won't get fooled again (SPN fic, Wincest, Crack, PG-13)
won't get fooled again
Fandom: SPN
Author: Regala Electra
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Other
Warnings: Language, Disturbing Imagery
Spoilers: S2, everything up to “Born Under a Bad Sign”
Summary: Dean Winchester starring in his very own Won’t Get Fooled Again, Farscape-style.
Word Count: over 1,100
Author's Notes: OH MY GOD. This is CRACK. Farscape-inspired Crack with a dash of crossover. Most dialogue is taken from Farscape's Season Two episode Won't Get Fooled Again or manipulated to better emotionally scar freak out Dean. This is what happens when I continue my "Dean Winchester is SO John Crichton" rambles. Be glad that only one Winchester shows up in the naughty nurse uniform.
*
His mother's wearing white but it's mostly sheer and he will not let his mind go there. His eyes may be locked into a fixed target, but dude, no, he is not going to...
She sits on the arm of the couch, crosses her legs, only clad in thigh-high white stockings, drawls with a smile in her voice, "You're such a good boy, Dean."
He swallows back disgust and numb shock, shakily wipes away the sweat and god, why the hell is it so damn hot up in here?
*
Falls in the middle of a backwoods nowhere road and sees his car, his freakin' car, gunning for him, and the driver's got yellow eyes and Ellen's riding shotgun, cranking up Bon Fuckin' Jovi (on his stereo), with Bobby and Pastor Jim in back, thrashing their heads in time to the music.
Only every time Pastor Jim's head moves, blood keeps on dribbling down his neck.
The car makes impact and Dean doesn't feel a thing, besides the heat.
*
"Trust me," Sam's voice says and before Dean can think that it's okay, that he's no longer balls-to-the-walls crazy, he opens his eyes and shit man, he's going to need therapy for this.
And he's sweating again, stripped down to a wife-beater and torn jeans, almost panting thanks to the heat.
Sam's wearing a shiny plastic nurse get-up and Dean doesn't need to know exactly how fucking long Sam's legs are and see that the short little white skirt barely covers his brother's crotch (Jesus, it's his brother).
Hefting up something long and rigid and shiny and really fucking scary, Sam slides in something even scarier into the equipment and says, utterly serious, "I've found new places to take your temperature."
Dean starts screaming before Sam yanks down Dean's zipper, commenting, "You really are the best big brother."
*
"What do you think you're doing, hombre?"
It's a gruff voice and Dean turns around, careful, as he's standing at the edge of the building's roof. No idea how he got there and maybe he should just jump off, considering there's his dad. It's Dad, only he's got his old Marine uniform on with a pair of shiny red pumps on.
Dad click-clacks forward, raising a sparkly baton upwards, saying, "You have the rights to the remains of a silent attorney..."
Dean goggles and goes to step forward, only he just then notices his jeans have been shucked down to his knees and he falls a long way down, hitting nothing, hearing his father continue to shout out his cracked out Miranda rights.
*
He's back in his car. Thank unicorns with rainbows shootin’ out of their asses and all the baskets full of kittens in the world. He's parked on some hill overlooking a city and he's got no clue what frikkin' city it is.
Sam's sitting next to him. He's got his hair combed back like when he's playing at being a cop or FBI or whatever. Slicked back from his forehead and Dean needs to make some more fivehead jokes about that look because it really is damn funny. Sam's giving him a strange look, not the usual one that sort of ruins Dean's badass reputation, this one has a weird light to it.
"I've been thinking, Dean," Sam begins, in that gentle, compassionate tone of his, reaching out his hand to cover Dean's as Dean clutches the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Nothing bad can happen in his car, right?
Dean realizes it quick enough, before the rest of Sam's speech. He's sweating again.
"We really do need to make a commitment to each other. I mean, we're all we have left, right? So I've been research commitment ceremonies and so long as we really stretch beforehand during foreplay and ooh, use a little K-Y, we should be fine. Ooh, and Jo!"
Dean coughs, unable to get Sam's hand off his own, must have some kung-fu grip there. "Jo?"
"Yeah, Jo! She wants to watch."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees a shooting star and Sam dreamily sighs, "Ooh, looks like a unicorn just got its wings."
*
Dean's in hell. If hell was a chintzy '70's inspired disco with one of those goddamned mirrored balls. He's got Jo and Cassie dancing around him, telling him to boogie-oogie-oogie and Sam, bounding over, hair floppy again (and no shiny look of commitment gleaming in his eyes), says, "Boogie or die!"
Dean, standing there barefoot, sweat in places where the sun don't shine, full out laughs, almost admiring the bright, insane smile on Sam's face, and he shouts, "I don't fuckin' boogie, man!"
Then the mirrored ball explodes and there's an echo, somewhere, someone yelling for him, only Dean's too far gone to hear anything but the synth beat still blaring.
*
Where are you?
- won't feel a thing, Sam promises, dead serious, running a latex finger across Dean's lips.
- my pretty little boy, his mother whispers, leaning in for a kiss.
- call Triple 6 LOVE, I recommend Meg, she’s always good for a Howdy, his Dad shouts as Dean keeps on falling.
- ...I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, sing Ellen, the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Pastor Jim and Bobby, all in perfect freakin' harmony and Dean hates Bon Jovi so, so much.
- I've been thinking about us a lot, Dean, Sam whispers, inching closer to Dean, with a gentle sigh, his breath on Dean’s cheek.
Oh God. Kill him. Now.
*
His heart stops beating for twenty seconds. It's enough. A heart that's given out enough times as it is, what's one more time to it?
*
"You remember what happened?"
Hours later and Dean's barely talking. He sips coffee and eyes Sam suspiciously when Sam tries to put some ointment on Dean's cuts and bruises, like he expect something else to be in the tube.
"Not a damn thing," Dean answers, perfect and terse. Such a liar.
"You know Dean, I've never seen those type of demons before. Took a couple of Molotov cocktails just to get its attention. I think it called itself a Scarran." Sam pauses, trying to figure out how to say the mushy thing Dean just knows he's gonna spill out, and Sam does, rushing out, "I thought you were a goner."
"I'm fine. Just, hey, do me a favor?"
"Yeah?"
"Let's just not speak about this, for oh, the rest of our lives, okay? And by the way, don't ever say the word commitment. Ever. Got me?"
Sam just furrows his brow and Dean just wishes there could be some way to erase it. But whatever. He just won't let himself get fooled again.
Yeah. He's lying. But he ain’t sweating, so that’s a start.
end
Fandom: SPN
Author: Regala Electra
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/Other
Warnings: Language, Disturbing Imagery
Spoilers: S2, everything up to “Born Under a Bad Sign”
Summary: Dean Winchester starring in his very own Won’t Get Fooled Again, Farscape-style.
Word Count: over 1,100
Author's Notes: OH MY GOD. This is CRACK. Farscape-inspired Crack with a dash of crossover. Most dialogue is taken from Farscape's Season Two episode Won't Get Fooled Again or manipulated to better emotionally scar freak out Dean. This is what happens when I continue my "Dean Winchester is SO John Crichton" rambles. Be glad that only one Winchester shows up in the naughty nurse uniform.
*
His mother's wearing white but it's mostly sheer and he will not let his mind go there. His eyes may be locked into a fixed target, but dude, no, he is not going to...
She sits on the arm of the couch, crosses her legs, only clad in thigh-high white stockings, drawls with a smile in her voice, "You're such a good boy, Dean."
He swallows back disgust and numb shock, shakily wipes away the sweat and god, why the hell is it so damn hot up in here?
*
Falls in the middle of a backwoods nowhere road and sees his car, his freakin' car, gunning for him, and the driver's got yellow eyes and Ellen's riding shotgun, cranking up Bon Fuckin' Jovi (on his stereo), with Bobby and Pastor Jim in back, thrashing their heads in time to the music.
Only every time Pastor Jim's head moves, blood keeps on dribbling down his neck.
The car makes impact and Dean doesn't feel a thing, besides the heat.
*
"Trust me," Sam's voice says and before Dean can think that it's okay, that he's no longer balls-to-the-walls crazy, he opens his eyes and shit man, he's going to need therapy for this.
And he's sweating again, stripped down to a wife-beater and torn jeans, almost panting thanks to the heat.
Sam's wearing a shiny plastic nurse get-up and Dean doesn't need to know exactly how fucking long Sam's legs are and see that the short little white skirt barely covers his brother's crotch (Jesus, it's his brother).
Hefting up something long and rigid and shiny and really fucking scary, Sam slides in something even scarier into the equipment and says, utterly serious, "I've found new places to take your temperature."
Dean starts screaming before Sam yanks down Dean's zipper, commenting, "You really are the best big brother."
*
"What do you think you're doing, hombre?"
It's a gruff voice and Dean turns around, careful, as he's standing at the edge of the building's roof. No idea how he got there and maybe he should just jump off, considering there's his dad. It's Dad, only he's got his old Marine uniform on with a pair of shiny red pumps on.
Dad click-clacks forward, raising a sparkly baton upwards, saying, "You have the rights to the remains of a silent attorney..."
Dean goggles and goes to step forward, only he just then notices his jeans have been shucked down to his knees and he falls a long way down, hitting nothing, hearing his father continue to shout out his cracked out Miranda rights.
*
He's back in his car. Thank unicorns with rainbows shootin’ out of their asses and all the baskets full of kittens in the world. He's parked on some hill overlooking a city and he's got no clue what frikkin' city it is.
Sam's sitting next to him. He's got his hair combed back like when he's playing at being a cop or FBI or whatever. Slicked back from his forehead and Dean needs to make some more fivehead jokes about that look because it really is damn funny. Sam's giving him a strange look, not the usual one that sort of ruins Dean's badass reputation, this one has a weird light to it.
"I've been thinking, Dean," Sam begins, in that gentle, compassionate tone of his, reaching out his hand to cover Dean's as Dean clutches the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. Nothing bad can happen in his car, right?
Dean realizes it quick enough, before the rest of Sam's speech. He's sweating again.
"We really do need to make a commitment to each other. I mean, we're all we have left, right? So I've been research commitment ceremonies and so long as we really stretch beforehand during foreplay and ooh, use a little K-Y, we should be fine. Ooh, and Jo!"
Dean coughs, unable to get Sam's hand off his own, must have some kung-fu grip there. "Jo?"
"Yeah, Jo! She wants to watch."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees a shooting star and Sam dreamily sighs, "Ooh, looks like a unicorn just got its wings."
*
Dean's in hell. If hell was a chintzy '70's inspired disco with one of those goddamned mirrored balls. He's got Jo and Cassie dancing around him, telling him to boogie-oogie-oogie and Sam, bounding over, hair floppy again (and no shiny look of commitment gleaming in his eyes), says, "Boogie or die!"
Dean, standing there barefoot, sweat in places where the sun don't shine, full out laughs, almost admiring the bright, insane smile on Sam's face, and he shouts, "I don't fuckin' boogie, man!"
Then the mirrored ball explodes and there's an echo, somewhere, someone yelling for him, only Dean's too far gone to hear anything but the synth beat still blaring.
*
Where are you?
- won't feel a thing, Sam promises, dead serious, running a latex finger across Dean's lips.
- my pretty little boy, his mother whispers, leaning in for a kiss.
- call Triple 6 LOVE, I recommend Meg, she’s always good for a Howdy, his Dad shouts as Dean keeps on falling.
- ...I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride, sing Ellen, the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Pastor Jim and Bobby, all in perfect freakin' harmony and Dean hates Bon Jovi so, so much.
- I've been thinking about us a lot, Dean, Sam whispers, inching closer to Dean, with a gentle sigh, his breath on Dean’s cheek.
Oh God. Kill him. Now.
*
His heart stops beating for twenty seconds. It's enough. A heart that's given out enough times as it is, what's one more time to it?
*
"You remember what happened?"
Hours later and Dean's barely talking. He sips coffee and eyes Sam suspiciously when Sam tries to put some ointment on Dean's cuts and bruises, like he expect something else to be in the tube.
"Not a damn thing," Dean answers, perfect and terse. Such a liar.
"You know Dean, I've never seen those type of demons before. Took a couple of Molotov cocktails just to get its attention. I think it called itself a Scarran." Sam pauses, trying to figure out how to say the mushy thing Dean just knows he's gonna spill out, and Sam does, rushing out, "I thought you were a goner."
"I'm fine. Just, hey, do me a favor?"
"Yeah?"
"Let's just not speak about this, for oh, the rest of our lives, okay? And by the way, don't ever say the word commitment. Ever. Got me?"
Sam just furrows his brow and Dean just wishes there could be some way to erase it. But whatever. He just won't let himself get fooled again.
Yeah. He's lying. But he ain’t sweating, so that’s a start.
end