's mind as he approached the actor, who sported little of the Dr. Sexy persona. The guy was smiling when he reached the checkout stand, and Sam watched him chat a little with the clerk as he paid for his drink.
When the man turned to go, Sam said, "Hey, um, excuse me."
He kept his explanation brief, and hoped Dean wouldn't slump to the floor in the middle of it. To his great relief, Dean managed to conjure up a reasonably normal smile and nod (and a small wave) when the actor acknowledged his presence in the chips-and-dip aisle.
A minute later the guy was gone, and Sam held an autographed copy of People magazine in his hands.
Through the store's front display window, they watched the actor climb into a big white SUV and drive away.
"My God, man, that was AWESOME," Dean murmured.
"You didn't say a word to him."
Dean pouted at that. "I waved."
Shaking his head, Sam handed him the autographed magazine, laid a hand against Dean's back and began to steer him toward the door. "You're something else, you know that?" he chuckled.
Dean grinned at him. "And a chick magnet."
"Hmm," Sam said. "Tell you what. When this Leviathan thing is over, we'll get you some racquetball lessons."
"Or...I could become an actor. Pays better."
"But look at the crap they have to put up with."
Dean was puzzling that out as Sam pushed open the mini-mart's double doors. "You saying I'm crap? Dude. I waved. You're the one who -"
Sam gestured toward the magazine. "Give it back, then."
"What? No."
"Then..."
"Thank you," Dean muttered.
Sam pushed him on outside, into a day so brilliant and flawless it might well have been one of the Trickster's inventions. "You're welcome, man," he laughed. "You're welcome."
* * * * *