bishop's house of horrors

Enough With the Hate...

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 21:52:05 GMT

Go spread some fandom love! About the show, the actors, the characters, the fans--anonymous or otherwise, I don't think there can be too much of it after this weekend.

http://spn-anon-love.livejournal.com/554.html

You know, I love this fandom. I don't even care about the assholes over in the hate meme; they're not representative of the entirety. I am sorry for those who were hurt by things that were said. I hate seeing any of you in pain, and it would break my heart to see any of you leave fandom. Just try to remember that they're not worth manifesting pain over; they have exactly the power over you that you allow them to have. And I'd be damned if I'd let my fandom experience be ruined because a few people hate me/think I'm supposed to be their writing-monkey. There's too much GOOD in this fandom--the people, the love, the art, the amount of incredible writing--to let a few bad apples ruin it.

And just so I don't sound like some sunshine-y optimistic girl who didn't have to deal with getting ripped on, well, I did get ripped on several times. I just don't really care. Fandom is a happy, shiny place for me. Call me delusional, but if that's delusional then I don't want to be anything else. I prefer to focus on the happy-making things; it's why I came here in the first place.

Now, let's go knock out this black pall over fandom! Come spread some love with me over in this shiny, happy meme :)

Thank You, and Good Night!

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 08:00:50 GMT

Been on vacation all weekend down in VA beach. It's been a great time with good food and good friends and the whole family. Didn't go in the water since I am a victim of the Jaws generation and refuse to swim with anything I can't see, but I did enjoy the beach. I got sunburned like crazy on my back, which was less fun, but rather predictable given my skin tone. And now.... I'm outside smoking and being attacked by flying ants, which is new. They're probably telling me to go to bed since I should've been there half an hour ago like everyone else.

Nice as it's been, sunburn and present flyng-ant company excluded, I'm looking forward to getting home tomorrow. There really isn't anywhere like home.

Spent some time in the anon meme thing tonight. I have no idea why I bother to read these things except that in some way, they fascinate me. The vitriol in this fandom never ceases to surprise me. Seriously. Don't people have better things to do than spill nastiness all over each other? I see people on my flist defending themselves over things that were said and it just makes me want to hug them, because there's always somebody out there who hates you and/or your fic--probably several somebodies, maybe a lot depending on who you are--but anybody making a nasty comment anonymously that they don't have the balls to say to your face in a place where you might not even ever read it? SO not worth your time. Also? There are plenty of people who love you, as well, never forget that.

The J2 video that surfaced this weekend is something I could watch on repeat pretty much 24/7. Oh, boys. You think they stopped acting like that because we started believing it a little too much? ;) In other fandom news, Misha continues to be crazy and 'play' with us and make me love him even more. I'm dying for this year's blooper reel with the three of them, and also to rewatch s4 in its entirety.

Watched the pilot for Warehouse 13 this weekend. It's so very Friday the 13th: The series with them tracking down cursed objects, and maybe I liked it sheerly for that--because I loved FT13:TS--but it seemed like it maybe had some promise.

Oh, I've also been avoiding spoilers like the plague, though I've been going crazy all day wanting to click on that casting spoiler that's been making the rounds. I shall remain strong!

Is it September yet??? *WANTS*

For those of you who've left me comments/messages recently that I haven't answered yet; it's been a busy week/weekend. I'm going to try to catch up this week!

And now I'm off to bed. Night all :)

Long Weekend

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 05:29:13 GMT

Wow, it's been five days since I posted? How did THAT happen? It was, of course, a party weekend this weekend, and you know, I really, really LOVE my friends. A lot. I swear, only in this crowd could you have the conversations that we do. And even when they irk me--and they did once or twice--I love them to death anyway. We're friends to the end, man, no doubt about it. It's like having a huge family where even when you get annoyed at each other, you're gonna get over it eventually, because we're, well, family. So yeah, I had an awesome 4th of July :)

4300 words into Homework Reunion fic. It's gonna be a LONG one. And yes, I went with 10 year reunion based on overwhelming response, and let me tell you--you have no idea how hard it is to fill in the important parts of the last 7 years without overdoing the exposition. I mean, I kind of KNOW what happened, already, but not writing too much exposition has proven challenging. But, not to worry; I didn't make it 800 words in before they started fucking. Those boys, damn *G* I love them so.

Watched Taken tonight. God, I love Liam Neeson. Also, the beginning got the wheels churning on my bodyguard AU fic, and I'm eager to get back to that once Homework verse fic is done. And then, later, I still need to write that J2 as serial killers Dexter style AU that won't leave me alone. Yeah. So how many of you are on board for that last one? *L*

All right, a bit more writing and then off to bed. I need to show in the office tomorrow as I currently have no projects to work on. Which is sucky, but if I'm going to mostly be doing nothing, I wanna do it where people can see me.

Homework!Verse Poll

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 03:36:54 GMT

View Poll: homework!verse

Now, before you answer, consider these factors:

At five years, Jared is 23 and still in college (his school consists of an eight year course), Chad has graduated, Sandy has graduated, and it's been two years since the end of Anywhere But Here.

At ten years, Jared is 28 and has graduated, been working in the field for two, all of the above have happened, and any great number of other things may have happened in the ensuing seven years since the end of the last story.

Both have tons of potential. But I'm having trouble deciding.

Oh, and feel free to tell me WHY you think your answer is the best one! :) I kinda really need selling to break the tie for myself at this point.

OMGYAY!

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 05:18:02 GMT

OMG FINALLY! THE STORY IS DONE! \o\ \o/ /o/ My very first original short story! You guys have no idea how many years I have been trying to get off my ass and write something original and it's taken forever and it's finally DONE! I have no perspective left, I have a bad cold, am doped up on meds, on my period, and dehydrated like motherfucker but I am SOOOOO excited!

As for all you wonderful people who prompted me with het the other night, I will work on your requests now that this is done! And some of your requests were pretty damned inspiring, gotta say *G* Also, I intend to spend some more of the evening outlining Homework!verse reunion fic, finally. My sleep schedule is all screwed to hell, with being sick, and I'm thinking of just calling out tomorrow.

And to all of you awesome people who replied to my personal post from several nights ago, thank you. Seriously. Just, thank you. I needed it. I think a bit of it was PMS, now, looking back, but you all made me feel so much better, and I really don't know what I'd do without so many wonderful people in my life. How are you all so awesome? I'll have more to say about that when I'm not all hopped up on cold medicine and can be more coherent.

So what's UP people? What I have I missed? I took some time out this weekend to read a couple of Big Bang's and will have recs very soon.

Prompt Me

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 12:10:04 GMT

I was just looking through my older stories... and MY GOD, PEOPLE. I need to write some HET. SO BAD.

One pairing and prompt. Just one. Because I have GOT to finish this original fic porn and I am SO stalling. I need inspiration.

Chatting and Disambiguation

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 08:16:29 GMT

Anybody else occasionally look at their IM/YM/Trillian etc. and wonder... who the hell is that person? Like, I know their name, it's so familiar, but I have NO IDEA who they are or where I know them from? And feel like I really SHOULD. Probably I added them YEARS ago or something, and I probably know them really well, or did, at least. But now I have no idea beyond this vague feeling of... I know/knew you, I ADDED you; your name should trigger the FULL memory, but it doesn't beyond that niggling sense that it used to mean something.

It's rather disconcerting.

Top of the World, Ma!

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 19:14:21 GMT

I'd also like to apologize to my staff, but if they'd lied better I wouldn't be in this situation so fuck them. Fuck them in the face *LMAO* I think that's my favorite one. IDK. I can't decide. They're all so good.

Thanks for posting this, oletheros.

Besides being amused, I'm feeling MUCH better and put-together today. HI world! :)

I'm Not the Easiest of Girls

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 04:09:41 GMT

So lately, I can't post a fucking thing without worrying about how it's going to be perceived.

I really fucking hate this.

I really need to get past this phase of feeling like... wait... will that come across sounding passive-aggressive? Or whiny? Or bitchy? Or, God forbid, egotistical? I'm pretty sure I'm not passive-aggressive or egotistical, even though some people may disagree. I know I am occasionally bitchy and whiny--self-admittedly so. So are most of us.

But lately I can't type a fucking SENTENCE without second guessing myself. What IS that? Why do I feel like my journal is supposed to be a place of perfection? I'm certainly not perfect in the eyes of everyone else. I know this. But it's like I'm so afraid to make myself heard anymore.

No. I know why. It's because my biggest ISSUE in this life is being misunderstood. I try really hard to speak plainly and clearly for this very reason. But sometimes? The fear of not expressing everything 'just so' wins out. And I'm having one of those phases right now. And I'm trying to break it by posting this.

Does anyone else ever feel paralyzed when trying to write to their own journal?

More Beautiful Disaster Music

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:22:50 GMT

Also! Because mass_hipgnosis is awesome, she made Beautiful Disaster: The Unofficial Soundtrack which is full of all kinds of music in the spirit of the fic, filled with wailing guitars and lyrics that fit the story mood as well as some of the specifics! Third Eye Blind, Lenny Kravitz, The Tragically Hip, STP, NIN, Nirvana, Nickelback, Juliette Lewis, all kinds of good hard rocking stuff. Go download it and leave her a lovely comment for putting it all together!

Dolphins and Other Assorted Random Bits

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 17:12:43 GMT

Hey, guys! Did you know that there are dolphins in the Amazon river? And that some of them are pink? I was completely unaware of this. I am really loving getting National Geographic every month. Not that we're at all sure WHY we're getting it, who ordered it or who's paying for it, but we're both digging the hell out of it, so it's all good :) Good magazines that magically appear in my mailbox ftw!

The other thing I am really digging? Being able to work from home. It totally rules. Even if work has been kicking my ass lately.

Last weekend was Soleil's 16th birthday party, Jenn's birthday AND Father's Day on Sunday. That is just a totally unfair weekend. Fortunately, when I took all the kids to go gift shopping for everything on Friday we were able to buy everything at Hot Topic. I love one-stop shopping.

I talked Dom into letting Soleil get her bellybutton pierced for her bday and got her two studs. She is SO excited. I'm taking her this weekend to get it done. I was thinking about getting mine done (have wanted to since mid-twenties), but it's just not gonna work for me. My waist is way too high and most of my pants would irritate it constantly.

What else? Oh, Cyrus graduated 6th grade last week with straight A's! \o/ He makes honor roll every quarter, but this is the first time he's ever gotten all A's, though he's come close before. It's tough to do in Fairfax County with the steep grading curves and a challenging curriculum. I think that nets him somewhere around $180 bucks from us, because straight A's earns double the money. Cira also made honor roll as per usual, and Soleil... well, she won't have to repeat any classes next year, so that's a win. I wonder how the other two are gonna do once they hit high school?

The rest of my non-existent time is being gobbled up answering Big Bang comments and writing. I'm at 6500 words on the origific. Damn, writing original stuff seems so much harder. It's getting there though. Another 2k or so and it'll be finished. I am so determined to do this. Finally, I'll actually have something published, even if it's electronic. It's a start.

I'm saving cormallen's Big Bang as a treat for finishing my story. I am SOOOO dying to read it, and thisclose to reccing it to the world without even reading it first, because I remember when she sent me the pieces of the first draft ages ago, and I am SO IN LOVE with this story! Seriously, it's just awesome and I can't wait to see how she's made it even better.

In other news, I expect to catch up on everything approximately NEVER! *shakes head*

And now, back to work.

Pimping!

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 17:11:26 GMT

I meant to post this on Friday but then life ate me. telaryn wrote me Sam/Castiel by request, and then she made it HOT LIKE BURNING. Seriously, it is ASDSFL;JDKHGK;AJLAKDSGJAFKL!!1! She completely fried my brain.

Title: Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned...
Author: telaryn
Characters: Sam/Castiel, Voyeur!Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2015
Summary: Set approximately six weeks after "Lucifer Rising". Sam hasn't been able to shake what happened, and is slipping into a deep and profound depression. Dean does what he can to help, but eventually Sam starts looking to a higher authority for absolution.
Warnings: Bondage, D/s, minor blood play, voyeurism, overtones of priest!kink

It's on her insanejournal, but if you like it, take the time to log in and leave her a comment :) Anonymous commenting is also turned on if you don't have an account.

Birth, School, Work, Death

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 18:30:31 GMT

Work. Sleep a little. Work. Sleep a little. Exhaustion. Work. Sleep early, get up early. Work. This is my week so far. *sigh* And then I came in for a meeting that it turns out I didn't need to be here for--no one told me. Not even when I asked, they just told me the time. I'm glad I needed to meet with someone else this afternoon or I'd be deeply unhappy.

I'm not doing ANY work tonight. Mission critical time is over and I'm going back to normal hours until the next mission critical project comes along. Which looks to be about... tomorrow *sigh* But tonight I answer Big Bang comments and HOMG, actually maybe WRITE something, I think.

The following is not a spoiler; no one has any clue if SPN's even casting a Lucifer at this point, but most people THINK they are (including me) so the rumor mill is at work. That said... Wentworth Miller was rumored to possibly be playing Lucifer on SPN next season? DO NOT WANT. Glad the rumor was debunked. Of course, I'll probably be unhappy with anything less than Gale Harold, because he's got the strong, fine-boned look of an angel and can do perfect superiority, arrogance, sarcasm, coldness, swaggering and secretive knowing smiles without even having to TRY. That and he's drop dead gorgeous. *sighs wistfully*

Now I have to go find out what these other two pressing projects are and get started on those while I try to finish up this one. Back to work. FML.

P.S. Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to bitch about being busy at work at a time when so many are unemployed. I'm grateful to have a job, but dammit, I really need a break.

Women Can't Write Porn?

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 02:02:58 GMT

So that stupid article making the rounds? The one where "Women are not passionate enough about sex and concentrate too much on feelings to be able to write raunchy stories"?

I just got a heads up from someone that pointed me to this response to the article:

"This is hilarious. I guess she hasn't encountered fan fiction, almost all of which is written by women. I would suggest she familiarize herself with slash. Maybe even Wincest. She could start here, for example: http://thenyxie.livejournal.com/399665.html"

First of all, I'm floored and flattered and a little bit bewildered-- thank you for the rec, whoever you are. Second of all, I am dying laughing, because that's LSITS verse, some of the raunchiest, passionate, filthiest threesomes w/het I have EVER written. I would LOVE to see this woman's face if she ever took a look at it *LMAO* Not that she's ever likely to. But oh man, what I wouldn't give to see THAT.

As to women not being able to write porn, the commenters on the article are correct; she needs to find LJ fanfiction, and SPN fic in particular, which has a large concentration of the filthiest, hottest sex I've ever seen written, het OR slash. Women can't write porn, MY ASS! I'm far more amused than offended, although encouraging stereotypes pretty much sucks. She seems the type who's got about three brain cells stuck on stupid and nothing to rub 'em together with, so even LJ probably wouldn't help.

I can name at least twenty people in fandom off the top of my head who consistently write smoking-hot porn. Women can't write porn *SNERK*

Stranger Than Fiction Icons

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 19:02:01 GMT

WHEE! no_apologies_86 asked if she could make icons of some of the quotes from my Big Bang fic "Stranger Than Fiction", and man did she make some AWESOME ones! They are quotes from the story, but they're also general enough to be used by anyone (points to icon). Go grab some if you want 'em :) They're here!

Thank you no_apologies_86! :)

Sam & Dean Wish They Knew How to Quit You

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 06:48:18 GMT

the_stowaway insists this fabric was made years before Sam & Dean were at all known--I SAY IT'S FATE.

Brokeback Supernatural Boys for your inspection:

It's SO THEM. Even the MUSCULATURE is perfect. They POSED for this. However, the truck is just for backdrop purposes. Although Dean thinks it looks kinda cool. For a truck. (also, Dean is a camera hog; big SHOCK)

View Poll: #1416921

SPN PREMIERE

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 04:30:26 GMT

Supernatural Premiere on SEPTEMBER 10th!!!

*FLAILS AND MAKES DOLPHIN NOISES*

Help?

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 03:30:37 GMT

It's 11:30pm and I am still working. STILL. WORKING. And will be for as long as I possibly can before sleep. Tell me something interesting to distract me every now and then?

Hee!

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 02:57:21 GMT

From my Twittering:

thenyxie@memfishy: *humming along to 'Always' on my iPod* Erasure will forever make me think of Seahorse Jensen *G*

thenyxie: Sometimes you have to wonder what makes a Twitter-bot like Horny Hottie follow you on here immediately after you post about Erasure.

monica_catch22@thenyxie: at least you get the fun porny people. I get the jesus-loving girls. who happen to wear strangely tight shirts. hmm.

thenyxie@monica_catch22: I hear Christian girls keep it tight for Jesus ;)

monica_catch22@thenyxie: *chokes on water*

My life is now complete. I've been dying for the perfect opportunity to say that for years.

Yep. My priorities are weird.

Carry on.

Writing Stuff

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 00:46:13 GMT

So for anyone who doesn't know, I posted my Big Bang on Wednesday. People seem to like it, so YAY! I was a little worried about the fandom meta aspect going over.

After I posted, I was all... what am I going to do with my life NOW??? And then I remembered--read Big Bang fic! I read my first one yesterday, and probably no shock that I loved it since it was by danny, but it was really most excellent. J2 and politics and Texas and if you love the West Wing? Oh boy is this fic ever for you. Even if you didn't love West Wing, it's still amazing, because, BOYS! ♥ Go read it: Talking Points. Listen to the soundtrack while you read, I highly recommend it.

But also, I have writing to do. I need to finish my original story for the anthology, and me and Yvette are hopefully gonna finish up the Jared-sandwich this weekend (8k of sheer. fucking. PORN. people. MOG). And then I have Homework!verse reunion fic to write and the J2 AU bodyguard story to finish over the summer. And like, three other things, and then Yvette's birthday fic (also Homework!verse) in a couple months... I believe I have overcommitted.

I got to thinking last night... people write for each other all the time and I do it a lot. And I wonder... why doesn't anyone write for me? Not that I'm complaining, I'm not upset or anything, but I do wonder. There must be something to it.

I apparently have nothing but writing to talk about. My life is so dull. Or maybe the word is 'focused' *koffobssessedkoff*

Misha Collins Lives!

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 00:28:58 GMT

So the saga continued, including Misha winning a Mazerati from a drunk Charles, the queen torturing him with making him look at family photo albums, and then finally, led him to the Stonehenge altar on a leash *snerk*

mishacollins: For those who've asked, I'm 2 b simultaneously; hung, electrocuted, shot, starved, burnt, & drowned. Posthumously I'll be drawn & quartered

mishacollins: The plan worked! I held my breath while minions from Lima, Peru dowsed Stonehenge in nerve gas. I'm starving!

mishacollins: I have to say, though, the minions we're a little late & I had to hold my breath an extra 9 minutes. I think I damaged my frontal lobe.

OMG, MISHA. ILU. He so played dress-up with people at a fake-Stonehenge for us. Either that or he conveniently found people shooting a movie there and got these shots for us. Never change, Misha. Or die. Although your frontal lobe has been damaged for a long, LONG time. *LOL* It's why we love you.

Big Bang Fic: Stranger Than Fiction Master Post (Sam/Dean, NC-17)

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 15:46:30 GMT

Stranger Than Fiction

By thenyxie

art by vengefuldemon69

Sam/Dean - NC-17 - MetaComedy/Drama

50.5k words, for spn_j2_bigbang

Art by votaku here and by vengefuldemon69 here

Set immediately post-The Monster at the End of This Book. Dean can't stop wondering why people would write gay porn about him and Sam. Research takes him to interesting places; re-reading novels for subtext, visiting message boards, and a really freaky place called LiveJournal. What he discovers is a sick fascination with fanfiction, more about gay sex than he ever wanted to know, and an even deeper obsession with understanding why people write this stuff. Meanwhile, they're hunting a mysterious monster that takes the form of a person's truest love to kill them slowly, the lines between fanfiction and reality are starting to break down, and they still have to stop Lilith and save the world.

Extra special thanks go to the_stowaway and clex_monkie89 for mid-wifing and to nu_breed and wendy for their beta work.

This one’s for you danny.

Reasons I Am In Love With Misha Collins #35

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 07:13:53 GMT

After being held captive by the Queen of England for admitting he saw her in the Gay Fetish Porn section of the Adult store, he's been imprisoned in the castle until he A) recanted, B) Won the Mr. Twitter Universe Contest. He didn't win, alas. And has now been scheduled for execution, because he's taking his honor to his grave:

http://twitpic.com/7153c

http://twitpic.com/7155n

*DIES*

PEOPLE. WHO DOES THIS??? THESE PICS ARE AWESOME PHOTOMANIPS. OR ELSE (as arabella_hope suggested) HE IS PLAYING DRESS UP WITH HIS FRIENDS WHILE TOURING ENGLAND. WHICH IS JUST... OMG, MISHA. EITHER WAY: DONE JUST FOR _US_.

LOVE... CANNOT... BE... TEXTUALLY... RENDERED.

Jared and Jensen WHO????

I want him to be my boyfriend.

Stranger Than Fiction, Pt. 1/8 (Sam/Dean, NC-17)

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 23:58:38 GMT

Stranger Than Fiction

The next morning, after they drive as far away from Lilith and Chuck as they can get, Dean stands in line at a Starbucks in Heber Springs, Arkansas, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat as the person in front of him orders a vanilla something-or-other with extra foam and fairy crystals and puffs of clouds from a unicorn’s ass.

He rolls his eyes, body twisting sideways on his heels, considering the gray morning sky.

Him and Sam. Him and Sam?

Really?

There’s the crazy they deal with on a daily basis, and now? Somehow? There’s even crazier.

Why would anyone…? No. There are whole books written about them; every moment, every emotion, full frontal, bared for the entire world to read. They have a Gospel, and books, and fans, and… internet slash for fuck’s sake. There are angels and demons and an apocalypse looming. This is not the time to question the crazy.

He steps up and smiles at the girl behind the register.

*

Dean eyes the motel room as he gets out of the car. When he’d left, Sam was deep in research mode, barricaded behind his computer and so intent on his notes and books that he’d effectively blocked any attempts Dean might have made at conversation. Which was probably a good thing, since any attempts at conversation probably would have ended in yet another argument.

“Got a case,” Sam says as Dean walks through the door.

Sam says it like nothing at all happened last night—like they hadn’t gotten right in the car afterwards and kept driving all night until Dean was nodding off with his hands on the steering wheel. Like Lilith wasn’t just here, thisclose to them, inches from killing Sam.

Like the last forty-eight hours never even happened.

But then… the last two days have been pretty crazy. Even beyond Lilith.

Maybe they should just move on.

The coffee cups in his hands are beginning to burn his skin.

“Where?” he asks, setting the cups down on the table where Sam’s bent over his laptop.

“North Vernon, Indiana, about ten hours northeast from here. Marcus Dolby, seventy-seven, found dead in his own backyard after eight days of telling neighbors how his wife had returned from the dead to be with him. No visible cause of death, and according to the coroner’s report, no internal cause, either. He was old, but in perfect health.”

Back the way they came from. Damn. “So was this Dolby guy freaking out that his wife was all Reanimator?” Dean asks, sitting down in the seat across from Sam.

Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s meaningfully above the laptop. “He seemed blissful and content, almost drugged, according to the neighbors.”

“Spirit,” Dean says, and Sam nods.

“But not just him—listen to this—two weeks before Marcus Dolby died? A guy named James Dove in Deerfield, Michigan, was reported as having seen his dead wife outside his house. He called the police to report it, but they just thought he was crazy. Seven days later they found his body at the pond near his home.” Sam’s eyes flick up again. “Cause of death unknown, according to the autopsy report.”

“How far apart?” Dean asks, frowning thoughtfully.

“Hang on,” Sam responds, typing something into his laptop. Sam stops, looking at the results of whatever he just typed. “One week before Marcus Dolby started talking about his dead ex-wife visiting—towns are 298 miles apart. It crossed right through Ohio,” Sam says, raising his head to look at Dean.

They’ve been doing this too long for Dean to doubt Sam’s skills of Google-fu. “So whatever this thing is… it’s on the move.”

“Maybe it’s smart enough to know not to stay in the same place.”

“So we follow it. Keep heading north and west, slowly, until we get a fix on its pattern.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, hair falling forward into his face as he leans over the laptop again, fingers flowing over the keys.

“Sam…” Dean reaches for his coffee, throat swallowing convulsively. “Why would people write us like that?”

“Wait. Who? Like what?” Sam asks, frowning.

“The fans. Like that.” Dean almost coughs the words, gesturing.

Sam blinks, realization setting in, fingers pausing, face working as he thinks. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding as baffled as Dean feels.

Dean nods and gets up from the table, handing Sam his cup. “Drink your coffee and find me a monster, bitch.”

*

That afternoon, they have lunch in some no-name diner in the middle of nowhere, Sam nibbling thoughtfully at his chicken as Dean cuts another slice from his Rib-eye.

Dean pops the steak into his mouth and chews reverently, listening to Sam go on. “I know the thing’s M.O; that should make it easy,” Sam is saying as he forks into his steamed rice. “But…” Sam shrugs, trailing off.

“Nothing yet,” Dean concludes. “Whatever. You’ll find it. You’re not the Nancy Drew of this duo for nothing.”

Sam huffs out a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “We’re actually more like the Hardy Boys.”

“No, we’re not,” Dean contradicts, carving off another slice of steak as he flicks his eyes up to meet Sam’s. “I’m not lame enough to be a Hardy Boy.”

“You are so Joe,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.

“See?” Dean asks, pointing his steak knife at Sam as he chews. “You know their names. Lame.”

“You’re the one talking about Nancy Drew.”

“Everybody knows Nancy Drew.” Dean shrugs.

“Most people know the Hardy Boys, too,” Sam counters.

“But who knows their first names, Sam?” Dean asks with a smirk. “Besides you, I mean.”

Sam’s jaw flexes with annoyance, eyes dropping to his plate.

They eat in silence for the next minute or two, and that gives Dean way too much time to think about the Hardy Boys. The Hardy Boys were brothers. Well, Dean’s pretty sure they were brothers anyway, considering they had the same last name. He wonders if anyone ever wrote slash about them.

Dean reaches for his coke and takes a drink, words leaving him without thought as he sets his glass back down on the table. “So… what were the stories like?”

“The Hardy Boys stories?” Sam asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “God you are such a geek.”

Sam pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, and Dean can see the light bulb go on. “You mean… the ones about us?” The way Sam emphasizes the word, Dean knows he gets which stories.

“Yeah,” Dean says, utterly absorbed in dipping a French fry into the puddle of ketchup on his plate.

“How the hell would I know?” Sam snorts, sounding offended.

“Come on, Sam. You’re research boy. You had to read at least one.”

“No way.”

Dean risks a glance up at Sam. Sam’s flushing pink and desperately looking at everything but Dean. Mostly, he’s staring down at the table with that expression that screams “I’m guilty” at a thousand decibels.

Dean nods. “Uh huh.”

“You’re sick, Dean,” Sam informs him.

“Yeah? Well at least I wasn’t scouring the internet for stories about--”

“Could we focus on the case?”

“You totally read one.”

“Dude. I did not read one.”

“Then how did you know they meant ‘together’?”

“You can pick up a lot from reading a message board, okay?”

Dean narrows his eyes on Sam. Sam can lie dead straight faced with his puppy-dog eyes to anyone else, but Sam’s always been a terrible liar when it comes to lying to Dean. “So you weren’t even a little curious?”

“No, Dean. You’re the sicko that wants to know what the stories were like.” Sam’s definitely squirming, and he can barely look Dean in the eye.

“Still not the sicko that read them.”

“We are so not talking about this.”

“Heads up, dude; your guilty face? Subtle as Pamela Anderson’s rack.”

Sam rolls his eyes and lifts his hand, signaling the waitress. “Check.”

The waitress slides the check across the table to Sam, her nails perfectly pink and just long enough to draw blood. But her eyes are riveted on Dean the whole time, looking him up and down.

Dean shoots her a smile, fingers sliding over the back of her hand, tugging the check towards him. “I got that.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” she says, winking at him.

Sam sighs like it’s a fucking Olympic event of sound, tossing back his hair as he pushes up from the table. “I’ll be in the car.”

Dean watches Sam’s back retreat towards the doorway and reaches for his wallet. “Man-period,” Dean confides, leaning close, and she laughs.

“I’ll just get this taken care of, then, sugar,” she says, leveling her blue eyes on him. “Unless there’s anything else you need?”

It’s an obvious invitation, and she’s pretty enough, wide hips and tiny waist and lips that look like they could suck a cock into the next world. Dean glances out the window, watches Sam lean against the Impala, body stiff and tight, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Just the check,” Dean says, handing her the credit card.

“Sure thing, sugar.” The waitress pulls her hand away; grinning wide and bright in that way that Dean recognizes as, ‘Oh, you’re a gay couple’.

Dean thinks about explaining, but it’s really not worth it.

“Thanks,” he grunts, grinding his teeth together so hard that he can feel them creak.

*

They don’t talk, radio filling the silence between them as Dean drives on through the afternoon. Sam’s so annoyed that he doesn’t flinch at anything—not even once at Dean’s cockrock mix tape at ear-splitting volume. Sam just sits in the passenger seat with his brooding and pensive shoulders and face, staring out the window and ignoring the fuck out of Dean and Judas Priest screeching “Turbo Lover.”

Fine, Dean thinks, turning down the volume. It’s not like he did anything wrong. Sam’s the one reading porn about them for fuck’s sake.

Porn. About them. About them fucking each other. Why would anybody—

“I’m not gay,” Dean says.

Sam turns his head and arches a brow at Dean. “Thanks… for the update?” Sam asks, sounding baffled.

“I mean, you, you’re questionable, but I’m definitely not gay. Why would they write me as gay, Sam, huh?” Dean asks, throwing Sam a quick, imploring glance.

Sam rolls his eyes, shifting against the seat. “Dean, our lives are being written into a Gospel by a prophet, and this is what you’re stuck on?”

“Yeah,” Dean allows, looking back at the road as he fidgets in his seat, “that’s pretty weird, too… But come on-- gay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, looking at Dean like he might’ve lost his mind. “You’re right. That’s way more disturbing than the incest.” Sam puts an emphasis on the last two words that Dean can’t miss the meaning of.

Right. “I was gonna get to that, too,” Dean says, hurrying through the words—because really, he’s been so stuck on the whole gay thing that yeah, he kinda forgot that part. “I mean, we’re brothers, how can they think we’d…” He shakes his head in disbelief spreading his hands palms up across the top of the steering wheel. “But gay?”

Sam curls his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you. The apocalypse is coming, and this is what you’re worried about?”

“Our reputations are at stake, Sammy! If those books are gonna be the Winchester Gospel someday, then everybody’s gonna know about us.”

“…And?” Sam prompts, exasperated with Dean.

Dean holds up a finger. “One trip to Google, Sam. That’s all it would take.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam sighs, shaking his head.

“Your face is ridiculous.” Dean hurls the words back without a thought, and really, he could’ve come up with something better than that.

“Mature, dude. I’m just saying, it could be worse.” Sam looks away, out the window again. “Besides, it’s fanfiction. Everyone knows it isn’t real.”

Sam makes a good point. Dean isn’t sure why it’s bugging him so much. But he’s still pissed about Sam cockblocking him back at the restaurant, so he picks a fight with Sam over his navigational skills instead. They end up hurling stupid insults for the next hour until Sam falls into stony silence, glowering out the windshield.

When they finally stop for the night, Sam opens the door and gets out immediately.

“Where are you going?” Dean yells as the door slams shut.

“Out,” Sam yells back, face angry through the glass as he turns. “Don’t wait up,” he snarls.

Which means Sam will be gone until late. Dean throws up his hands. “Great. Another night where I have no idea where you are or what you’re doing,” he mutters, opening the door.

*

Dean gets all their stuff into the motel room and finally settles onto the bed, TV remote in his hand. He’s still pissed about Sam taking off like that, even if Dean was kind of being a prick. He’s got reasons to be a prick, which Sam should totally understand. Besides the books and the apocalypse, there’s the fanfic stories—which Sam obviously read—with people writing him as gay for his brother.

It pisses him off even more that Sam’s right. It’s fiction. Not that Sam was willing to tell Dean what he read, though, and if it was no big deal like Sam was acting in the car, then why couldn’t he share?

Dean eyes Sam’s laptop bag sitting innocuously at the foot of the other queen bed.

Maybe he should... No. No reason to go there.

He looks at the dark, blank TV screen, finger hovering over the cable power button. He hesitates, eyes sliding back over towards the laptop bag.

Maybe he could get it off his mind if he just…

No. It’s sick and perverted.

But it’s just fiction.

It couldn’t really do any harm, right? Maybe leave some permanent mental scars, but hey, he’s had more than his share of those, and they’ve gotta be worse than this. Nothing could be worse than Hell.

He eyes the bag for a few minutes longer, finally sighs and tosses the remote on the bed as he gets up.

It doesn’t take him long to find the message board in the browser history once he gets it set up. There are all kinds of conversation threads, and he scrolls down the list until he sees one titled “Fanfiction” and clicks on it.

samsgirl087: Hi! I’m new to this fandom and looking for some good Sam/Dean stories. Can anyone point me in the right direction?

There are dozens of replies, all of them with lots of links.

Dean’s finger hesitates over the mouse button.

He feels like an idiot.

Sam already did it.

He glances guiltily around the empty motel room, takes a deep breath and clicks.

LiveJournal. Huh. He’s never been here before. He scrolls down to where the story starts.

“Never thought we’d get to wear these penguin suits again,” Dean says as they exit the Impala, car doors slamming shut. And Sam might never say so out loud, but he’s kind of glad they got a second wear out of them, because goddamn Dean looks good in a tux.

Okay. This is just, beyond weird. This is fucking Bizarro world on crack. It’s like the laundry mat all over again. He’s reading fictional stories about real stories about his real life. It’s… surreal.

Sam thinks he looks good in a tux? Wait, no, this isn’t the actual books.

God he’s confused.

It's New Years and they're together. And he's drunk, giddy bubbles rushing to his brain, making him tug and pull at Dean, fingers popping the buttons on crisp white linen as he wrestles Dean down to the mattress and pins him there. Laughing as Dean fights back and they slip and slide against each other, mouths hot and tongues diving deep, crisp taste like apples beneath the bite of champagne.

What? Okay. Even if they were fucking, do people really think it could ever be like this? First of all; Sam pinning him? Not fucking likely. Second; like they could ever act like this was normal?

Dean keeps reading, eyes getting wider and wider. He can’t do this. He can’t. But it’s like a train wreck; completely fucking horrible but he can’t look away.

“Christ’s sake, Sam. Do it.”

Wait. Sam’s… Sam is the one who’s… what?

“I’m gonna stripe this little ass all red, Dean. Mark it and make it mine.”

Dean puts a hand over his mouth. Okay. No. He really can’t do this. Not only is he reading about him and Sam having sex but Sam is spanking him? Sam. is spanking. Him.

Sam read at least one. If Sam can do it, so can he. Dean can’t wait to make Sam tell him what he read.

“I’m gonna make it burn ‘til it’s sweet, ‘til you can’t take anymore, and then fuck you while it’s all still tender.”

Dean busts out laughing. He can’t help it. He’s trying to imagine Sam ever saying something like that to him, let alone carrying it out. Besides, Sam fucking him? Did this writer even read the real books about them?

He feels a little better after laughing, like maybe he can actually handle this without being completely horrified. It’s so far removed from reality that it’s almost bearable.

The feeling lasts a few seconds, until he gets to the part where Sam’s got his tongue in Dean’s—Oh. That. That’s… just. He squints at the words, hurrying through them.

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean gasps. “If you don’t fuck me soon I’m gonna turn around and kick your ass on principle.”

At least they didn’t make him a total girl.

Sam chuckles into his brother’s body, gives one last dive of his tongue and then pulls free. Surveys his work and thinks it’ll be a miracle if Dean can even sit down soon, much less kick Sam’s ass. And oh, wouldn’t that be fun. Especially if Sam slid a plug inside Dean and made him keep it in all day, heavy weight of it pressing against his sweet spot, making him shift from one foot to the other, cock hard, toy keeping his tight hole open--

Dean flinches back from the screen. What? Okay, first, TWISTED. Second. No fucking way Dean would ever let Sam do that shit to him. Even if he was the bottom, which he is totally not. Or, wouldn’t be, if he and Sam were actually…

He can’t believe he’s even thinking about this.

He sits forward in the chair and hurries through the rest of the story. The fucking is actually easier to read than the tongue thing, even if it is graphic and Dean’s a complete, pansy bottom.

That sucked, he thinks, clicking the back button.

He just read about having sex with his brother.

People think he takes it up the ass from Sam? Seriously?

Writer’s got to be a Samgirl or something.

He clicks on another link.

Three hours later, Dean is slumped over, chin in his hand, eyes burning and blurring the words on the screen as Sam fucks him again, for the fifty-sixth time. All their fans seem to think Sam has an enormous cock and fucks Dean to death with it at every opportunity. He can’t even begin to count the various perverted things the writers have had Sam do to him, including one very special story he stumbled across where he gets fucked with every goddamned vegetable in the garden of their post-hunting perfect little domestic house complete with white picket fences, nine-to-five jobs and supportive neighbors. That’s without even getting into the story where Dean got hurt while hunting a ghost and Sam saved Dean’s life with his magically healing, huge cock—something about “the jizz of baby cherubs”.

He has a splitting headache, and he’s pretty fucking sure he’s never going to be able to look at his brother again without thinking about sex.

He wonders if Castiel has any idea that the Winchester Gospel set this in motion. He’d kinda love to see Cas’s face, if he found out.

Dean considers for a moment, rubbing a hand across his chin and smirking.

Yeah. That’s a great idea—introduce the angel to the Book of Incest.

He really needs to go to bed.

He erases the entire browser history, every cookie, every single fucking button he can click to delete anything and considers deleting firefox.exe just to be really sure, before he crawls into bed.

*

Sam gets in about an hour later, motel door creaking open on rusted hinges. Sam tries to be quiet, and Dean pretends to sleep through it all.

*

In the morning, Dean wakes up tired and cranky with a need for coffee so bad he’s ready to kick the tall, lanky guy’s ass behind the counter at Starbuck’s when he asks Dean to repeat his order a second time.

When he shoves the steaming cup into Sam’s hand back at the motel room, Dean does it without looking at him, sailing past to the bathroom with his own cup in hand.

Sam joins him in the middle of shaving a few minutes later, picking up his toothbrush and shooting Dean one of those looks as he reaches for the uncapped toothpaste.

Dean bumps Sam’s elbow as he rinses the razor in the sink, and Sam shoots him another patented bitchface look. Dean ignores it, bumping Sam’s elbow again as he raises his arm.

Sam moves two inches to the left and Dean feels a slow burn of satisfaction rise in his chest as he strokes the razor up the line of his throat.

After all, if he’s gotta be the one to take it up the ass in fanfic all the time, the least Sam can do is show him a little bit of respect.

*

Over breakfast, Dean contemplates Sam’s face as he shovels down his eggs. Dean looks for a while, but he doesn’t see a wide, pretty mouth, or high cheek bones or hazel eyes slanted like a fox’s. Sam’s complexion isn’t smooth or flawless, and he certainly doesn’t glow. Yeah, he’s got big, broad shoulders and rippling muscles and freakishly large hands, but mostly, he’s just Sam; Dean’s stupidly tall, floppy-haired, gigantic dork of a little brother.

Sam finally drops his fork on his plate and glances up at Dean with irritation. “Dude. What?”

Dean shrugs, nonchalant, and reaches for his mug of coffee. “Nothing,” he says, keeping his expression the same. “Just wondering if you found out anything about the case last night.”

Sam hesitates for a second, and then he picks up his fork and looks down at his plate. “There’s a book that might help…” he says, spearing eggs on his fork. “I need to check the local library.”

That’s… vague. Sam’s not being completely honest with him. Dean’s tempted to ask for details on what exactly Sam needs to look up. But Dean’s got a little errand of his own he can run at the library. “Okay, Nancy Drew,” he says instead. “We’ll hit it on the way out of town.”

*

The library isn’t very busy this early on a Tuesday, just a few college kids studying and perusing the aisles of books. Sam peels off towards the rows of books, and Dean heads for the row of computers near the center of the building. He settles himself in front of one of the monitors, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Sam’s disappeared into the non-fiction section.

He pulls up a browser and types in the address to LiveJournal.com, fingers hovering over the keys before he finally types “Supernatural” into LiveJournal’s search field.

He finds so many journals he doesn’t even know how to begin. Finally he uses the pull down menu and does his search in a couple places. A search of ‘communities’ finally turns up some stuff that looks useful.

Supernaturalfic is first on the list, and he clicks on it.

It’s the motherlode of Sam/Dean fic. He doesn’t have a lot of time to sort through it before Sam gets back, though, so he clicks on the first ten or so, skimming them. Some of it is really bad—like jizz of baby cherubs bad—but there’s some of it that’s… well… at least it’s literate and there’s no vegetables involved. He picks a couple stories, copies and pastes them into a Word document, then eyes the printers across the room.

There’s a cute, gothic chick standing by them, face pensive as she waits for her pages to print. Cute, but a little too in love with her pain for Dean’s tastes. Dean waits until she gathers the stack of papers, her short bob-cut flashing short-cropped blond beneath the black as she walks away, skirt swishing around her knees. He waits another minute to make sure no one else is headed for the printers, and hits the “print” button.

He practically runs to the printers, planting himself in front of the one that starts to spit pages.

He ends up with seven pages of short Sam/Dean stories. He folds them all together as he glances around to see if anyone’s watching him, and then tucks them into his back pocket.

He sits back down at the computer, surfing for another twenty minutes or so. There’s no access to porn in the library and he’s not reading any more fanfic when Sam could come walking up behind him any minute, and after twenty minutes he’s so bored and antsy that he gives up and goes looking for Sam.

Sam’s nowhere to be found in the non-fiction section. Dean frowns and keeps walking to the fiction section. He finds Sam kneeling on one knee in an aisle all by himself, thin paperback open in his hands. He looks engrossed in whatever he’s reading, book propped against his raised knee. Dean walks down the aisle and it’s not until halfway that Sam hears him coming and startles, looking guilty as he shuts the book.

“Supernatural?” Dean asks, looking at the section of books Sam’s kneeling in front of.

“They… didn’t have the book I was looking for.” Sam almost stumbles over the words, shoving the novel back onto the shelf.

“So you thought you’d read some more adventures of Sam and Dean we already lived through once?”

“I wondered if they had any of them, so I came over to look, and they have a few that we don’t.” Sam’s looking up at Dean like that’s supposed to mean something. Dean raises his brows and stares back at Sam expectantly.

“I was thinking,” Sam goes on, looking down at the shelf again. “Maybe we should keep them around for reference. I mean, books tend to be written with themes and foreshadowing. Who knows? There could be clues in there about things that haven’t happened yet.”

It sounds dubious to Dean—even Chuck didn’t know where the story was going. But since he’s standing there with seven pages of the Incest Gospel in his back pocket, he figures he’s not exactly in a position to protest dubious ideas. “Couldn’t hurt to have them around, I guess,” Dean shrugs.

Sam’s eyes widen like he’s surprised Dean’s giving in so easily. Dean avoids the look, kneeling down beside Sam and hunching over the bottom shelf. They push eight books inside their coats and zip them up.

Dean cuts Sam a sideways glance as he zips his jacket. “You think Chuck’s writing about us stealing books about ourselves right now?”

“Probably,” Sam nods, zipping his coat, too.

“This is just weird,” Dean says, standing up.

“Yeah.”

*

They drive north and slightly west at a leisurely pace for most of the day. Sam’s practically dozing in the passenger seat, mid-afternoon sun beating down when Dean pushes in mix-tape #3. “Highway Star” pours out over the speakers, and Dean sits back in the seat, satisfied.

That’s when it occurs to him, apropos of nothing, that Chuck doesn’t just know about the stolen books—he probably also knows every single thing Dean read last night.

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, jolt of realization running through him like adrenaline. His hand jerks on the wheel, and he steadies himself, ignoring the way Sam stirs and cuts him a half-lidded look.

“Squirrel,” Dean lies, his voice gruff.

They’ve got miles to go before they stop for the night and there’s no way Dean can do anything about it with Sam sitting right next to him. He drives until the sun sinks below the horizon, and then an extra half an hour just for appearances before he pulls off at an exit with a lodging sign in Mohall, North Dakota.

The motel siding is painted the most hideous shade of green Dean’s ever seen—and that’s saying something. The rooms aren’t any prettier, but at least they’re clean, even if there’s a lingering scent of mustiness lurking underneath. He throws his stuff down next to his bed and watches Sam settle in until Sam looks comfortable behind his laptop screen.

“I’m gonna head out and get some food. Be right back.”

Sam glances up and nods just before Dean shuts the door. Dean walks around the front end of the car and slides behind the wheel of the Impala, pulling his phone from his pocket as he backs out of the parking space.

The phone rings four times before Chuck picks up. “Hey, Chuck, it’s Dean.”

“I know. I just finished writing this scene—I mean, the part where this happens.”

Dean pauses, absorbing that as he turns onto the main road. “So you already know what I’m going to say?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“I really agree.” Chuck hesitates for a second, then adds, “Dean… don’t… don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just… curiosity. I understand.”

Dean feels like a stupid teenager caught with his pants down. This sucks. “Yeah, dude. Thanks for the therapy session.”

“I mean... I’ve read some of the stories, too… um… because I thought people were writing about my characters, and that’s… kind of flattering--”

“You knew about this? And you didn’t tell us?” Dean demands as he changes lanes.

“I already knew that you knew, remember? You and Sam had that whole conversation in the motel about slash--”

Dean winces against the word, slowing down for a red light. “Right, okay. So what I read last night, that’s--”

“Not going in the book, right.”

Dean scowls at the phone as he comes to a stop. “This is creepy enough without you finishing my sentences.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Chuck says, tittering nervously. The sound fades out as Dean scowls at the phone even harder. “I mean, I… Sorry.”

Dean closes his eyes and presses a hand to his forehead. “You know, this whole fucking thing gives me a major headache.”

“Try drinking,” Chuck advises.

*

The line at the drive-through at Wendy’s is nearly wrapped around the building. The inside is predictably almost empty, and Dean slides the car into a parking spot. He gets out of the car under the yellow glow of the sign and glances up, taking in red pigtails and freckles. Personally, Dean’s always thought Wendy is kinda hot, in that sexy librarian way. He’d mentioned it to Sam once, and Sam had stared at Dean, appalled as he said, “Yeah, Dean. She’s also twelve”, and rolled his eyes so hard Dean thought Sam might snap his own neck. Which… was a good point he never thought about before and really wishes Sam had never made, because he can’t ever look at her the same way again.

He gives his order at the counter and flirts a little with the girl behind it, who finally cracks her serious ‘just the burgers, sir’ veneer and gives him a smile. He throws in a wink as he asks for extra ketchup and she puts two handfuls into the bag, which is perfect.

He’s almost to the Impala, keys in one hand, greasy bag that smells like heaven in his other hand, when someone behind him says,

“Dean.”

Dean spins—he would’ve sworn there was no one else in the parking lot—dropping the bag of food to the ground, fingers closing into a fist—

Castiel’s standing there; frowning slightly, like Dean’s response confuses him.

Dean sighs, bending down and snatching up the food. “I’m gonna put a bell on you,” Dean threatens as he rises, pointing at Castiel, keys jingling.

“Lilith’s vanished,” Castiel begins, as if Dean hadn’t even spoken. “No one knows what happened to her after the last time you saw her. There are even rumors that you killed her,” Castiel says, eyeing Dean. “You didn’t, though.”

“No.”

Castiel nods like he expected the answer, and then he turns and starts to pace. “No one knows what her disappearance means.”

“Or if and when she’ll turn up again.” Dean hesitates, thinking about that as he takes the last few steps towards the Impala and turns around, leaning back against the trunk. Parking lot asphalt has never seemed so interesting as he adds, “Did you try Chuck?”

“He hasn’t seen anything.”

“So we’ve got zip?” Dean asks, looking back up at Castiel.

Castiel frowns. “Nothing. I even tried consulting the story, to see if there were indications of where she might have gone… but there was nothing.”

Dean’s already given this as much thought as he plans on giving it. If he’s gonna get any answers, it’s gonna be here—and if he doesn’t, well, it’ll still be fun. “You were reading the Winchester Gospel?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel nods.

“You know Chuck’s not the only one writing about us?”

Castiel’s brows draw together, his eyes closing on Dean intently. “He was chosen. Who else would write about you?”

Dean sets the bag on the trunk and then reaches for his back pocket. He pulls the pages out, unfolding them as he clears his throat. He smoothes them out and then hands them to Castiel.

Castiel takes them, still frowning as he shakes out the papers in his hand. “The minute Sam turns twenty-three, he’s buried balls deep inside of Dean, licking the last remnants of his birthday cake out of his brother’s mouth.”

Castiel stops and goes very still. He shifts his weight back and forth between his feet and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the page even though the look on his face reminds Dean of the time he ate too many Doritos and decided to polish them off with orange juice. A mistake so serious that he’s added it to his very short list of rules not to live by.

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, and Dean gloats, just a little.

“Yeah. So tell me. Did God see that coming?”

“This is… this is fiction,” Castiel says, lifting the pages towards Dean.

“The people reading your “Gospel” wrote this.”

“It’s fiction,” Castiel says again, like he’s got one brain cell and it’s stuck on stupefied.

“But it’s being written. This is what the readers are getting from ‘our story’.” Dean shakes his head, tonguing against the inside of his cheek. He’s enjoying this way too much—but why no; if he has to suffer through it, Castiel should, too. “I gotta know… Was that in the ‘big plan’? ‘Cause I’m thinking… God? Not gonna approve of the incest version of the Gospel.”

Castiel is speechless, and yeah, Dean’s loving the fuck out of this.

“It has to be part of God’s plan, right? He wants the people who read our stories to think this?”

Castiel opens his mouth then closes it again, looking between Dean and the pages. “Well… but… the… the children of Adam and Eve procreated with each other to produce offspring,” he says, stumbling over the words. “But then…” he stops, hand with the pages dropping to his side, frowning like he’s just encountered a very difficult math problem.

“But then there’s that whole pesky Kingdom of Sodom thing,” Dean adds.

“Yes,” Castiel nods emphatically.

“So as long as it makes babies… incest is okay?” Dean can hardly keep the smirk from his face, mouth twitching.

Castiel’s eyes meet his, filled with confusion. “I… may… need to take a meeting on this.”

Castiel vanishes, leaving Dean feeling incredibly satisfied.

*

Dean’s enjoying his mood so much that he waits until he and Sam are both almost done eating before he tells Sam about Lilith disappearing.

Sam’s face goes pensive as he wipes a napkin across his chin, and then his whole expression turns hard as he balls the napkin up. “She’s up to something.”

“You said she was running scared,” Dean counters. “Maybe she decided the whole thing wasn’t worth it.”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “She’ll be back.”

Of course she will. Dean doesn’t even know what he was doing entertaining the idea they might get out of this easy. He knows better than that. Nothing’s ever easy. “You still think you can take her?” he asks, voice low.

“I know I can.”

“Using your powers.”

“It’s the only way.” There was a time not too long ago when Sam might have sounded sorry about that; now he’s just matter of fact.

Dean crumples the empty cheeseburger wrapper in his hands and purses his lips, thinking for a long time before he speaks again. “How are you getting more powerful, Sam?”

Sam’s mouth thins and he looks away. “Practice.”

He doesn’t even bother to point out that admitting that means Sam’s been lying to Dean all along. Dean already knew Sam was. Dean tosses the wrapper into the empty bag. “With Ruby?” Dean tries to keep the anger from his voice, but it’s damned hard.

Sam flinches, then tenses and doesn’t answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It’s the only way we can win, Dean.”

Dean’s so tired of having this argument with Sam. He rubs his hands clean with a couple of napkins, focusing intently on cleaning the grease from under the edges of his nails. “There’s got to be another way, Sam. What about the angels? You don’t think they’ll help us?”

He can hear Sam shrug. “Maybe. But I don’t think they will.”

“Cas will, if he can.”

“‘If’ isn’t good enough.”

Dean wishes he could argue with that. But he can’t, and there’s nothing he hasn’t already said to Sam about this. He decides to go to bed instead.

[ PART 2 ]

(art by votaku)

(art by votaku)

Stranger Than Fiction, Pt. 2/8 (Sam/Dean, NC-17)

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 23:50:47 GMT

<< Part 1

They decide to stay put the next day and see what Sam can turn up on the case. Dean’s restless by noon, drumming his fingers against his leg in time to the music from the alarm clock radio as he flips through a magazine. Sam gives up researching about an hour later and falls on his own bed. Dean sees him reach for the book on the nightstand, the one he started reading last night. The cover reads Croatoan, and Dean wonders why Sam picked that one.

“You wanna go get some lunch?”

Sam tosses the book aside like he’s almost grateful. “Yeah.”

*

They have lunch at the local pool hall, which is mostly deserted this time of afternoon on a workday. They eat and have a couple beers and play a few games of pool, and it almost feels... normal.

*

They order Chinese for dinner at Sam’s urging, and Sam eats his dinner over his laptop while he does… whatever Sam does.

Dean watches part of the original Howling while he eats, and by the time he’s going back for seconds, Sam gets up from behind the laptop and stretches. Sam walks over and sits on the end of the other bed, looking at the action on the TV screen. “Don’t you ever get tired of watching this stuff?” he asks after a while. “I mean, we live with it every day. Isn’t that enough?”

“That’s kinda what I like about it.” He realizes then that he’s watching a goddamned werewolf movie, and that’s probably not Sam’s favorite kind of monster movie these days. Dean picks up the remote and tosses it to Sam as he gets up from the bed. “You pick something. I’m gonna go get us something to drink.”

Sam looks at the remote, and then back at Dean like Dean’s lost his mind, and Dean blatantly ignores him.

“Be right back,” he tells Sam as he opens the motel door, chill, early spring night air hitting him.

The light over the soda machine is flickering, just the slightest bit as Dean walks down the sidewalk outside the motel. He stops, narrowing his eyes on it, and then turns in a slow circle, looking out across the parking lot, eyeing the door and window to the room he’s standing outside of, waiting.

The light continues to flicker with no further effects, but he waits another full minute. Sometimes it's a faulty light bulb; sometimes it's a demon. The difference can be life altering.

When nothing else happens, he finally moves, glancing over his shoulder.

Nothing. He's psyching himself out. Faulty light bulb. Fucking things. You'd think people could make better light bulbs by now, much as they need them.

Dean slides four dollar bills into the soda machine and pushes the ‘Sunkist’ button twice. He grabs the plastic bottles between the fingers of his left hand and turns back towards the room—

Castiel almost gets to experience what it’s like to ‘feel all orange inside’--and out--right between the fucking eyes.

“A little more warning, dude,” Dean snaps, lowering his hand.

Castiel has the sense to at least look a little chagrined. “I keep forgetting that you don’t sense me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m taking the short bus to destiny. Deal.”

Castiel nods, like that makes sense, lights under the eaves of the motel highlighting his features. “I read… what you gave me,” Castiel offers like an apology.

“You… read it? All?”

“I did.” Words given quickly and matter-of-fact--like he’d rather not think about that. “I… meditated on your question… and Dean, you should know…” Castiel trails off, staring into the middle distance with his intense eyes.

“What?” Dean demands.

Castiel’s eyes snap to his, then away again, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “If the masses are seeing this… between the two of you… then they’re seeing something that already exists, interpreted through the texts.”

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment. He curls his tongue against the inside of his mouth and nods, thinking that over. “What?”

“I’m not saying it’s truth.” Castiel hesitates, considering. “But there’s something being interpreted from the text.”

“Interpreted… So we’re not really gay and incestuous—we’re just drawn that way.”

“I don’t have that answer for you, Dean.”

That wasn’t the answer Dean was expecting. “Wait,” Dean says, sitting down on the bench beside the vending machine. “You’re an angel of the Lord. And you’re telling me that this… message that people are seeing, might be what God wants them to see? Really? God says ‘Gay incest, yay!’?”

“I’m saying nothing of the kind,” Castiel returns, sounding almost sympathetic. “I’m saying that God wants the tale told as it is. It is not God’s will for the masses to interpret anything. But if they are… then the roots of that interpretation are in the books.”

“In other words, it’s not God’s fault, it’s ours?”

Castiel nods once, still not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. “Whatever the case, Dean, it doesn’t change your destiny.”

Dean’s still trying to figure out what all that means when Castiel vanishes.

*

On the way back to the room, Dean opens the trunk of the car and digs through it until he finds the first novel in the series. He brings it inside with him and finds Sam stretched out on the bed in his sweatpants, watching some old black and white movie. Sam yawns and stretches, rolling over to look at Dean—and then he stops, seeing what Dean’s got in his hand.

“You’re… reading?”

“Why not? Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is something in here that could be useful.” Dean tosses Sam one of the sodas in his other hand and Sam catches it. He arches a brow at Dean and then shrugs, and that’s that.

Dean pulls off his jacket, throwing it on the bed as he stretches out on it, eyeing Sam watching TV before he opens the book and starts to read.

He’d only been skimming before—except for a few parts here and there--seeing how well the stories fit with what happened to them. He’s looking for something completely different now. The beginning scene with mom and dad is too hard to take, so he skips it and starts with Jess in some kind of hot ass nurse outfit, putting on earrings as she walks out of the bathroom. It’s terrible, he thinks, how that part of the story is only slightly less disturbing than the beginning. He really doesn’t wanna imagine Jess like that.

But soon, he loses himself in the detail, and it’s almost like reliving the experience; breaking into Sam’s apartment, the wrestling on the floor.

Sam panted, chest heaving against Dean’s, muscles still straining.

“Whoa, easy, tiger.”

“Dean? You scared the crap out of me.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re out of practice.”

Sam lunged, fingers seizing Dean tight and hard, throwing Dean over onto his back, Sam’s long, lean body holding him against the carpet. He’d gotten stronger, Dean thought. Bodies pressed together in the darkness, Sam stared into Dean’s eyes with defiance, muscles flexing, and just for a split second, Dean felt it; a spark of the connection that’s always been there between them.

Okay. Maybe. If you squint real hard and look at it sideways and don’t realize Dean’s talking about a completely brotherly connection. Maybe.

Dean shoved Sam violently against the bridge, impact of Sam’s body shuddering through his arms. His face was close to Sam’s, electric undercurrent crackling between them in the air. The silence between them was charged with meaningful looks—and then Dean heard something that made him let go and turn around.

That’s a little… but, still. Not really… so bad. There were… reasons for that. All the history between them, the way Sam never really understood about mom because he didn’t know her. How Sam had left them to go to college, the argument they’d had before Sam finally left. How much Sam hated this life. There are all kinds of reasons for that… undercurrent to be there. His eyes click to Sam again, and he wonders if Sam’s even still awake, TV murmuring with low dialogue. He turns the page and keeps reading.

He reads for a while longer, until Sam’s definitely out cold and Dean’s eyes are starting to fall shut on the words. He’s maybe a quarter of the way through the book, and besides reliving the case and the pain of seeing Sam again after two years, he’s not finding much. He’s never going to make it through 66 books of reliving all the pain that’s even worse. He needs…

He sighs, closing the book and laying it on his chest.

He needs… the Cliff Notes version of Supernatural’s… “slash” moments.

Once he gets past admitting that, the answer’s pretty clear.

The laptop’s already out and set up on the dining table, which makes it easy for Dean to creep out of bed and slide into a chair, wincing at the loud click the laptop makes when it opens. Dim white light fills the room, and Dean risks a glance at Sam.

Sam’s still fast asleep, sprawled out on the bed, one of his socks rucked down around his ankle below the hem of his sweatpants, foot hanging off the edge of the bed, probably drooling into the pillow.

Ten minutes later Dean’s got a new Gmail address and a log in on the message board. He finds a Sam/Dean thread and types his message into the box, only pausing for a second before he hits “post”.

sexonwheels67: Sexiest Sam/Dean moments. Which books and what scenes?

The word “sexiest” makes him flinch, but hey, he’s got to speak their language.

He thinks for a moment, debating the screen, and clicks the cursor into the Google toolbar. Out of curiosity, he does a search for Supernatural, “Sam/Dean scenes” and “book”.

The resulting search turns up someone else’s LiveJournal near the top of the list.

Dean can’t believe he never heard of a LiveJournal before a few days ago. This place is better than a Supernatural hotline.

Apr. 8th, 2009

SPN Fans: Your Assignment, Should You Choose…

Specifically the Sam/Dean fans. I need to know; what do you consider the most Sam/Dean book EVER out of the whole series? And what moments in that book make it the Sam/Deanest ever? Be as detailed as you like with your examples, include charts and graphs if desired.

For extra credit, include more than one book ;)

It's for very important research, promise :) You will be rewarded by the end result ((I think, anyway)).

Pretty PLEASE?

Mood: curious

There’s a bunch of little buttons at the bottom of the post, and Dean hovers over all of them. One of them lights up with a tag that says “Track this” and Dean clicks it, entering his email address to catch every reply that comes through.

Dean glances over at Sam, and Sam’s still clutching the pillow, face buried in it the way Dean likes to bury his face between—

Sam lifts his face in the wan light of the laptop, looking right at him. Dean’s heart freezes in his chest, and suddenly he’s clicking everywhere on the screen, trying to close the window.

“Dude,” Sam admonishes. “You are not looking at porn while I’m in the room?”

Dean blinks, trying to comprehend the words, and then they register. “No,” Dean says, standing up from the chair. “I’ll…” Dean trails off, picking up the laptop and making a strategic retreat to the bathroom.

“Dean,” Sam calls after him, disgusted. “With my laptop?”

Sam sighs and shakes his head, face flopping back into the pillow as Dean closes the door.

Dean turns around and leans his back against the door, rolling his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ.

This is ridiculous. He’s so disgusted with himself. He can’t even believe it.

He should have thought of the bathroom first.

Dean shakes his head and lets out a breath, setting the laptop down on the sink. He erases the browser history and cookies, closes the browser and then waits a few more minutes before he closes it and tiptoes back out into the room. He puts the laptop back on the table and crawls between the sheets of his bed.

Sam doesn’t move a muscle.

*

Dean wakes up around eight o’clock, throwing back the covers and heading for the bathroom. He unzips his jeans, standing in front of the toilet. He’s right in the middle of taking a piss when the door pushes open.

He cuts his eyes over his shoulder at Sam.

“I’ll go get breakfast,” Sam says, retreating.

“McDonald’s—bacon, egg and cheese biscuits, Sam,” Dean calls after him, and Sam grunts an affirmative, sound of the car keys jangling outside in the room. “And coffee,” he yells.

Dean shakes off and flushes, moving to the sink, washing his hands and eyeing the razor as his next stop.

Except… he’s got a few minutes alone.

Dean thinks maybe at most he’ll have a couple replies, if anything at all. His waits for Gmail to load, tapping a finger against the mouse and wishing Sam had gotten them coffee first.

Dean stops, blinking as the screen loads. His inbox is full of bolded messages. 1 - 50 of 63 the words at the bottom of the emails read.

Sixty-three?, he mouths, staring at the screen in disbelief.

As he watches, the screen blinks and another reply falls into his inbox.

He clicks on that one and can’t make it through the tangle of conversation. He tries the next one and has the same problem. He finally clicks back to Oldest, and clicks on the first one there.

This one repeats his original message back at him, first reply just under the text.

There’re 43 replies in this email alone.

“This is a cult following?” he asks aloud, eyes scanning down to the first reply.

sophie_448: Pilot. Because I started shipping them the second I read it. I had heard of Sam/Dean online before I read the books and I swore I wouldn't get sucked in. After I finished the first novel, abandon hope all ye who enter here. Dean breaking into Sam's apartment with the fighting and the TENSION and OMG. Dean shoving Sam up against the side of the bridge? Possibly my favorite reinterpretation of the text: See, the woman in white is not supposed to be able to hurt a man who hasn't been unfaithful, yet with Sam she shoves her fingers in his chest and says "you will be." My fanon? Sam is being unfaithful to DEAN.

Wrestling. Bridge. Dean thinks, stroking his cheek, fingers playing over the stubble. Huh. He could write that off to wishful thinking… but that last part… Sophie’s right, whoever she is. Sam hadn’t even thought about being unfaithful to Jess. He knows that from reading the scene in the book. And yet the woman in white was able to hurt Sam?

Well, the woman in white did say “you will be”, like it hadn’t happened yet, so … Dean abandons that thread and clicks on the next email in the line.

This is the LiveJournal post he decided to track. It’s got 32 replies all by itself. He rereads quickly through the post and then reads the first reply.

So, okay, I know this is a totally unpopular view but I DON'T CAAAAAAAAAARE but the book that completely hooked me into the incest is ‘Pilot’. Really and truly, I was in from RIGHT THEN. That's not even getting into the slammy!Dean bridge scene, which... GUH. A thousand times over and a thousand times again, slammy!Dean is my favorite Dean and I learned it from ~~you~~ Pilot! His FACE and his EYES and the lingering. So much slash. SPN was my personal introduction to slashing ANYTHING but it was all over right then.

The bridge again. Huh. And… Slammy!Dean? Is her favorite Dean… and she learned it from…

Dean clicks on the comment reply link in the email and scrolls back up the page.

There’s a picture of ‘Sam and Dean’ from the cover of one of the books at the top of the page. thenyxie is the person’s user name, and there’s a convenient link on the left that reads “Nyxie’s Supernatural Fanfiction”. There are a lot of stories behind the link. Most of them read as Sam/Dean, but there’s also Dean/Nancy (which makes him wince a little), and Dean/Jess (which makes him wince even harder).

He scrolls down a bit… and the list of stories goes on and on. Does this girl even have a life?

He’s still questioning that as he hears the Impala turn into the parking lot of the motel.

He closes the tab, clicks to his Gmail window and types the first thing he can come up with into the Google toolbar.

“Dean,” Sam says, his face pained as the door falls shut behind him. “You’re not.”

“No,” Dean says, looking up with a smug smile. “I’m not. I’m doing research.” Let Sam chew on that.

Sam frowns at him skeptically and walks over, setting the McDonald’s bag down on the table. He moves in close behind Dean, peering over Dean’s shoulder—pushy bitch—and Dean glances away from the screen, eyes rolling up and to the side. Dammit.

“‘Vacationing spots for demons’?,” Sam cuts his eyes sideways at Dean, the look in them saying plainly that he thinks Dean’s finally lost his mind completely. “That’s what you’re researching?”

It’s not like Dean had much time to come up with anything better. “Yeah. Lilith’s MIA.” Dean shrugs, trying for nonchalant. “You never know, Sam. Maybe she headed for Tijuana for some serious Miller time after what happened.”

“Tijuana?” Sam asks, turning to look at Dean full on, brows climbing so high into his hair Dean can’t even see them anymore.

“Why not? Drink some quality tequila, see the sights--”

“Take in a donkey show or two?” Sam adds, eyes getting even wider and more incredulous.

Dean nudges Sam’s shoulder and grins like Sam gets exactly what he’s talking about. “Right? I mean… donkey show, come on.” Dean spreads his hands, looking at Sam like it’s the most natural conclusion in the world. “Even demons gotta enjoy a good donkey show once in a while, right?”

“Ooookay,” Sam says, backing away from the screen.

“They don’t have those in Hell,” Dean yells over his shoulder as Sam disappears into the bathroom.

*

Dean ends up with a list of books and scenes to look at. Croatoan and Playthings seem to tie for the top two “slashiest”, followed closely by Mystery Spot, and then Pilot and All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2.

They don’t own All Hell Breaks Loose, parts one or two. Even if they did, he’d never read them. Playthings wins out because Dean’s not sure he can stand reading anything else.

Dean pushed Sam down against the bed, but Sam refused to lay down. Sam sat down and pushed back, body rising up fierce, fingers curling in Dean’s jacket, pulling him even closer. Dean could feel his brother's fingertips clutching at his chest, could feel Sam’s breath against his face, the bitter smell of alcohol wafting on the air. Sam’s eyes were desperate, almost panicked.

“No, please. Dean, you're the only one who can do it. Promise.”

The look on Sam’s face threatened to shatter Dean. “Don't ask that of me.” Dean’s heart lurched as he stared deep into Sam’s eyes.

“Dean, please. You have to promise me.” Sam’s eyes were intent, needing. Dean had years of conditioning to steel him against that look, but it still took him by surprise every time.

Dean knew he would tell Sam whatever he needed to make him happy. That was what Dean always did; what he’ll always do. The words fell easily to Dean’s lips, even though they weren’t what he felt in his heart.

“I promise.”

The look on Sam’s face was so instantly, incredibly grateful that Dean almost felt guilty. “Thanks.” Sam’s face twisted as he released Dean’s jacket, fingers grabbing at Dean’s face. “Thank you.”

It was too much; Sam so emotional, grasping Dean’s face as he looked at Dean with those worshipping, loving eyes. Their faces were too close together, Sam drawing even closer; sickly sweet smell of beer breathed into Dean’s mouth. Dean rolled his eyes to the side and closed them as he smacked Sam’s hand away.

“All right. Come on,” Dean ordered, his voice deep and raspy. He pushed Sam down against the bed and Sam finally relented. Sam rolled over against the bed, burying his face against the pillow, hips rocking for a moment before he settled in.

Dean sat down on the chair and rubbed a shaking hand across his jaw as he looked at Sam. Sam; his little brother--the only thing that had ever really mattered to Dean—was asking Dean to kill him.

Dean lifted his hand, palm meeting his forehead, fingers pushing up into his hair as he let his face fall forward. Sam might as well have asked Dean to kill himself. Life without Sam was something Dean couldn’t begin to contemplate.

Without Sam, there was nothing worth living for.

Dean stops reading, glancing to the side for a long moment. Okay. There was a bed and some face grabbing and stuff, but still… really? That was ‘slashy’? They’re brothers, for fuck’s sake--family. What kind of person twists that into sex?

Maybe it was the part where Sam looked at you with worshipping, loving eyes?

Shut up. That was totally a little brother thing.

Or maybe it was the part where you knew you couldn’t kill him even if you should, because you can’t live without him?

Shut. Up.

Dean flicks through the book, eyes scanning the pages idly. He’s lying on the bed, still flipping through when Sam walks out of the bathroom, hair still wet from the shower.

“You’re reading again?” Sam asks, sitting down on the end of his bed.

“You’re the one who wanted the books.”

“For reference, Dean. You’re obsessing. You seriously need a new hobby.”

‘They moved like magnets with opposing poles, and Dean turned away, unable to bear the look in Sam’s eyes.’

Dean slams the book closed. “You got anything for us to kill yet?”

*

“We’ve got another death,” Sam sighs twenty minutes later as Dean emerges from the bathroom. Sam’s flicking a pen back and forth restlessly between two fingers of the hand that isn’t smearing his eyes into weird shapes.

“Where?” Dean asks, rubbing a towel against his wet hair and reaching for his backpack.

“Storm Lake, Iowa. Samuel Jones, found dead earlier this morning in his home. Three days after telling his best friend that his dead wife, Katherine, had come back to him.”

Dean tosses the towel on the bed and rolls a t-shirt over his head. “How far is that from here?”

Sam doesn’t have to type anything, just looks at Dean and says, “About thirteen hours north and east.”

“Dammit, Sam.” Dean yanks at the hem of his shirt. “Does this thing have a pattern or what?”

“All male victims… all their wives died within the last year. That’s all I’ve got so far. This thing seems to move slowly, take its time with its victims.”

“We’re driving blind.”

“I’ll find the pattern,” Sam insists quietly. “But for now…”

Dean nods. “We head to Storm Lake, talk to the best friend.”

*

It’s a little more than thirteen hours to the Storm Lake, and when they finally roll into ‘The Imperator Inn’, Dean turns the keys, engine dying. They get out and grab their bags, and Sam stops when he realizes Dean’s not behind him.

“I’m gonna get some sodas,” Dean says, lifting a shoulder in the direction of the machines.

Sam nods and lets himself into the room.

Dean can’t get his phone into his hand fast enough, walking past the other rooms at the motel, past the soda machines and around the corner.

“Hi, Dean,” Chuck sighs.

“‘They moved like magnets with opposing poles’?” Dean demands. “Are you serious? No wonder our fans slash us.”

“I only tell the story.”

“No,” Dean says, holding up a finger, turning hard on his heels. “Those are your words. You wrote it that way. I never thought we moved like…” Dean makes helpless, emphatic gestures with his free hand, “magnetic poles,” he spits.

“Maybe you never thought it…” Chuck says with heavy hesitation. “Not specifically,” he adds, like an apology before he hurries on. “But that’s what came through.”

“So…” Dean says, very slowly, needing to understand, “you understand why people slash us? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean… I’m saying that… well… you two do spend every second together and you do have this self-sacrificing tendency to put each other before anything else, and it makes sense, how some people would… um…interpret that differently.”

“And now you see it, too?”

“I… well… a few weeks ago, I, um, didn’t…”

“But now you do?” Dean demands, outraged.

“Your fascination with fanfiction really isn’t helping,” Chuck says, half-admonishing.

The line goes dead, and Dean stares at the phone for a few long seconds.

Perfect. Even the prophet’s starting to buy in.

*

Dean pretends to sleep until Sam’s snoring into the pillow, and then he gets up from the bed, picking up the laptop and moving quietly into the bathroom. He sits the laptop on the vanity sideways and makes sure it’s really far away from the sink before he sits down on the closed toilet lid, considering the Google logo for a minute while he tries to remember the name of the journal he’d been looking at the other morning.

Dean remembers the user name and types it into the search bar along with ‘LiveJournal’. The journal pops up first in the list of links, and he finds the link to her stories right at the top of her posts.

He clicks on one of the stories that promises ‘Jealous!Top!Dean’ and wonders if he should worry that he’s totally begun to understand the lingo.

Dean’s got his body draped across the diner counter like an invitation, angle of hips and wide grin pointed at the waitress behind it.

It hits Dean all over again, how surreal this is. Someone wrote this about him. Yeah, they thought they were writing it about a fictional character, but… Dean rubs at his temples and wonders what ‘thenyxie’ would think if she knew Dean was a real person and reading one of her stories about him right now.

Embarrassed? Pleased? Indescribable? Some other LiveJournal emotion?

This is so twisted.

"Only people who don't know something belongs to them get jealous, Sam. And I fucking know you're mine." Dean thrusts, sends Sam's hips slamming to the wall.

"Little full of yourself," Sam manages to rasp out, feels Dean's chest rumble against him, chuckling.

"Gonna make you full of me, too," he promises.

Oh, come on. Cheesy one liners? That’s…

Actually, that’s fair.

It’s still… really fucking far from normal, reading himself dirty talking to… Sam, but it’s a lot better than reading about himself getting skewered by Sam’s huge, magical cock.

"Think that waitress would’ve done you better?” Dean asks, undercurrent of danger. "Think she would have pegged your pretty ass if you begged real nice? I bet she would've. She looked so eager. Bet she would've loved hearing how your brother fucks you. The way you moan and wriggle on the end of my cock."

"If I went home with her…” Sam grunts, “wouldn't have been talking about you." He's pushing it, knows he is. Wants to.

Little fucking shit needs to be put in his—

He did not just think that.

“Get your fucking ass on the bed, Sammy.” Dean’s hands fall to his belt buckle, slow work of his fingers over the clasp, smooth tug sliding leather from the loops. “Now.”

“Gonna punish me?” The words come out breathless, not as harsh as he means them. Dean smiles, sends shivers racing down Sam’s spine.

“Naked,” Dean adds. Hands on each end of the belt, pull and a snap as it straightens against the air. “On your hands and knees.”

And now… he’s spanking Sam. Which is way more like it, in Dean’s opinion, but seriously, what is it with these people and the kink? Sure, Dean’s spanked a few girls in his time, tied a few of them up, even. Some of them liked him to be rough and dominant, girls have dressed up for him, he’s used toys on more than a few, had threesomes with two women, had sex in public places. He’s no stranger to kink. He kinda digs it; it’s fun, keeps things interesting. But what’s wrong with just fucking every once in a while, for fuck’s sake?

Dean reads through the spanking, and then… story-Dean’s doing that tongue thing. Christ. Guys really do that to each other? It’s one thing to do it to a girl, but… He squints and then blinks at the words on the screen. Well… now he knows how it’s done in detail. Dean blanches, skimming down to the actual sex.

“Anybody fuck you as good as me, huh?” Dark grin of Dean’s voice, self-assured. He doesn’t stop fucking Sam but his fingers hesitate, circle of pressure around the rim of Sam’s cock. “Come on, Sammy. Tell me.”

Sam bites down on the inside of his jaw, feels his pride sting as the word comes free. “No.”

Of course not. Dean may not be a gay sex expert, but if there’s one thing Dean prides himself on, it’s—

He might need to lay off the fanfic.

He takes a breath and clears his throat, leaning back as he finishes reading the last few lines.

Dean flops on the mattress beside him, breathing hard. All the anger's drained out of him now, and he's giving Sam a look that makes Sam... worried.

"What?"

“I knew it. Best you ever had.” Dean grins, pleased and smug. “You are so my bitch.”

Sam sinks his face in the pillow and sighs.

Dean smirks in agreement for a few seconds before he realizes what he’s doing.

He definitely needs to lay off the fanfic.

Just like he’s quit doing everything else that’s bad for him, right?

Yeah, he’ll get right on that.

He’s just glad he never started smoking. Though, considering his life, smoking might be a lot less lethal.

He clicks on another link.

*

What he really needs to understand, Dean decides around 2am, is why so many women write this and think it’s hot, and how he can work that to his advantage in the future.

He logs into the message boards and gets about halfway through typing the question before he stops, hitting the backspace key and erasing the whole thing.

Why women think two guys fucking is hot becomes pretty obvious if you’re a straight guy who enjoys a good girl on girl porn scene, and Dean really does.

But… brothers? How—

His brain interrupts him with an image from a really hot porn movie he’d watched a couple months ago that featured two sisters going at it.

He stops, taking his fingers away from the keyboard.

When the crazy starts to make sense? It’s time to close the laptop.

[ PART 3 ]

(art by votaku)