Fic: Pay As You Go (Supernatural)
Sep. 14th, 2006 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosTitle: Pay As You Go
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Word Count: about 1,000 words
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: "Devil's Trap"
Warnings: Incest between brothers.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The five-hundred-dollar car is, but he makes for a bad fanfic subject.
Summary: Sam makes up his own stories about the people whose credit cards they're using.
****
Pay As You Go
****
Burt Aframian and his son Hector are close, Sam decides.
Burt owns his own dry-cleaning business and takes his wife to a fancy Mexican restaurant once a month. Whenever she brings him lunch at the store, he dances her around the place to the smooth voice of Sinatra pouring from the radio. He collects celebrity signatures and drives an old Caddy with more personality than shine. He coached Hector's Little League games.
Hector's in training to be a fireman, and all of the guys at the firehouse call him Hell because they say calling him Heck isn't nearly strong enough. He goes rock climbing on the weekends and dates a nice girl who's in college to be a kindergarten teacher.
"He ever blow his little brother?" Dean says when Sam tells him.
Sam manages to restrain his smile, but barely.
"No, but he should."
*
"Allen Baker once shot a man just to watch him die," Sam says.
Dean shifts the weight of the bags he's heaving out of the trunk to cock an eyebrow. Allen Baker paid for the room they're staying in tonight, the ammo they picked up a few hours ago, and the lube they tossed into the cart at the local chain superstore just in case. "Oh, yeah? How'd that work out for him?"
Sam shrugs and takes his bag from Dean's grasp.
"Probably would have worked better if he weren't legally blind."
*
"You know what Michael Westlake's doing right now?"
"I'm afraid to ask," Dean says. He finishes pouring the salt line, says the usual protective prayers over the motel room door.
Sam blows away the excess chalk on the symbol he's drawing on the painted floorboards and smooths away a smudge of white on his jeans. "He's eating ramen noodles and studying for his Chinese history final."
There's a flicker of that muscle in Dean's jaw, and he says, "Sounds like he's got one hell of an exciting weekend planned."
"Not exciting, just ... you know, normal."
Dean's breath comes out like it's skating over a cheese grater.
"Check your stats, college boy. Normal guys your age aren't going to Stanford on full academic scholarships to study pre-law and dating girls who look like Jess. They're coming home from a day's work at Wal-Mart to play video games and dating girls who look like Dad. And that's with the five-o'clock shadow."
Sam doesn't look up from the floor as he draws another white line on the wood.
*
"Think James Conti can do this?"
Sam does this thing with his thumb that makes Dean's entire body jerk like it's been shot through with lightning, and Dean stops mouthing along the slope of Sam's collarbone to moan into the curve of his neck. He buries his face against Sam's skin, breathes in sandalwood and smoke, flicks his tongue over the pulse point there.
"Well, if he can," Dean says when he catches his breath, "I hope he's selling tickets."
Sam's chest rumbles with his quiet laughter, and the vibration makes Dean press even closer. "Why? You buying?"
"Nah," Dean says. Sam's fingers twist again, and Dean's words come out strangled and ragged. "I've already got a free pass into someone else's pants."
"You're such a hopeless romantic."
Sam hisses in a breath when Dean's fingertips skim along his ribs.
"Wasn't trying to be," Dean mutters, and rolls his hips in a quiet taunt.
*
"Terry Black is a woman."
Dean makes a hum and groan in the back of his throat and leans back to frown at Sam, who moans at the abrupt absence of warmth.
"Dude, if you don't stop saying shit like that when I'm sucking your cock, I'm not going to do it anymore."
Sam wants to nod and agree to his terms, just wants Dean to get back to scrambling his brain through his dick, but what he hears himself say when he leans back in the passenger seat of the Impala is, "She once won Miss Congeniality in the Miss Oklahoma pageant."
Dean rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, probably for doing this," he says, and lowers his head again.
*
"Jake Rabinowitz hates hospitals."
Dean doesn't say anything, but he hasn't said much since they took the tube out of his throat. He just watches Sam, rubs his fingertips over the soft blanket covering his legs and waits for the rest of it.
"He was in this car accident once," Sam says. He doesn't look up from the puzzle magazine he'd grabbed from the pile he'd brought to occupy Dean's time. He absently scribbles numbers onto the page with his pencil as he speaks. "His whole family died, and he was paralyzed from the waist down. Couldn't even crawl out of the car to get help. He just had to to sit there and watch them bleed out before his eyes. So Jake Rabinowitz doesn't really like hospitals."
Dean watches Sam's fingers tremble against the shiny cover of the puzzle magazine, clears his throat and tugs at a loose thread in the blanket.
"Yeah, Dean Winchester's not exactly a big fan of hospitals, either."
*
"I ever tell you about Burt Aframian dancing with his wife every day at lunchtime?"
It's damp out, wet and gray and disgusting in a way that makes Dean's skin crawl. It shouldn't be like this, with the two of them in a graveyard they've never been to, their jeans stained in thick mud up past their ankles. It should be sunny, it should be warm. There should be birds singing, not cars speeding by on the nearby highway. There should be a crowd, a string quartet, a mountain of roses and lilies. There should be something epic going on here.
Sam bought a bouquet of cheap daisies at the grocery store. Dean teased him that they probably smell like ham, but he didn't listen. Good kid.
Dean's palms are damp when he looks down at the box in his hands.
A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life.
"Yeah, Sammy," he says, "you told me."
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Word Count: about 1,000 words
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Spoilers: "Devil's Trap"
Warnings: Incest between brothers.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The five-hundred-dollar car is, but he makes for a bad fanfic subject.
Summary: Sam makes up his own stories about the people whose credit cards they're using.
Pay As You Go
****
Burt Aframian and his son Hector are close, Sam decides.
Burt owns his own dry-cleaning business and takes his wife to a fancy Mexican restaurant once a month. Whenever she brings him lunch at the store, he dances her around the place to the smooth voice of Sinatra pouring from the radio. He collects celebrity signatures and drives an old Caddy with more personality than shine. He coached Hector's Little League games.
Hector's in training to be a fireman, and all of the guys at the firehouse call him Hell because they say calling him Heck isn't nearly strong enough. He goes rock climbing on the weekends and dates a nice girl who's in college to be a kindergarten teacher.
"He ever blow his little brother?" Dean says when Sam tells him.
Sam manages to restrain his smile, but barely.
"No, but he should."
"Allen Baker once shot a man just to watch him die," Sam says.
Dean shifts the weight of the bags he's heaving out of the trunk to cock an eyebrow. Allen Baker paid for the room they're staying in tonight, the ammo they picked up a few hours ago, and the lube they tossed into the cart at the local chain superstore just in case. "Oh, yeah? How'd that work out for him?"
Sam shrugs and takes his bag from Dean's grasp.
"Probably would have worked better if he weren't legally blind."
"You know what Michael Westlake's doing right now?"
"I'm afraid to ask," Dean says. He finishes pouring the salt line, says the usual protective prayers over the motel room door.
Sam blows away the excess chalk on the symbol he's drawing on the painted floorboards and smooths away a smudge of white on his jeans. "He's eating ramen noodles and studying for his Chinese history final."
There's a flicker of that muscle in Dean's jaw, and he says, "Sounds like he's got one hell of an exciting weekend planned."
"Not exciting, just ... you know, normal."
Dean's breath comes out like it's skating over a cheese grater.
"Check your stats, college boy. Normal guys your age aren't going to Stanford on full academic scholarships to study pre-law and dating girls who look like Jess. They're coming home from a day's work at Wal-Mart to play video games and dating girls who look like Dad. And that's with the five-o'clock shadow."
Sam doesn't look up from the floor as he draws another white line on the wood.
"Think James Conti can do this?"
Sam does this thing with his thumb that makes Dean's entire body jerk like it's been shot through with lightning, and Dean stops mouthing along the slope of Sam's collarbone to moan into the curve of his neck. He buries his face against Sam's skin, breathes in sandalwood and smoke, flicks his tongue over the pulse point there.
"Well, if he can," Dean says when he catches his breath, "I hope he's selling tickets."
Sam's chest rumbles with his quiet laughter, and the vibration makes Dean press even closer. "Why? You buying?"
"Nah," Dean says. Sam's fingers twist again, and Dean's words come out strangled and ragged. "I've already got a free pass into someone else's pants."
"You're such a hopeless romantic."
Sam hisses in a breath when Dean's fingertips skim along his ribs.
"Wasn't trying to be," Dean mutters, and rolls his hips in a quiet taunt.
"Terry Black is a woman."
Dean makes a hum and groan in the back of his throat and leans back to frown at Sam, who moans at the abrupt absence of warmth.
"Dude, if you don't stop saying shit like that when I'm sucking your cock, I'm not going to do it anymore."
Sam wants to nod and agree to his terms, just wants Dean to get back to scrambling his brain through his dick, but what he hears himself say when he leans back in the passenger seat of the Impala is, "She once won Miss Congeniality in the Miss Oklahoma pageant."
Dean rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, probably for doing this," he says, and lowers his head again.
"Jake Rabinowitz hates hospitals."
Dean doesn't say anything, but he hasn't said much since they took the tube out of his throat. He just watches Sam, rubs his fingertips over the soft blanket covering his legs and waits for the rest of it.
"He was in this car accident once," Sam says. He doesn't look up from the puzzle magazine he'd grabbed from the pile he'd brought to occupy Dean's time. He absently scribbles numbers onto the page with his pencil as he speaks. "His whole family died, and he was paralyzed from the waist down. Couldn't even crawl out of the car to get help. He just had to to sit there and watch them bleed out before his eyes. So Jake Rabinowitz doesn't really like hospitals."
Dean watches Sam's fingers tremble against the shiny cover of the puzzle magazine, clears his throat and tugs at a loose thread in the blanket.
"Yeah, Dean Winchester's not exactly a big fan of hospitals, either."
"I ever tell you about Burt Aframian dancing with his wife every day at lunchtime?"
It's damp out, wet and gray and disgusting in a way that makes Dean's skin crawl. It shouldn't be like this, with the two of them in a graveyard they've never been to, their jeans stained in thick mud up past their ankles. It should be sunny, it should be warm. There should be birds singing, not cars speeding by on the nearby highway. There should be a crowd, a string quartet, a mountain of roses and lilies. There should be something epic going on here.
Sam bought a bouquet of cheap daisies at the grocery store. Dean teased him that they probably smell like ham, but he didn't listen. Good kid.
Dean's palms are damp when he looks down at the box in his hands.
A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life.
"Yeah, Sammy," he says, "you told me."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:23 pm (UTC)*whimper*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:40 pm (UTC)And as a total aside, since it was one line and not really the point of the story--I really liked Dean's crack about Sam's version of normal versus a normal person's version of normal. Because I think Sam really tries, and you feel bad for the guy, because all he really wants is a seat at the table. Dean's right, of course, and Dean's snarking at apple pie and middle-class banality doesn't necessarily seem in line with how he would have been exposed to "normal" people, even vicariously.
Which is, uh, straying from the story, which is to say I really liked how you tied it to Devil's Trap, and Dean's near non-reaction to Sam's weird little fantasy life. Very cool story.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:42 pm (UTC)*flails*
*a lot*
Fantastic writing. I love the idea, and the way you executed it. It builds beautifully, and then totally cuts you out at the knees. The voices sound just like them, too.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:44 pm (UTC)Sam does this thing with his thumb that makes Dean's entire body jerk like it's been shot through with lightning, and Dean stops mouthing along the slope of Sam's collarbone to moan into the curve of his neck. He buries his face against Sam's skin, breathes in sandalwood and smoke, flicks his tongue over the pulse point there. Oh. god. Just. ohhhh. You are a wicked, wicked woman. And I love you.
This broke my brain - A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life. I've been here and held the same and this is exactly how it feels. Beautiful job.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:01 pm (UTC)And you pulled it off perfectly.
*adds to memories*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:12 pm (UTC)A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life.
That made me cry. I remember thinking that about my own father. Still love it though.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:30 pm (UTC)This made me giggle.
Dude, if you don't stop saying shit like that when I'm sucking your cock, I'm not going to do it anymore
This actually made me snort a little.
A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life
This made me tear up. No fair.
Great fic!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 10:03 pm (UTC)You make me sniffle.
*sniffle*
A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think, no matter how big he seemed to you in life.
*sniffle*
So, so good.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 10:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 10:49 pm (UTC)"Check your stats, college boy. Normal guys your age aren't going to Stanford on full academic scholarships to study pre-law and dating girls who look like Jess. They're coming home from a day's work at Wal-Mart to play video games and dating girls who look like Dad. And that's with the five-o'clock shadow."
Awesome. I had to read it aloud to my flatmate.
thank you!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-14 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 01:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 01:21 am (UTC)This is . . . You are . . .
*hangs head and weeps at the beauty*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 01:57 am (UTC)SO well-written. And the concept... just COOL.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 02:02 am (UTC)♥!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 04:00 am (UTC)adshjgfuhdufgkkk.
*fangirls you*
It's totally not fair that your brain can come up with such sparkly gorgeousness on a regular basis and mine can't. I WANT A REFUND.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 04:06 am (UTC)A man's ashes don't weigh as much as you'd think
And I'm half crying. I love it.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 09:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 10:38 am (UTC)Lovely, lovely work. ♥
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 11:47 am (UTC)I loved this. It had no right to be as hot as it was! You evoke so much with so few words. Things like this -
"Wasn't trying to be," Dean mutters, and rolls his hips in a quiet taunt. - that just make me SQUIRM. And then of course it's touching and sweet and what a wonderful idea. Bravo - I missed your Wincest!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-15 08:22 pm (UTC)Yis.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-16 12:36 am (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-19 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-21 11:55 pm (UTC)god, so good. thank you for this!
Fic: Pay As You Go
Date: 2006-09-23 01:15 am (UTC)I love the details of Sam's imagination.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-21 04:51 am (UTC)"Check your stats, college boy. Normal guys your age aren't going to Stanford on full academic scholarships to study pre-law and dating girls who look like Jess. They're coming home from a day's work at Wal-Mart to play video games and dating girls who look like Dad. And that's with the five-o'clock shadow."
That's just plain great dialogue there.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-11 03:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-14 02:41 pm (UTC)magnificent
Date: 2009-02-16 03:55 pm (UTC)I am compiling a list of links to outstanding SPN fan fiction and I would be thrilled if you'd allow me to include a link to this.
Wonderful writing.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 08:47 pm (UTC)You've shown a way with words starting with the very first thing I read by you, and a feeling for "concept" - your fics arent copies of copies of copies, they've got unique ideas behind them that are intriguing and likable. I've also liked the way you break your fics up - it actually improves the flow instead of stifling it, which is something I see it doing far more often in others' work. This fic has an amazing concept and is broken up into perfect little pieces that come together to form a cohesive and just-a-little-heartbreaking whole. Sam isn't the gifted storyteller you are, and that's what MAKES the story; his little tall tales are pictures of the world he sees, and the person he is, and they help us get to know him better.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 01:05 pm (UTC)