[FIC] Maintain the Status Quo
Title: Maintain the Status Quo
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: crack!fic, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: vague, sometime during Season 5
Warnings: no beta, comma abuse
Word Count: ~1250
Summary: A day in the life of Sam Winchester. Gift fic for krakelia
“You gonna organize those books like you offered, or are you just going to stare at them with the hope they'll rearrange themselves?” Bobby asks before handing a beer to the other hunter.
It was warm. Yuck. Sam pops the cap off the bottle and just stares at the cluttered bookshelf before him. “Is there some method to your madness, or do-”
The front door flies open, and Dean rushes in with lungs heaving, and sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “What's up?” he asks nonchalantly before slamming the door shut again. He fiddles with the locks nervously until he manages to flip all the knobs and slide every chain into place. Then he slumps back against the very solid frame. Tilting his head back results in a resounding thunk, and Dean repeats this several times as he thinks to himself. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. He lifts his head and looks at them. “Hey, uh, Bobby, did you give Crowley permission to let those hell-hounds roam the yard?”
“God damn it, I told him we didn't need any more protection!” the older hunter yells to no one and everyone in particular.
Dean shrugs. “Well, I, uh, I was out there practicing, and I think I may, uh, have just shot one in the face with a round of rock salt. Least I think that was it's face.”
Sam levels an accusing look at Dean and asks, “Where's the shotgun now?”
“Gee, thanks, Sam. 'Glad you're okay, Dean,' but no, you're worried about the damn gun?” Dean grouses and thumbs over his shoulder.
“In the yard?”
Dean rolls his eyes and just glares back at Sam.
“Oh, please tell me it's not in the dog, Dean,” groans the younger Winchester.
The face Dean pulls is comical enough. “Shotguns apparently makes awesome chew toys for hell-hounds,” he says, but no one laughs.
THUNK
The whole house frame shudders with the blow. The motion seems to transfer from the structure into the human as Dean shivers as well. His eyes go wide when he hears a low rumble coming from outside.
“I'm just going to head into-” Something slams into the door again interrupting Dean, and he steps away from it with horror in his eyes. “Yeah, that way,” he says, swallowing audibly before running toward the kitchen.
Sam and Bobby exchange worried glances, but remain where they are despite the threatening animal sounds they hear on the other side of the entryway. Suddenly the growling turns to yipping. A light flashes through the windows, bright enough to fill the shadows of the room in for a brief second.
The ensuing silence is deafening; at least until the door catapults from its hinges with a loud crack, and Castiel strides in looking deeply concerned. His eyes sweep the room then lock onto Sam's.
“Do you know where Dean is? He's terrified of hell-hounds, and Mr. Singer seems to have several roaming-”
Sam cuts the angel off with a swift gesture. “Yeah, we noticed. He went that way,” he says, jerking his head in the direction his brother went.
“Thank you, Sam. I will let him know that they've been dispatched,” Castiel replies as he quickly follows after Dean.
Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose as he calls after, “You'd better fix that door, Cas!”
Sam takes more than a few gulps of his beer, and makes a face with the reminder that his alcohol is room temperature.
“Dean Winchester! Castiel!” comes a roar from the porch.
Crowley stalks in wearing a thunderous expression upon his face. The demon immediately zeros in on them, and his heated fury melts into an air of honeyed charm. He smiles and tilts his head in greeting. “Hello, gents. I don't suppose you could direct me to your mates?” he pauses, then forces the rest of his words past gritted teeth, “I need to have a discussion about their,” he faces the direction the other two had gone as if he already knows where they are and finishes with a mighty bellow, “abuse of my dear pets!” He storms off after Dean and Castiel before either Sam or Bobby has the opportunity to respond.
Sam drains the rest of the liquid from his beer in one go. He eyes the empty bottle sullenly as Bobby folds his arms onto the table, then buries his head in the crook of an elbow.
“Should we go-”
“By all means, go hop into the middle of a fight between an angel and a demon,” Bobby mutters caustically.
The younger hunter responds with “I need another beer.”
Bobby turns to eye him. “They're in the pantry. Get me one too.”
Cringing, Sam stands. “You have something against cold beer?” he asks as he walks away.
“Sam, if you want cold beer, I suggest you get your lazy brother to replace what he takes out.” The retort comes out muffled, since Bobby has pressed his face back into the comfort of his arms.
Sam just shakes his head and wonders why it's so quiet - shouldn't a fight between opposing supernatural forces be more . . . disorderly?
He gets his answer as Crowley passes by him going in the other direction. He turns to shoot the demon a look, and Crowley chuckles. “Dean is in the pantry, if you intend on checking up on him,” he mentions before twirling on his heel.
Sam returns to his task of getting himself the hell drunk. As he opens the pantry door, he hollers, “Dean, the pantry is really not the best place to hide from dem-”
Castiel is kneeling astride his brother, pinning him down. Luckily for Sam, the flare of tan trench coat hides almost everything from sight. That doesn't stop Dean from grabbing a fistful of dark hair, or from pulling Castiel's head down. And even though he can't see exactly what the angel is doing with his mouth that causes Dean to gasp, writhe and grind up into Castiel, Sam still protests by squawking in the most undignified way before pressing his palms against his eyes and hoping the image isn't burned into his retinas.
“Dean!”
Sliding his hands so he can peek tentatively through his fingers, Sam reaches just past Castiel's head and snags two bottles. Then there's a sucking sound, and he cringes. “Augh! I can't cover both my eyes and my ears,” he complains.
Dean groans, though whether from the intrusion or because of Castiel is unknown. “Busy, Sammy. Come back later!”
And Sam is out the pantry, and back into the living room with Bobby as fast as his long legs will carry him.
“Just so you know, the pantry is actually demon-proofed,” says the older hunter. Bobby looks haggard - more so than usual.
And Sam? He thinks he might feel worse than Bobby looks. He sighs and passes one of the bottles off. “Dean and Cas are-”
“I know,” Bobby says.
Sam raises a brow.
“There are pictures. Crowley took pictures, and he decided I needed to see these pictures,” Bobby explains.
Twisting off the cap of his beer, Sam sits down beside the other man and chugs a good portion of it down. He looks back to the bookshelf. “Any memory spells in there?”
The sigh that comes out of Bobby is long and weary. “Nothing strong enough to purge that image from your mind.”
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: crack!fic, Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: vague, sometime during Season 5
Warnings: no beta, comma abuse
Word Count: ~1250
Summary: A day in the life of Sam Winchester. Gift fic for krakelia
“You gonna organize those books like you offered, or are you just going to stare at them with the hope they'll rearrange themselves?” Bobby asks before handing a beer to the other hunter.
It was warm. Yuck. Sam pops the cap off the bottle and just stares at the cluttered bookshelf before him. “Is there some method to your madness, or do-”
The front door flies open, and Dean rushes in with lungs heaving, and sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “What's up?” he asks nonchalantly before slamming the door shut again. He fiddles with the locks nervously until he manages to flip all the knobs and slide every chain into place. Then he slumps back against the very solid frame. Tilting his head back results in a resounding thunk, and Dean repeats this several times as he thinks to himself. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. He lifts his head and looks at them. “Hey, uh, Bobby, did you give Crowley permission to let those hell-hounds roam the yard?”
“God damn it, I told him we didn't need any more protection!” the older hunter yells to no one and everyone in particular.
Dean shrugs. “Well, I, uh, I was out there practicing, and I think I may, uh, have just shot one in the face with a round of rock salt. Least I think that was it's face.”
Sam levels an accusing look at Dean and asks, “Where's the shotgun now?”
“Gee, thanks, Sam. 'Glad you're okay, Dean,' but no, you're worried about the damn gun?” Dean grouses and thumbs over his shoulder.
“In the yard?”
Dean rolls his eyes and just glares back at Sam.
“Oh, please tell me it's not in the dog, Dean,” groans the younger Winchester.
The face Dean pulls is comical enough. “Shotguns apparently makes awesome chew toys for hell-hounds,” he says, but no one laughs.
THUNK
The whole house frame shudders with the blow. The motion seems to transfer from the structure into the human as Dean shivers as well. His eyes go wide when he hears a low rumble coming from outside.
“I'm just going to head into-” Something slams into the door again interrupting Dean, and he steps away from it with horror in his eyes. “Yeah, that way,” he says, swallowing audibly before running toward the kitchen.
Sam and Bobby exchange worried glances, but remain where they are despite the threatening animal sounds they hear on the other side of the entryway. Suddenly the growling turns to yipping. A light flashes through the windows, bright enough to fill the shadows of the room in for a brief second.
The ensuing silence is deafening; at least until the door catapults from its hinges with a loud crack, and Castiel strides in looking deeply concerned. His eyes sweep the room then lock onto Sam's.
“Do you know where Dean is? He's terrified of hell-hounds, and Mr. Singer seems to have several roaming-”
Sam cuts the angel off with a swift gesture. “Yeah, we noticed. He went that way,” he says, jerking his head in the direction his brother went.
“Thank you, Sam. I will let him know that they've been dispatched,” Castiel replies as he quickly follows after Dean.
Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose as he calls after, “You'd better fix that door, Cas!”
Sam takes more than a few gulps of his beer, and makes a face with the reminder that his alcohol is room temperature.
“Dean Winchester! Castiel!” comes a roar from the porch.
Crowley stalks in wearing a thunderous expression upon his face. The demon immediately zeros in on them, and his heated fury melts into an air of honeyed charm. He smiles and tilts his head in greeting. “Hello, gents. I don't suppose you could direct me to your mates?” he pauses, then forces the rest of his words past gritted teeth, “I need to have a discussion about their,” he faces the direction the other two had gone as if he already knows where they are and finishes with a mighty bellow, “abuse of my dear pets!” He storms off after Dean and Castiel before either Sam or Bobby has the opportunity to respond.
Sam drains the rest of the liquid from his beer in one go. He eyes the empty bottle sullenly as Bobby folds his arms onto the table, then buries his head in the crook of an elbow.
“Should we go-”
“By all means, go hop into the middle of a fight between an angel and a demon,” Bobby mutters caustically.
The younger hunter responds with “I need another beer.”
Bobby turns to eye him. “They're in the pantry. Get me one too.”
Cringing, Sam stands. “You have something against cold beer?” he asks as he walks away.
“Sam, if you want cold beer, I suggest you get your lazy brother to replace what he takes out.” The retort comes out muffled, since Bobby has pressed his face back into the comfort of his arms.
Sam just shakes his head and wonders why it's so quiet - shouldn't a fight between opposing supernatural forces be more . . . disorderly?
He gets his answer as Crowley passes by him going in the other direction. He turns to shoot the demon a look, and Crowley chuckles. “Dean is in the pantry, if you intend on checking up on him,” he mentions before twirling on his heel.
Sam returns to his task of getting himself the hell drunk. As he opens the pantry door, he hollers, “Dean, the pantry is really not the best place to hide from dem-”
Castiel is kneeling astride his brother, pinning him down. Luckily for Sam, the flare of tan trench coat hides almost everything from sight. That doesn't stop Dean from grabbing a fistful of dark hair, or from pulling Castiel's head down. And even though he can't see exactly what the angel is doing with his mouth that causes Dean to gasp, writhe and grind up into Castiel, Sam still protests by squawking in the most undignified way before pressing his palms against his eyes and hoping the image isn't burned into his retinas.
“Dean!”
Sliding his hands so he can peek tentatively through his fingers, Sam reaches just past Castiel's head and snags two bottles. Then there's a sucking sound, and he cringes. “Augh! I can't cover both my eyes and my ears,” he complains.
Dean groans, though whether from the intrusion or because of Castiel is unknown. “Busy, Sammy. Come back later!”
And Sam is out the pantry, and back into the living room with Bobby as fast as his long legs will carry him.
“Just so you know, the pantry is actually demon-proofed,” says the older hunter. Bobby looks haggard - more so than usual.
And Sam? He thinks he might feel worse than Bobby looks. He sighs and passes one of the bottles off. “Dean and Cas are-”
“I know,” Bobby says.
Sam raises a brow.
“There are pictures. Crowley took pictures, and he decided I needed to see these pictures,” Bobby explains.
Twisting off the cap of his beer, Sam sits down beside the other man and chugs a good portion of it down. He looks back to the bookshelf. “Any memory spells in there?”
The sigh that comes out of Bobby is long and weary. “Nothing strong enough to purge that image from your mind.”