We only like you 'cause you're cute and young

thrdstrike @ 2009-11-10T08:04:00

2009-11-10T16:05:44Z

IDK IF ANYONE IS IN THE HOUSE FANDOM, BUT I AM LOOKING FOR SOME HOUSE RECS.

HOUSE/WILSON WOULD BE AWESOME, BUT I AM SORT OF OPEN TO EVERYTHING. WILL GIVE COOKIES!

Flisters, unite!

2009-11-04T03:35:26Z

Fellow SPN-ers! Am putting out a search for a certain type of fic that I hope you will be able to help me with.

Looking for Dean gen.
Looking for H/C, Whumpage (bonus but not necessary), No deathfics, "Buddy" stories, no animal abuse.
Looking for fics with a miniumum length of 30,000 words.

Any suggestions/recommendations that you can make would be greatly appreciated. As I am not one for gen myself, help would be superb. You are all wonderful.

Kiss kiss!

2 Things

2009-09-05T07:24:56Z

1) I got a job! Yay for me!

2) This journal is on temporary fandom/total hiatus. I'm sure this fact bothers no one.

You Should Write... Meme

2009-08-03T01:36:07Z

The "You Should Write..." Meme!
my thread here

Hit me up, guys. Anything goes!

Guess what, it's a meme!

2009-08-03T01:33:04Z

Honestly can't remember the last time I did one of these. Ahh, nostalgia.

Here are the rules: Firstly: If you've been tagged, you must write your answers in your own LJ and replace any question that you dislike with a new, original question.

Secondly: Tag eight people. Don't refuse to do that. Don't tag who tagged you. And I tag:

At complete random...
lostcointoss, citizenjess, burnfor, chase_acow, jisatsu_ganbu

1. Who sleeps in bed next to you? Nobody. I sleep in a tiny little twin bed. Even when I was a kid my stuffed animals always ended up on the floor by morning.

2. Have you ever fancied a cartoon? I was in love with Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon for a long time. And I know there have been others.

3. What are you reading right now? Sadly, nothing! Well, that may not be true. I'm sort of reading a non-fiction book from my essay research full of letters from prisoners serving time. I haven't picked it up recently because I've needed a bit of time away from the subject. Consequently, if you'd like to recommend a book for me, please do!

4. What's your occupation? Professional Couch Potato!

5. What do you hate right now? The heat! If it was 10 degrees cooler, I would probably be okay.

6. Who is/are your celebrity crush(es)?7. What's your current fandom/obsession/addiction? Supernatural, Chuck, Hannah Montana, All things Johnny Depp

8. What is the first song you can remember absolutely loving? I believe it was Say You'll Be There by The Spice Girls.

9. What food could you eat every day for weeks and not get sick of? Granola bars. Like those chocolate dips. LOVE them.

10. What websites do you always visit when you go online? Livejournal (is my homepage), Questionable Content, Girls With Slingshots, Penny Arcade, Facebook, Ravelry

11. What are you going to do next year? Will be in school. But I'd like to find some time to travel.

12. What color is your kitchen table(cloth)? My kitchen table is a dark cherry wood. The cloth is, right now, I think a rose patterned table cover, with pink on the other side.

13. Does the weather affect your mood? Generally I think yes. The heat can make me cranky, and the rain often makes me tired.

14. What is your favourite type of cheese? I love Havarti, Swiss and Feta. But I'm not choosy.

15. Do you want to learn another language? I can speak an embarrassingly small amount of French. I would love to learn how to speak Spanish.

16. 5 things you can't live without:
my iPod, a good book, water, my family, conversation

17. If you could meet anyone now, who would you meet? I would absolutely LOVE to meet Douglas Coupland. Barring that, I'd be pretty okay with meeting Jared and Jensen, too.

18. What's something you'd like to say to someone right now? burnfor, I wish you could keep me company in my big empty house this week!

19. What are you looking forward to? Finding a job, Andie coming home, school starting

20. What did you dream last night? I don't remember what I dreamed LAST night, but I do know that a few days ago I had this crazy Supernatural dream that was REALLY bizarre.

The Lady Killers Part 5

2009-06-24T20:50:28Z

Sam is surprised by how much Dean seems to enjoy their tag-team operation. Whether it’s the residual adrenalin after a kill, or just the fact that Sam can’t seem to keep his hands to himself after, Dean’s reservations have slowly slipped away.

Of course, there are the days when the severity of what they do hits Dean and he tries to convince Sam that they need to stop. “We’re going to get caught!” he argues and Sam always just rolls his eyes.

“By who? There’s no evidence. And if there is, it’s circumstantial at best. So someone saw us leave the bar with these girls. Doesn’t mean we had anything to do with anything.”

“You are the most morally corrupt lawyer I have ever met in my life, Sam. This doesn’t bother you at all?”

“No. Now, are we going to keep fighting about this, or are you going to fuck me?”

--
They're at the Bourgeois-Pig tonight; not a place that they would regularly frequent, too busy with over achieving college kids and artsy-fartsy jazz and gallery showings.

Tonight they're hoping to pick up Sarah, a smart, down to earth Art History student. She's sitting in the front corner near the patio, long dark hair swept back into a pony tail, and she's engaged in animated conversation with two other girls. There's a guy hovering a couple feet behind her who looks like he wants to break into the conversation but isn't quite sure how.

Sam and Dean are sitting further inside, occupying a table near the center of the room that gives them an unobstructed view of Sarah, but doesn't seem as if they're watching her.
"This place is so uncomfortable," Dean whines, shifting in his chair and playing with his glass of whiskey on the table.

Sam slants a look at his brother and smiles. "I know. But it's just this once. And it'll be worth it." He knocks his foot against Dean's under the table.

"You owe me."

"Next time it's your pick." he winks and Dean rolls his eyes.

Sam continues watching Sarah talk to what are presumably her friends. The guy hovering has moved farther away from the group, obviously having lost some of his earlier nerve, what little of it there was.

Just as Sam is turning to comment to Dean about it, a slim brunette with a sharp twist to her lips approaches their table. She has a martini in her hand, and Sam can just imagine that she's the type of girl to drink it with gin and vermouth instead of vodka. He's almost positive that he's right when she opens her mouth and a close-but-not-quite English accent comes out.

"Evening, boys," she says, sliding into the chair across from Dean without bothering to wait for an invitation. She slips one leg over the other, her skirt pulling up a couple of inches past her knee. She arches an eyebrow at Sam when he looks.

"Hi," Dean offers, giving her a look over. It's contemplative, not appreciative, but she opens herself more for observation, a smirk on her face.

"First time here?" she asks. "Haven't seen you before."

Sam coughs to cover a chuckle. "That’s an original line."

She scowls, and stretches out a hand, delicately. "Bela. Pleasure to meet you..."

"Sam," he replies. He doesn't shake her outstretched hand.

"Sam," she repeats, and it sounds strange coming out of her mouth in her fake accent. "And you are...?"

Dean takes a couple of sips from his glass. "Dean," he offers eventually.

Bela doesn't offer her hand and Dean doesn't offer his. He's not happy that they have to be here in this ridiculous café-cum-bar-cum-art gallery in the first place, and it only makes it worse that this floozy is getting in the way.

The conversation ends there, and Bela remains seated at their table, reclined in her chair, legs crossed. She eyes them both critically.

"So, Sam," she asks with fake sincerity. "What do you do?"

"I'm... into horticulture," Sam says evenly, and Dean snorts into his glass.

"Really?" Bela leans forward, elbows on the table. "That's fascinating."

Sam has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And what about you, Bela? What do you do?"

"I'm a writer," she answers, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Of course you are."

Dean shoots a look at Sam who returns it. They're sending all the signals that they are not interested, but Bela is being really fucking persistent. After a moment, Dean excuses himself to the bathroom. Sam makes stilted, polite small talk with Bela before excusing himself as well.

"Jesus!" Dean says as soon as the door closes behind Sam. "How the hell are we going to get rid of her?"

Sam throws his hands in the air. "I don't know. What else can we do other than outright tell her to go away?"

“I’m not even sure that would work. She’d think we were playing hard to get or something.”

“Yeah, probably. I don’t think I could act any more disinterested.”

Dean stops pacing the narrow width of the washroom. "What if... No. It’s a stupid idea."

Sam looks at Dean and waits. When nothing is forthcoming he asks, "What's a stupid idea?"

"What if we took Bela instead of Sarah? Waited until another night?"

Sam frowns, mulling it over. "I think if we left with her, that'd be what she wants. At this point in time, I think it’s the only way to deal with it."

“I’d kill her right now if we weren’t in a crowded bar.”

Bela is still at the table when they back, and once they sit down, Sam and Dean turn the charm on. Dean leans across the table, runs a finger down the length of Bela's forearm and then dips it into her martini. He sucks the alcohol off his finger with a dirty twirl of his tongue that even has Sam squirming.

"Can I get you another martini, Bela?" Dean winks. "Dry?"

Her mouth falls open a little and it snaps closed as she nods slowly. Dean winks again before getting up, going around her chair and skimming his fingers across the back of her neck.
While they wait for Dean to return, Sam stretches his body out long, tip of his shoe running along the delicate bone of Bela's ankle.

"So what kind of writing do you do, Bela? Anything I might've read?" There's a lascivious tone to his voice, and his eyes are dark. He can see Bela swallow before she answers.

"I write mysteries. You know, those old noir style novels with the private investigators who are jaded towards the world at large and always have a dark secret? I haven't had anything published, but I've at least got a few finished works under my belt. Always looking for an interested editor, you know?"

"Don't those stories always have a scene where the investigator has it off with the woman - it's usually a woman, right? - that they're trying to help? It's like, thinly veiled erotic fiction passed off as murder mystery."

Bela frowns, but doesn't disagree. "You could say that happens from time to time. And in my novels, the private investigator is a woman."

Leaning forward, Sam whispers jokingly, "Maybe that's the problem with the selling point." He winks.

Dean returns then, removing Bela’s old martini and replacing it with the new one. He pulls the olives off of the toothpick with his teeth and grins. "What are you two talking about?" Dean asks like they're sharing a secret. "Me, I hope."

Bela rolls her eyes and Sam's mouth stretches into a smirk. "Hey," Sam says, leaning over. He skims his fingers up Bela's calf. "What say we get out of here, hm?"

They go to Sam and Dean's, at their insistence. Sam makes coffee and polite small talk, Bela leaning easily against the counter. She's running fingers across her collarbone, and biting her lip as Sam talks. Dean enters the kitchen looking much more relaxed and sidles up to Bela, slipping an arm around her waist and grinning. She smiles back and he leans in to press a dry kiss quickly against her lips.

Her smile wavers when he pulls away, but she closes her eyes when he moves to kiss and suck at her neck. Sam watches and holds a cup of coffee in hand. Bela's head tilts backward as Dean works his way across the expanse of skin offered to him and a soft moan escapes when he scrapes his teeth across the thin skin under her ear. Sam sets his coffee down, watching intently.

The click of the ceramic on the counter seems too loud in the almost quiet. As Dean continues to lavish kisses on Bela's neck, Sam turns her head towards him and sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, pressing in with his tongue. Dean is sinking to his knees and pushing up at the silky material of her skirt.

Sam drops his hand to skim through the soft strands of Dean's hair, skimming the inside of Bela's thigh where Dean is sucking a dark hickey. Bela is panting, canting her hips towards Dean to get his mouth closer, her mouth open and pliant for Sam. When Dean's fingers slip under the satin fabric of her panties and drag across the lips of her cunt, she pulls away from Sam, gripping the counter and gasping for breath.

"Oh, holy shit," she whispers.

Sam continues to pepper kisses across her shoulders, nibbling on her earlobe as Dean works the sorry excuse for an undergarment down her thighs, tossing it over his shoulder. He pushes her skirt up to her hips. "Up," he instructs, indicating the counter and Bela lifts herself up, thighs falling open as Dean moves between them, tongue sneaking out to taste the slick. Bela gasps and her hips shudder forward. Her knuckles are white against the counter as she grips the edge.

"Feels good, mm?" Sam whispers into her ear, and he's moving his hand up under her top, dexterous fingers playing with her nipples through her bra, pulling and tweaking them as Dean presses his tongue into her cunt, sucking at her clit.

"Uhn..." is Bela's reply as she turns her face into Sam's shoulder.

Dean presses Bela's thighs a little farther apart and she gasps as he pushes in just a bit farther. Sam is watching Dean unabashedly, the way that Dean's nose is pressed right in, listening to the slick sounds that his tongue makes as it moves back and forth, and the heavy cadence of his breathing. It's a moment later that Bela's teeth sink into Sam's shoulder to muffle her orgasm as her hips twitch and shudder.

When Dean pulls away he's grinning, self-satisfied, his chin is glistening. He raises an eyebrow at Sam who nods, slipping an arm under Bela's legs, heavy now with lethargy and carrying her into their bedroom.

Sam sets her on the bed, and she stretches out like a cat, a satisfied smile on her face. "Mmm... indeed," she slurs. Sam strips out of shirt as Dean is stripping out of his own clothes. They eye each other with thinly veiled want. When Dean is undressed, he kneels on the bed next to Bela who turns her head to admire. Her eyes skim over the smooth lines of Dean's body, widening somewhat when they fall on Dean's cock, hard and slick.

Sam sees her idly lick her lips. He understands her appreciation.

He gets some things out of the closet and puts them on the bed next to Dean before leaning back against the head board. Dean is stoking fingers down Bela's spine, and talking to her quietly. The double ended dildo lies next to Dean's thigh like a beacon, and Sam's eyes keep being drawn to it. A surprised look crosses Bela's face when Dean lifts it to show her, but her answer is drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears, and the feeling of his fingers inside himself, prepping himself for when Bela fucks the hard plastic inside of him.

Dean's voice filters in through the fog as Sam twists his fingers, "... and I'll be right there behind you, fucking you at the same time."

Bela says something, or whimpers. She makes some kind of noise that Sam can't identify. Then Dean is smiling softly; it’s the smile he uses to get girls to come home with them. "You can take it. I know you can."

Then Bela is leaning over him, small round breasts heaving as she swallows nervously. "I want you to," Sam tells her quietly, and opens his thighs for her to fit between; His eyes connect with Dean's over her shoulder. Dean whispers instructions to her as she pushes into Sam with the fat blunt head of the dildo with only slight resistance, and Sam's eyes roll back in his head at the feeling. She stops when he hisses, but Dean tells her quietly to keep going. When Sam opens his eyes, Bela's are squeezed shut tight and her face is twisted up in discomfort. She's got the other end of the dildo stuffed up inside of her, and Dean is working him cock slowly in next to it. Sam feels like he could come just from watching.

When Dean fucks forward all the way into Bela, her hips jerk forward and presses the fake plastic cock further into Sam and Sam moans, sound ripped from his throat and he reaches up to hold on as Dean sets up a brutal rhythm, fucking Sam by way of Bela.

Bela doesn't even try to set a pace of her own, too caught up in the feeling of being so stuffed full of cock, one real, and one fake. But Sam can't complain. "Touch me," Sam gasps, and grabs one of Bela's hands to put on his chest, showing her where to touch him and how.
Eventually her hands fall to his cock, but there's an annoyed growl from behind her, and then Dean is reaching around, removing Bela's hand and replacing it with his own and jacking Sam hard and fast. It hurts, but within a couple of minutes of Dean's brutal pace he's coming over his brother's fingers. Sam watches as Dean feeds Sam's come to Bela, still fucking into her and into Sam by extension.

Bela's tongue laves at Dean's fingers, and Sam has to close his eyes. A minute or so later, he feels Dean shudder and come.

The only sound for long moments is their harsh heavy breathing. Then there's the quick snapping sound of a neck being broken and a heavy weight falling Sam's torso.

Sam rolls over onto his stomach, feels Dean behind him, stroking his back and sides, leaving a trail of wet sucking kisses. He feels tense and fucked-out at the same time, but it's both surprising and not when Dean's fingers pull him open and his tongue presses in. He works Sam until he's writhing and begging, and when Sam opens his eyes to glance over his shoulder at Dean, his eyes meet the glassy dead eyes of Bela and shoots across the sheets with Dean's name caught in his throat.

--
As it turns out, Sarah is more of a challenge than Sam or Dean imagined. They realize this a few weeks later when they're lurking at the Bourgeois-Pig once again. Sam is sitting at the table with her, feeding into her intellect or some bullshit that Dean can't be bothered to care or pay attention to. She seems interested, leaning in close to Sam and their conversation, fingers ghosting along the back of Sam's hand.

Sam has the charm cranked up to eleven. He pushes a strand of hair behind Sarah's ear, a soft smile that Dean is very familiar with on his face, and Dean watches with a detached fascination as her cheeks flush a dusty pink slightly at the action. He silently begs Sam to hurry up and seal the deal so Dean doesn't have to continue watching their sickening display.

Dean will never admit it out loud, but sometimes he gets jealous.

Sam looks up and scans the room, making eye contact with Dean and they have a silent conversation of their own. He's having a hard time getting her to agree to the idea of the three of them together. Dean gestures quickly between Sam and Sarah and then raises an eyebrow. Sam nods in agreement and Dean pays his tab and slips out of the bar onto the busy Lawrence street. So long as this girl ends up dead and buried in their backyard tonight, Dean doesn't give a fuck how it happens.

Dean checks his watch and lets out a deep breath when he hears the front door open several hours later. He's sitting in the dark corner of their bedroom, the same chair that Sam sat in the night they killed Becky, nearly a year ago. But this time, Dean isn’t participating.
He plans to sit and watch the way that Sam works this beautiful, intelligent girl with such a dry wit out of her clothes and into their bed. And then, when it's all over, Dean can breathe easy again, knowing that it'll be a month, two months, maybe more before Sam gets that look in his eye again and they start looking for someone new.

There's the click of high heels outside the door, and Dean stills, relaxing into the chair and waits. Sam must know that he's there, because he doesn't turn on the light when the door swings open, lets the faint light of the hallway illuminate their silhouettes as they move around the room.

Dean can see the quick rise and fall of Sarah's breasts as she breathes, watches the way that her fingers work up under the hem of Sam's shirt, pushing it over his head and dropping it onto the floor. She's eager. For some reason, Dean is surprised.

His eyes stray from Sarah to admire Sam’s body as Sarah strips his clothes from him, and he can see why she would be eager. The long lines of Sam’s back and the muscled grace of his arms as he pulls her to him are things that Dean has come to take for granted.

Sam's large hands are undoing the hooks of her bra, and she shrugs it off, continuing to step backwards, and Sam's hands cover her breasts, pull and twist her nipples, and her mouth falls open. Dean can see the gentle outline of her lips in the light from the hall – Sam never had closed the door - the glint of teeth as she smiles and makes soft pleased noises.

Sam is whispering to her constantly, nonsense words; nothing that Dean hasn't heard before thousands of times. Sam spews the same filth to all the girls that he fucks. As Sam's mouth ducks down to suck and bite at her neck and collarbone, Sarah's fingers push through Sam's hair, gripping and pulling him closer. The hem of her skirt is almost up around her hips, and Dean idly wonders if Sam plans to fuck her standing up in the middle of their bedroom, while Dean watches in the dark; Sarah none-the-wiser, and Sam all too fully aware.

Dean smiles as he watches Sam heft Sarah up over his hips, his own pants slipping down his thighs with each small movement. His chock is peeking out of the fold of his boxers, nudging at the dark space between Sarah’s thighs.

“Sam,” Sarah breathes, and her head falls back, a long curtain of hair cascading down behind her.

However, Sam sets Sarah down on the bed, instead. He makes a twirling motion with his finger, and Dean sees the glint of Sam’s eyes in the dark. Sarah rolls over, hips canted upwards, head turned to watch Sam over her shoulder.

There isn't any real foreplay. Sam runs his fingers back and forth through the folds of her cunt, pushing in every so often with the tips. Then quickly he's pushing his pants down around his hips - and Dean loves how sexy it is to be fucked when you're still partially dressed - and he fucks into her hard, a startled gasp escaping Sarah's throat.

Sam's pace is brutal, and he's pushing Sarah across the bed, her fingers slipping in the sheets as she tries desperately to find something to anchor herself with. But then her head is crashing into the headboard, and Sam is relentless. She's crying out for Sam to stop, trying to bring some awareness to her discomfort, but Sam keeps pounding into her.

Sarah's cries turn into screams and she's squirming to get away. Sam's got a good grip on her hip and the other hand is pressing down on her back, and she can't move, covered by the massiveness of Sam’s body. By the time that Sam comes, Sarah’s cries have long since stopped, and she lays limp and unconscious on the bed.

"Trying to prove something, Sammy?" Dean asks as he gets up from the chair. Sam pushes his sweaty bangs off his face and leans across the bed to kiss Dean. Dean can taste the waxy aftertaste of lip balm on Sam's mouth.

"Not really," Sam admits as he pulls away.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "You really went at her. Think she's dead?"

Sam shrugs a shoulder carelessly. "Could just bury her as-is. The weight of the dirt would finish her off if she isn't."

"You are a sick and twisted individual."

Sam grins. "Let's get rid of her and then you can help me clean up in the shower. Hmm?"

Dean sees the bloody pool of saliva on the pillow when they roll Sarah’s body over.
"Yeah. She's dead."

They carry her out to the garden where Sam has already dug a hole near the back of the garden, by the fence. Dean eyes the assortment of flowers growing, and mentally names the girls whose bodies are decomposing beneath them.

Dropping the shovel aside, Sam rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “This is my least favorite part of all of this.”

“I’d think the killing would be your least favorite part.”

Sam grins. “Dean, the killing is the best part!”
--
It’s been a while since Sam has heard anything from Meg or Cassie. He hasn’t seen much of either of them really since the barbeque they’d had over a year ago. So naturally, Sam is surprised when Cassie shows up on their doorstep one afternoon.

“Cassie! Hey,” he greets, leaning against the door. “Haven’t seen you for a while. What can I do for you?”

She smiles. “This year has been crazy. We’ve been meaning to swing around and say hi, but it just never seems to happen. Plus we’ve had some personal losses, too. Our friend Becky went missing this year, and we haven’t seen or heard from our friend Sarah in over a month. It’s so close to graduation, and Sarah was so excited. It just seems strange.”

“Wow,” Sam says sympathetically. “That’s awful. I’m sorry to hear that.” He thinks of Becky and Sarah acting as fertilizer for the garden in the back yard.

Cassie rolls her eyes. “Thanks. But I didn’t come over to unload on you. I just wanted to ask, I’ve noticed you’ve got a really gorgeous garden growing in the back, and I wanted to maybe start a few plants on our side. What’s your secret? And would you be able to spare any?”

Sam gives Cassie a critical glance. “I don’t know, Cassie. It’s a pretty impressive secret.”

“Please, Sam? I would appreciate it a lot if you’d help me out.”

“Yeah, okay. Come on in.”

The screen swings shut with a clatter as Cassie follows Sam inside. “This place is amazing,” she comments. “Did the house look like this when you moved in?”

“Some of what’s here is original. I’ve been pretty busy working, and Dean is at the garage a lot, so there isn’t a ton of time for us to renovate. Slowly but surely, you know.”

She nods. “I wish our landlord would let us knock down some walls or something. Open space and light. I crave it.”

Sam opens the patio doors out to the garden.

“Holy shit!” Cassie says, admiring the blooming flowers and foliage. “It’s gorgeous back here.”

Sam beams. “Yeah. When we moved in I looked around and decided to take up gardening. It’s really relaxing. Keeps my mind busy when I’m not doing other things.”

“You’ve got a real talent, Sam. Maybe law isn’t your calling after all.”

He laughs. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I’ll look into having landscaping as a fallback, just in case my current gig doesn’t work out.” Clapping his hand, Sam redirects the conversation back to the original reason for Cassie’s visit. “Right. So, my big gardening secret? Is fertilizer.”

“Yeah? What kind do you use? I’ve never seen plants grow like this before.”
“I use a mixture that has a lot of minerals in it. Mix it in further than just the top soil. Makes it really fertile.”

“Thanks a lot, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

There’s a pile of fertilizer in the far corner of the garden and Sam leads Cassie towards it. He grabs a bucket of garden tools and empties them out onto the grass. “You can return the bucket when you’re done with it.”

There’s the sickening sound of metal scraping against another hard material that has Cassie shuddering. “Is that a bone in there?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just animal,” Sam answers, grinning. “Bones help make the soil extremely fertile. So… a bonus for you.”

“I didn’t know that,” Cassie admits. She steps back a few paces as some fertilizer falls near her shoes.

Sam pauses for a second. The urge to bludgeon Cassie with the shovel is difficult to repress; she’s seen too much. “Hey, Cassie, does Meg know you’re over?”

“Hmm? No. She’s working. Feel like I never see her anymore.” She turns back to admire the garden and doesn’t see Sam as he lifts the shovel spade over his shoulder, furious look twisting his face, until it’s too late.

“Really? That’s too bad.”

The connection of metal to bone is met with little resistance. Sam bludgeons Cassie until the bottoms of his jeans are wet with blood. There are small pieces of skull littering the grass by Sam’s feet. He rolls Cassie’s body over with his toes and sneers. “Fucking nosy little bitch,” he spits.

--
Dean gets home late that night; lots of vehicle maintenance before the winter. He’s tired and sinks into an arm chair in the living room almost as soon as he’s through the door.

“Holy ass, I am beat.”

“Busy day?” Sam asks as he comes out of the bedroom, fresh change of clothes, drying his hands. He rubs at Dean’s shoulders, which elicits a groan. “Wow, you’re tense.”

“Yeah, leaning under the hood of a car for ten hours straight’ll do that to you. How was your day? Anything interesting happen?”

Sam glances out the patio doors at the flowers blooming and the faint stain of blood on the grass. He can still smell the rust scent of Cassie’s blood in his nostrils. “Oh, you know. Nothing exciting ever happens around here.”

Local Lawrence Police are warning of a possible serial killer on the loose. Several women, between the ages of twenty and twenty seven, have gone missing mysteriously over the last year. Police presently have no leads on any of the missing women, and are advising young women to be extremely cautious about whom you associate with when out at night, and to avoid going home with strangers.

THE END

Notes, Thank Yous and Acknowledgements
This fic is dedicated to the wonderful burnfor, whom without, this never would have been written. Right from the get-go she asked all of the tough logistical questions that make sure that the story has that element of believability. Also, because of the way that she stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, even though she had to get up early to go away, to finish editing this for me. I couldn't ask for a better friend. Andieface, ILU to pieces, babe.

Also, special thanks to dramaqueen469 who stepped in at nearly the last moment to beta this and help get it into shape.

proofpudding, who created such a fantastic trailer for this story. I am completely honoured to have had her create something for me and it was more than I could have ever imagined. Thank you so much!!!!

Thanks to those on my f-list who listened to me moan about what I'd gotten myself into (although I know it wasn't much).

Also, thanks to wendy, audrarose and thehighwaywoman for putting this together every year and managing the massive amount of fics, authors and artists that come with it. You ladies are incredible.

The Lady Killers - Part 4

2009-06-24T20:31:39Z

The relationship between himself and Dean is tenuous at best. They don’t talk about Jessica and what happened with her. The circumstances from which their current situation grew is uncomfortable to talk about. Even a casual broach of the subject results in an awkward stilted silence.

They don’t act like young kids in love or anything – holding hands and kissing publicly wherever and whenever. But Sam starts spending the night at Dean’s apartment more than he does on campus.

Sam likes kissing Dean – Dean’s a great kisser. He never says anything about moving farther than that though, terrified by the idea himself, even though he does spend quite a lot of time contemplating it.

It’s Dean, however, who makes the first move. They’re laying in bed together, Sam sure that Dean is asleep when his brother rolls over and slips his hand across Sam’s hip. He freezes, not used to this kind of contact in bed. Dean breathes soft puffs of warm breath against his bare shoulder.

“Dean?” Sam says quietly.

Dean’s finger traces a line across Sam’s belly, and Sam’s muscles twitch. He can feel Dean smile, he’s so close. One finger turns into two, then three, stroking back and forth across the smooth skin.

Sam can feel himself getting hard, the teasing back and forth driving him crazy. “What are you doing?” Sam asks, louder this time.

“Hm?” Dean responds lazily. Then he pushes his hand into Sam’s boxers and Sam has to close his eyes tight, try to get his breathing back under control.

Dean wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock slowly. There are calluses on Dean’s fingers – the result of working in the shop with Mike in the years since he’d graduated – that scrapes and pulls at the sensitive skin. Sam gasps and he can feel another of Dean’s smiles against his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to get hard, biting his lip and rolling his hips fractionally into the loose grip of his brother’s fingers. “You can do it, you know,” Dean says quietly, encouraging. “Do it. Fuck yourself into my hand. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t do so immediately, allowing himself to thrust a bit harder into Dean’s fingers incrementally. Dean makes soft sounds of encouragement behind him. When Dean’s thumb rubs under the head and through the slick, Sam lets out a bitten off moan and fucks hard into Dean’s hand, working himself until Dean’s fingers are catching the milky ropes and slipping out of his boxers.

There are wet noises, like Dean’s licking Sam’s come off his fingers, but he’s too afraid to look. Instead he lays still and tries to get his lungs working again. A moment later there’s the slick slap of skin on skin as Dean jerks himself off behind Sam.

--
At the end of the year, Sam moves in with Dean. It makes sense: he’s in his junior year and there’s no reason for him to continue living in the dorms. He’s even declared a major. Besides, most of his stuff is at Dean’s at this point, anyway, and he hardly even spends the night on campus anymore.

The next two years pass in a blur of lectures, papers, exams and sleepless nights. Sam spends nights sequestered in the library, or coffee shops, to get away from the distraction that Dean presents in the form of a warm body and something that isn’t legal jargon and old case files.

It’s hard not to gravitate towards each other after the first time Dean fucks Sam, the Thanksgiving long weekend of his junior year. It had been clumsy and awkward, as first times often are. But it hadn’t been weird, and that was the most important part.

Dean is supportive, giving Sam his space, but Sam’s tense moods near the end wear on them both, resulting in fights where things are said but not meant, but leave a wound nonetheless.

Graduation day, Sam is grinning so hard that he feels like his face is going to split. Dean is sitting near the front, and is on his feet, clapping and cheering when Sam crosses the stage to get his diploma. Four long years, all made worth it by that piece of paper held between sweaty fingers.

Dean kisses him right there in front of everything, although it’s discreet, and Sam grins even harder. “I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Dean tells Sam, a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Thank you. God, it feels so good to know that I’m done.”

“I’m just grateful I won’t have to put up with your bitching when you’re writing a paper again.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll end up going for my masters and you’ll have to suffer through me writing a thesis. Another one.”

--
They move out of the apartment and into a two bedroom rancher in Eudora, near downtown at the end of May. Sam is furious the day of the move, clutching the congratulations card from Mike and Karen, addressed to him at Dean’s apartment, between his fingers. He doesn’t look at Dean and Dean keeps his eyes on the road.

“You promised me,” he said when he saw the envelope sitting on the counter on top of a box of kitchenware. “You promised you wouldn’t tell them that I was still in Lawrence.”

“It happened by accident, okay?” Dean retorts. “I was talking to Mike about something at the shop, and I happened to mention you in relation to the apartment, and then it was just out there.”

Sam clenches his jaw. “Did he have anything to say?”

Dean shrugs. “Nothing really. Just asked how you were doing, what you were studying. I’m sorry, okay? I told him to not say anything to Karen. I didn’t think she’d do something stupid like send you a card.”

“How did they know that I was graduating, Dean?”

“For Christ sake, Sam. They know that you’re in Lawrence. I mean, there was that newspaper article that came out after Jessica’s ‘disappearance’. It had your name in it, if you can remember. I didn’t remember myself until Mike mentioned it. Plus, I’m fucking proud of you. Is it so bad that I bragged a little bit? It’s not like you’re required to go and visit, make up for time lost or something.”

“I trusted you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He sighs. “Is it really that big a deal?”

The drive from one end of the city is tense and silent. The area they move to is populated by a mix of families with young children and young professionals. Everyone is nice and friendly, and they fit into their neighborhood almost seamlessly.

At the peak of summer, Sam and Dean throw a neighborhood barbeque, inviting all of their neighbors on either side and across the street and extending the invitation. It’s a good turnout, a nice little getting-to-know-you party. Dean mans the grill while Sam works the social circle, welcoming people and herding children around the backyard by chasing them, growling like a monster, their high pitched screams cutting through the general hum of voices.

Sam is talking to one of the girls sharing the house across the road when Dean finds a second to pull himself away from the grill. Her name is Cassie, and she’s smiling at Sam with interest when Dean bumps against Sam’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Dean says, extending his hand. “I’m Dean.”

She flushes, a soft pink that barely diffuses through the light coffee color of her skin. “Cassie. Sorry. I didn’t mean to –“

“It’s fine,” Sam interjects, elbowing Dean playfully in the ribs. “He gets like that.”

“So you said you share the house across the road?”

She nods. “Yeah, my roommate is Meg,” she indicates a blond girl talking to a tall man supporting a little girl on his hip across the yard. “Not ready to own, but it’s the best location for both of us, in regards to work.” She tucks a strand of her curly dark hair behind one ear.

“Makes sense,” Sam says. Dean observes the conversation, but his interest is elsewhere. “When Meg is free, you should bring her by to say hello.” He smiles warmly, and another soft flush colors Cassie’s cheeks.

“Yeah, for sure. Nice meeting you Dean.”

It’s much later once everyone has gone home, the backyard dark and smelling of the residual stench of charred meat. An overall success.

“What are you thinking?” Dean asks, bringing a cold beer out to Sam, and collapsing into the lawn chair next to his brother.

“You remember Jess, right?” Sam asks and Dean pauses, beer halfway to his lips.

“How could I forget that?”

Sam sighs and turns his head lazily in Dean’s direction. He takes a sip of his beer. “I was just thinking, talking to Cassie, about how it felt. That night with Jessica, to have that kind of power; having someone’s life in your hands like that.”

“Kind of backfired on you there, didn’t it, genius?”

“That was an accident. But I mean the adrenalin rush? All I could think about while I was talking to her was how I want to do it again. Something I’ve been thinking about a lot, to be honest.”

Dean blinks. “Are you telling me that you want to murder someone?”

Sam shrugs an indifferent shoulder.

“Back the crazy truck up, Sam. You’re talking about intentionally taking a human life. This isn’t some fucking kinky sex accident like last time. This is premeditated! You just finished studying law for Christ’s sake! What if you get caught?”

“What if we get caught, you mean.”

Dean flounders. “I do not fucking think so.”

“You helped me last time!”

“Hide a body, not actually participate in the murder.”

“That’s aiding after the fact, Dean. That makes you just as guilty as me.”

Dean stands up, and strides across the yard. “I can’t believe we’re even fucking having this conversation.” He pauses, breathing heavily. “What are you going to do with the body, hmm, Sam? We’re not gonna drive around Lawrence hunting for empty graves, okay?”

Sam stands as well. “I don’t hear you telling me no, Dean. Come on. You don’t understand what a rush it is. Having a life and then snuffing it out.”

“This is so fucked up,” Dean mutters.

“You’re in a consensual incestuous relationship with your brother, Dean. Everything about this is fucked up.”

--
It takes a few weeks to get Dean to come around, although he’s not comfortable with the idea in the least, even when they’re headed out to The Bottleneck, downtown. He tells Sam as much, but Sam snorts and pushes Dean towards their destination.

“You just need to experience it.” He hesitates. “Besides, this might just be a one time thing, alright? Something I need to get out of my system.”

“If you need to get it out of your system, why are you involving me?”

Sam grins. “Because I want you to be part of the experience.”

It’s not a show night, so the place isn’t packed, but there’s a good crowd, regardless. Sam heads straight to the bar to get them drinks while Dean looks for an open pool table to commandeer for the evening. When Sam gets back, he points to a woman at the bar, long dark hair, petit, tiny frame.

“What about her?” he whispers.

“You’re joking, right?” Dean asks, incredulous. “We just arrived. Come on. Let’s play a rack before we start scoping out potential victims, alright?”

Sam shrugs. “Alright. If that’s what you need to do.”

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the woman that Sam pointed out the entire time they play. He wins three games, anyway, declares Sam a sorry excuse for a man and then goes to get them fresh drinks.

She’s at the bar, talking casually with the bartender. There’s an obvious familiarity there. Dean deliberately bumps her shoulder as he rests his arms on the bar top, apologizing when she glances over at him. He offers to buy her a drink to smooth things over.

She smiles at him ruefully, catching onto his game right away, but accepts. He learns that her name is Andrea. She’s a single mother – widow – and that it’s one of the few nights she gets to come out on her own without having to worry about her son, Lucas.

Dean buys a drink for Sam and excuses himself, promising that he’ll be right back.

“Are you here with someone?” she asks once Dean’s returned, and he shrugs.

“Just my brother.”

“He doesn’t mind you ditching him for me?”

Dean grins. “He pointed you out to me as soon as we walked through the door.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Does he always scope out potential dates for you?”

“Not really.” Dean smiles crookedly. “Must have seen something special.”

Andrea throws her head back and laughs.

An hour later, she’s glancing at her watch and Dean sees his opening. Now or never. “This has been fun, Dean,” she says. “I like you.”

“I like you too.” He grins, cheekily. He leans in close and drops his voice. “Might like you better if we slept together.”

Andrea laughs, corners of her eyes crinkling, and Dean idly thinks that it’s a good look for her. “Has that line ever worked before?”

“I dunno,” he replies. “Are you going to turn me down?”

Andrea smiles to herself and shakes her head, no, glancing up at Dean from under lowered lashes.
“Guess it must work then.”

“You are unbelievable.”

Dean signals to Sam that he’s leaving as he leads Andrea out onto the street. The air has cooled down quite a bit, and when Andrea shivers, Dean offers her his jacket. “Quite the chivalrous gentleman,” she comments.

“Just luring you into a false sense of security,” he answers and winks. “Never know who you might be picking up in places like these.”

Dean feels stupid saying it the moment the words leave his mouth, considering what he’s planning to do to her, but it doesn’t ruin the moment and Andrea just rolls her eyes.
Sam is trailing behind them a few blocks, and when Dean and Andrea are only a few blocks away from their house, Dean flakes. “I don’t think I can do this,” he admits, and Andrea looks surprised. “No, I’m sorry. I want to. Really. I just… I don’t think that I can.”

Andrea puts a hand on Dean’s arm, and Dean can see Sam gesturing to him what’s going on. “What’s the matter?” she asks.

“I just. I can’t. I can’t do this. Do you want me to call you a cab or something? Walk you back? This was such a bad idea. I’m so sorry. Please don’t take this personally.”

He calls Andrea a cab, waits with her until it arrives. She smiles sadly as she gets in. “Maybe some other time.” Dean nods, but he doesn’t mean it.

As soon as the cab is out of sight, Sam is at his side. “What happened? She was eating out of the palm of your hand!”

“She has a kid, Sam.”

“So?”

“Our mom died, remember? I don’t want to have to force some poor kid to have to deal with that the way we had to. It doesn’t seem fair, alright? I didn’t know if I could do it, either. Not to her.”

“You like her.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Whatever,” Sam says. He’s pissed and disappointed, but Dean knows that he made the right choice here. There’s always next time.

--
There is a next time, and a next time, and a next time again. Sam gets annoyed that Dean can’t seal the deal, and Dean gets annoyed that Sam won’t fucking lay off. It’s not until Sam suggests that they do it together that everything sort of seems to click into place.
“You never did tell me how we plan on getting rid of the bodies, you know.”

Sam smirks. “I was scoping out the backyard when we originally bought that house, and well, I think we could just bury them in the garden. Not a full six feet under or anything, but at least four feet. Deep enough to keep animals from digging up anything incriminating.”

Dean frowns, considering. “I guess that would work.”

“So are we ready? Are you ready?”

“I guess. Yes. Yeah. Ready.”
--
Their first success is a girl named Ava. She’s up front and forward, but an easy catch. She actually reminds Sam a little bit of Jessica. She’s into whatever Sam wants; sucking Dean off and then letting Sam fuck her. It’s easier for Sam to smother her when her hands are tied to the headboard, Dean holding her feet still, even if his eyes are squeezed shut while he does it.

They pre-dug a hole in the garden about four feet deep earlier in the day. Together they carry the body out and dump it into the hole. It hits the bottom with a sickening thump. Sam grins up at Dean from across the hole, and they fill it with dirt without saying anything.

He takes a look around the yard. “Maybe I’ll take up gardening. I hear human remains make the soil really fertile.”

Channel Six Evening News - May 19, 2008

Lawrence Police are currently investigating the disappearance of Rebecca Warren, last seen at Abe & Jake's Landing, a local Lawrence hot spot, on May 15, 2008. Rebecca Warren is described as petite, between 5" and 5"5, long blond hair, and green eyes. She was last seen wearing a pair of light blue jeans with a red top and a black canvas jacket. Any information regarding this investigation can be directed to the Lawrence Police Department Investigations and Training Center at (785) 830-7400.

The bar is full, a Saturday night and everyone is out, enjoying the evening and mingling, looking for someone to hook up with in a dark corner, maybe bring home.

Sam has a table way in the corner. It's dark and secluded, but he can see everything that's happening in the bar; the way that the girls adjust their bras under their skimpy tops to get better cleavage, the way that the guys try and fail to use corny one-liners, heading back to their buddies, egos bruised and their tail between their legs. He sees the way that they push shoulders and rib them for their failure. Echoes of "out of your league" and "no game" floating above the cacophony of voices.

Dean is at the bar, pint glass in hand, looking detached from everyone around him. But Sam knows from experience; Dean is waiting.

This is how they do it. Sometimes on the weekend, sometime even in the middle of the week, they'll head to a bar, a club, wherever the girl they've chosen is going to be. Dean is the bait. Not always, but Sam likes to watch the way that his brother reels her in. Hook. Line. Sinker. They always approach him, casual, shy, sometimes brazenly approaching him and then Dean turns on the charm and in less than twenty minutes, he's got them tucked under his arm and leading them back towards where Sam is waiting.

It's never a one-man job. Sam is jealous and possessive, and the idea of Dean going home alone with anyone besides him makes him want to chew glass. So Dean butters them up, suggests that they all go home together. If their girl is resistant, Dean and Sam play off each other, easing her into the idea. Very low pressure. Most of the time, while still hesitant, she agrees.

Sometimes all Sam does is watch; sits in the corner and give suggestions, directions, as they go at it on the bed.

Tonight they've picked out a sassy little blond. She barely comes up to Dean's shoulder. Sam has already watched her turn down six or seven guys already, ugly twist of her lips that shows her disgust and lack of interest. She approaches Dean at the bar, leaning her back against the rail and leaning into Dean's space. Dean nods and answers questions politely, slight undertone of interest. Sam shifts in his chair when Rebecca places her hand high on Dean's arm, fingers stroking the soft skin near the crook of his elbow. The corner of Dean's mouth quirk and the game begins.

He watches the exchange with interest. Tonight, Sam thinks he's just going to watch.

Her name is Rebecca Warren. They already know this. Picked her out by hand a few weeks back, last time they were here. Researched her. It was Dean’s idea, not comfortable with the idea of taking home women who might have kids the way that Andrea did. Sam, wanting to make Dean as comfortable as possible, agreed.

So they found out where she goes to school, where she likes to go in her spare time, what people are her social circle. Sam is drinking from his glass when Dean brings her over. His eyes are dark and his mouth is wet with alcohol. Sam licks his lips, wants to pull Dean in and eat at his mouth, making him look sexed up and disheveled, but Dean shakes his head 'no'. That's fine; Sam can wait. Wait until this girl is dead, and they can work the adrenaline of the kill out of their system.

"This is Sam," Dean introduces, and Rebecca grins. Her eyes are assessing, taking in the broadness of Sam's shoulders and the sharp cut of his jaw. She bites her lip gently before letting it slip from between her teeth with a breathless sigh.
"Please, call me Becky." She reaches out a hand to shake. "Nice to meet you, Sam." Sam thinks he can hear a very in there somewhere.

Sam allows his eyes to travel up and down her petite frame in turn, and the smile that crosses his face nothing but predatory. "Nice to meet you, Becky." He bites his lip, shoots a glance back up to Dean.

"So, Becky," Dean asks, sliding onto a chair next to Sam. He lets his hand skim Sam's thigh under the table, Sam clenches his jaw to stop himself from touching back. "I was thinking maybe... it could be you, me... and Sam."

Becky rolls her eyes. "I'd have been surprised if there was another reason that you brought me over to meet him. God. Yes." She pauses, and then almost under her breath adds, "Please."

Sam finishes his drink and the spreads his hands wide. "Ready when you are."

Outside, the quiet is startling to the raucous of the bar.

"We'll drive," Dean says and steers Becky towards the Impala, sleek and black and blending into the shadows.

Sam can't quite get over how tiny she is, the way her long blond hair sweeps at her shoulders and the sway of her tiny hips as she trots after Dean. He wonders if she'll be able to handle Dean, if that sharp little mouth will be able to fit around the girth of Dean's cock. He decides that they'll just have to wait and see, and climbs into the back seat, behind Dean.

As soon as the front door of their house closes, Dean has his hand cupped under her ass and is lifting her off her feet, thighs wrapped tight around his waist. He turns her face towards his and eats at her mouth as they move slowly down the hallway. Becky hurries to catch up, craning her neck and biting at Dean's lips as they move towards the bedroom.

The only light Sam turns on is a lamp on the side table. He moves to sit in the plush wing back chair in the corner and settles in to watch the show. Becky pulls away from Dean's mouth, looking over Dean's shoulder questioningly. "Aren't you going to join us, Sam?" she asks, and Sam is sorely tempted to do so.

"Not tonight, sweetie," he replies. "Tonight I just want to watch." He smirks. "Bite his earlobe. He loves that."

Becky does as she's told and Dean's hips jerk forward involuntarily and he quickly deposits Becky on the bed, looking over his shoulder at Sam. His eyes are dark and hot and Sam shifts in the chair, can already feel his cock pressing at the zipper of his jeans.

Dean sucks kisses into Becky's neck, the pale skin becoming marred with vicious red and purple bites. All Becky does is tip her head back further, offer more places for Dean to mark up, moaning and pressing her hips up against him. "Oh God, Dean," she whimpers breathlessly.

Dean growls and his hand cups her breast through her top. Sam can see the press of her nipples through the filmy fabric. "Take her shirt off," he tells Dean, and Dean pushes it up, hands skimming up over her stomach and sides as he unhooks her bra and drops it on the floor.

"Play with her nipples," Sam says next and Dean leans forward and sucks one dusty pink nipple between his lips, biting at it softly and Becky chokes on her next breath, small hands pushing into Dean's hair and gripping. "Holy fuck," she breathes and her head turns towards Sam.

"Tell me how it feels, Becky," Sam says, voice rough and Becky's eyes roll back into her head.

"Uhn." She moans. "God… so good. Feels.. uh... Oh god, don't stop."

Sam rubs his hand over his cock, pressing his hips up sharply. "Undo his belt, get his pants opened," he tells her, and Becky takes a deep breath as she sits up, leaning forward to kiss Dean's swollen lips and bit at tender skin. Her hands work at his waist, deftly pulling the leather through the loops and getting her hand inside, pulling Dean's cock out and giving it a few easy strokes.

Dean hisses in a breath and Sam mimics the sound, working his own belt open.
"I want -" Sam begins as his fingers finally wrap around his own cock. "I want you to put that tasty cock between those pretty lips and suck. Show me what you got, Becky."

She moves, finding a more comfortable position and lands a dirty wet kiss to the slick head of Dean's cock before slipping her lips over the crown and coaxing the length deeper into her throat.

Dean's hips shudder forward and he groans. His fingers tangle in Becky's hair, pulling her forward as he hitches his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts.

"That all you got?" Sam says through a moan of his own. "You gonna let Dean fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, hmm? Think you can take it?"

Becky makes a noise, might be an affirmative, could be a disagreement. But then Sam sees the way that her jaw goes slack and her fingers tighten in the loosened folds of Dean's jeans. "Yeah," Sam whispers. "Do it. Fuck her mouth."

The shallow thrusts of before slowly turn into furious fucks between the soft pink lips stretched around his cock. Dean looks down at Becky, sees the way that her eyes are glazed over a bit, drool trailing down the side of her chin. His eyes raise and he stares at Sam as he fucks this girl's mouth, this nothing. Dean watches the way that Sam is moving his hand over his own cock, thumb catching over the head on each stroke. Dean licks his lips and Sam smirks, spreading his legs and showing off for Dean.

"Harder," Sam instructs – demands - and then Dean is pounding his cock into Becky's mouth.

Becky's hands flex against Dean's legs, fingers turning to fists and pounding against his thighs. She can't breathe, and Dean stares down, watches the wide, frightened look in her eyes when she realizes that he's not going to stop.

She tries to pull away, but Dean's hand is cupped around the back of her head, and he just keeps fucking his cock into her mouth, into her throat, cutting off her air.

"That's right." Sam moans as he strokes himself faster. "Choke the little bitch on your cock."

Becky's screaming best she can around Dean's cock in her throat. Her jaw tightens and Sam can see the moment that her teeth sink into the sensitive skin of Dean’s cock. Dean cries out, losing his grip and rhythm momentarily, before he tightens his fingers, forcing her jaw open again. There are the vague glimmers of tears on her cheeks, but Dean just keeps going, watching Sam.

There’s one last pathetic shudder before Becky’s body goes limp, and Dean is choking on air as he comes down her slackened throat.

It dribbles out of the side of her mouth and down her chin when Dean pulls out. Her eyes are blood shot and glassy; there are finger shaped bruises blooming on her jaw. Dean shoves her uselessly to the side before getting up from the bed and moving towards Sam.

"You want some help with that?" Dean asks, voice husky, sinking to his knees. His own cock hangs soft outside of his own still open jeans. He glances up at Sam before he sucks Sam's cock into his mouth and Sam shoots hot and salty across his tongue.

Sam's head falls back in the chair and he groans deeply, hand skimming through Dean's hair. "Jesus," he whispers and Dean climbs into Sam's lap, kisses Sam's slack lips until Sam kisses him back.

Sam had already spent the morning digging a space for Becky’s body in the garden. They take the body and drop it into the hole.

“Hey, look,” he says to Dean conversationally as they wash their hands off with the hose. “The azaleas are starting to bloom.”

Prvious | Next

The Lady Killers - Part 3

2009-06-24T20:16:08Z

It's weird, being away from the people who know him, but still being in the same city. Sam is careful who he talks to on campus, in case word of him somehow reaches Mike and Karen. It doesn't take long for Sam to slip into lying about the little things, slowly changing his past, twisting it to fit whatever image he wants people to perceive.

He learns how to twist false sympathy from some people, make them think one thing about him, and then turn around and make other people think something completely different. If ever they met and talked about him, they'd never think they were talking about the same person. He doesn't feel bad about it, doesn't feel bad manipulating their feelings and emotions.

The first time he gets asked out by a guy, it’s near the end of Sam’s freshman year and it doesn't even occur to him to say "no". Instead he turns on the charm, grins and says sure, leaning into the friendly, casual touch on his arm, turning it into something more intimate.

His name is Adrian. He's shorter than Sam, but not by much; lean, with a swimmer's body, sandy blond hair and pale green eyes. Sam becomes enamored with the spray of freckles across Adrian's nose and his deep, throaty laugh. He's surprised when he realizes that he really likes Adrian. They're a good fit; they play well off each other - or at least Adrian plays well off the personality that Sam has chosen to use when he’s around him.
--
Sam is over at Dean's apartment for pizza and the game, three months into his - relationship, he supposes - with Adrian, when he has a sudden harsh realization. Dean laughs at something one of the commentators says, and the deep sound causes goose bumps to pimple up across Sam's skin. His brother turns his head, grin easy and eyes hazy with alcohol, and Sam sees the familiar spray of freckles across Dean's nose, the similar color of his eyes. Dean and Adrian look exactly the same. Sam can feel something hot and tight coiling in his stomach and his body goes stiff.

As soon as the game ends, Sam scrambles to get his stuff together, making a lame excuse to Dean about a paper that he has to write, even though Sam’s finished his finals and is essentially done for the year. Dean just gives him a look, nodding his head like Sam is some kind of mentally challenged puppy and lets him go. Sam doesn't breathe again until he's three blocks away at a red light, street deserted around him. "Oh my God," he breathes.

When he gets back to campus, he locks himself in his dorm, turns off his cell and unplugs the land line.

He gets worried messages from Adrian on his voice mail when he hasn't called or seen him for three days. When the one week mark passes, the messages turn from worried to angry. Adrian tells Sam that he's pathetic and a pussy if this is his way of breaking up with him. Sam closes his eyes, chest tight, as he listens to Adrian say that Sam isn’t the man he thought he was.

A week after the messages from Adrian, Sam begins to gets messages from Dean. He's worried, but not in the same kind of panicked way that Adrian had been. He ends them with a casual, "Call me. This is ridiculous."
--
Three weeks into his first semester of his second year, Sam meets Jessica. He's at the bar on campus, alone. He's cruising, not sure what exactly he's looking for, but when she sidles up to him, leans forward on her elbows and lets Sam take a good long look at her cleavage, eyebrow raised speculatively, he definitely feels interest in this brazen girl.

When he looks up and meets her eyes, her stare is playful, and the corner of her mouth quirks slightly. "Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants." she deadpans, and Sam laughs, caught off guard at the cheesy line.

“Hi,” Sam says once their laughter has subsided.

"Hi,” Jessica answers, and her eyes are still amused. “I’m Jessica,” she tells him.

“Sam.”

“Are you new to this fine establishment? I’ve never seen you here before.”

Sam shrugs. “I’ve been in a few times, but I don’t come very often.”

They banter for a few minutes, simple small-talk. Jessica raises her arm to gesture for the bartender. The glass in her hand that Sam originally hadn’t noticed is empty.

It's a few minutes before the bartender makes their way down to their end of the bar. It's pretty obvious from the way that Jessica is leaning into him and touching him so casually that she's flirting with him, and Sam isn't deflecting her interest in any way. She learns that he's the younger of two boys and that he hopes to major in law.

She's in the middle of asking what Sam's favourite food is, and why, when the bartender clears their throat. "What can I get you for you, Jess?"

Jess gives him an enigmatic smile. "I’ll have a gin and tonic," she says. "And Sam will have..." she turns to him and Sam flounders.

"Just a beer," he replies lamely and Jess shakes her head.

“No. Now, I’m not usually against anyone ordering just a beer, but you need to have something a bit more exciting." She studies him for a moment before declaring, "Can we get Sam here an Axe Murderer? And how about a couple shots of Jaggermeister, hmm?"

"Gin and tonic, and axe murderer and two shots of jagger. Comin' up."

Sam shakes his head, amused and surprised. "I've never had jaggermeister in anything besides a jaggerbomb."

"You haven't lived until you've done a straight shot of jagger." She winks. "It'll put some hair on your chest."

"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

The bartender sets the two shot glasses down between the two of them and fills them with jagger, Sam’s drink set at his elbow and Jessica’s next to hers.

“Uh, we should probably start with the jagger,” she says with a laugh. They lift their glasses together and Jessica counts to three before knocking hers back and slamming the glass down onto the bar top.

When Sam puts his shot glass down, his face is twisted, and she shakes his head. “Holy Jesus,” he says and Jessica laughs. He takes a sip of his drink to help ease the burn of alcohol only to come up coughing. “What is even in this?” he asks.

Jessica shrugs a shoulder. “Little bit of everything, more or less.” She sips innocently at her gin and tonic.

They continue talking, nothing serious, a little game of getting-to-know-you. Then, so sudden in Sam’s intoxicated state, Jess leans in close and whispers, "How drunk do I have to get you, Sam Winchester, to get you to come back to my room and screw me senseless?"

Sam swallows. This crazy, beautiful, incredibly forward girl has him completely thrown off balance. She slips off her seat and starts making her way through the crowd that's managed to fit themselves inside the small confines of the bar. Sam only has a few seconds to decide before Jessica slips out of sight. He makes a knee jerk decision and slams the rest of the beer that he's drinking before pressing through the crush of bodies after her.

Once outside, he's sure that he's lost her, casting around from side to side, trying to see where she might have gone. There's an amused laugh from behind him, and Sam spins on his heel to see her leaning against the side of the building. "Wasn't sure if you were going to leave me hanging or not, Sam. Glad to see you didn't disappoint me."

Her look turns smoky and she bites her lip, stepping into his personal space as she presses her lips, wet with saliva, against Sam's own slack lips, dry and a little cracked. "Kiss me back," she whispers against Sam's mouth, and he does; He lifts a hand and slides his fingers through the heavy silk strands of her blond hair, tilting her head and kissing the corner of her mouth, the Cupid’s bow, before kissing her full bottom lip. She leans into it, but Sam pulls away, runs his nose down the strong line of her jaw and breathes in, pressing a kiss just under her ear.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," she breathes and Sam smiles, pulls away, and he can feel the smug smirk on his face - satisfied with the reaction he elicited. "But I swear to God, Sam - you do something like that again and we're going to get arrested for indecent exposure."

"Lead the way," he answers, kissing the corner of her mouth again, softly.

Jessica growls as she fists her hand in the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him back towards the dorms.

--
Sam doesn't have a lot of experience with girls. The first and only girl he'd ever been with was Laura Coffey in his senior year, and he isn't even sure that really counts. He chalks all of his kissing expertise to Adrian. He hates that things ended the way that they did, Sam being a coward, but things were too weird after he realized that Adrian looked almost exactly like his brother, and what that implicated about Sam.

Jessica though, she's completely different from Laura. She's adventurous in the bedroom, constantly looking things up on the internet, coercing Sam into trying this and that. He discovers a lot about himself during his time with Jessica.

It's pretty vanilla - for the most part. Handcuffs, using ties as restraints and blindfolds; Sam uses toys on Jessica when she asks - dildos and vibrators. She's essentially in charge the whole time, telling Sam how fast and where to move his hand to get a better angle.

It's when Jessica does things to him that Sam realizes that there are kinks buried deep, deep down.

He asks her cut him, once, during sex, and she hesitates. "Are you sure?" she asks quietly, and Sam nods, tells her that he trusts here. She's still unsure, but a week or so later, she brings out a knife - a dagger, really - that she bought specifically for the occasion.

"Please tell me you're sure about this, Sam." She's serious, mouth a thin line. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them slowly and looking her straight on. "I trust you."

She swallows, but throws her leg over Sam's hips and settles in, dagger cradled in her right hand. At first she merely traces the flat side of the blade across Sam's chest and down his sides, the blade shaking slightly with nerves whenever Sam breathes and the sharp edge presses against his skin. After several minutes, however, she tips the knife at an angle, dragging the sharp edge in a quick line from Sam's right side down towards his hip. It's maybe three inches long, more of a shallow scratch, but Sam hisses at the feeling, and Jessica watches with wide, curious eyes as the blood bubbles up and oozes down Sam's side in slow, sluggish lines.

"Okay?" she whispers, and Sam mm-hmm's contentedly, stretching his torso and causing a fresh burst of blood to rush out.

Jessica continues to make small, shallow cuts across Sam's chest and sides, becoming so bold as to hold the knife pressed against Sam's neck as she leans forward and kisses him - desperate kisses laced with fear.

When the knife is laid aside and Sam finally fucks up into the warm wetness of Jess, the stinging burn of the cuts on his body send little shocks through his body, and he comes hard. Harder than he's ever come when they've been in bed together.

"Thank you," he says when they're laying together, sweaty and stuck together. Jess runs fingers through the dried, flaking blood on Sam's chest, but says nothing.

Dean calls again, and Sam resigns himself to the fact that if he doesn't call Dean back, Dean will come and find him. When he answers the phone, Dean doesn't even say hi, just tells him, "Be at the apartment by six thirty. No excuses." He leaves a note for Jess on her door.

Change of plans. Sorry. Will make it up to you. Don't wait up. :)

He knows he'll get shit for it when he gets back, but he thinks dealing with Jessica's short bursts of anger is easier than dealing with Dean's.
--
The door is open when he gets there. The TV is off, and Dean is no where to be seen. "Dean?" Sam calls into the seemingly empty apartment. He gets a muffled response from the bedroom and takes comfort in the fact that his brother is actually home. He gets a beer from the fridge and sits down to wait.

"Drinking age is still twenty one, squirt," Dean calls at the foaming hiss of a beer can opening.

"Ha ha," Sam calls back. "Like you care."

A second later, Dean comes into the kitchen, takes the beer out of Sam's hand and takes a pull. "Ahh, but that's where you are wrong, young padawan. I do care." He grins cheekily. "Ready to go?"

"Didn't even know we were going somewhere."

"That means your ready. Come on, let's go."

Somewhere turns out to little diner a few blocks down the road, tucked in between a Laundromat and paint store. It's nearly empty for the time of day, but Dean doesn't seem to notice, heading straight to the back and sliding into a booth. Sam follows, sliding in across from him and picking up one of the double-sided laminated menus tucked behind the condiments.

"Hey there, boys," greets their waitress only moments after they sit down. She's middle-aged, lines around her mouth and eyes, but she has a kind face, and for some reason, Sam instantly likes her. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee. Black, please," Dean answers and waits while Sam mulls over the options listed.

"Strawberry milkshake," he decides eventually, and she smiles down at them.

"No problem. Back in a jiff."

They sit in silence as they read the menu. Sam's long since decided what he wants to order, but he's using the menu as something to keep his hands busy and his eyes from watching Dean who is watching Sam unabashedly across the table.

Sam clenches his jaw and lowers the menu, looking at Dean expectantly. "Something I can do for you?"

"Oh, I'm just waiting for an explanation. That's all."

Sam is confused for a moment. Then realization dawns on him and he can feel heat flood his cheeks. "It's stupid." he mumbles.

Dean lifts a shoulder, indifferent. "Then it shouldn't be hard to tell me what the hell happened then, hmm?"

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

Sam sighs. "Because it'll weird you out. And it already freaks me out."

Dean frowns, trying to figure out what the hell his brother is talking about. "It can't be that bad, Sam. Spit it out already. I'm tired of us dancing around the elephant in the room. And it's fucking retarded that I haven't hung out with my brother for nearly three months. And it's also really fucking retarded that you aren't taking my phone calls."

"Well," Sam starts, "maybe you'd be kind of reluctant too if you realized suddenly that your brother and your boyfriend looked almost the exact fucking same, and really what the hell does that say about you?"

"Boyfriend?" Dean says, surprised.

Their waitress arrives at that exact moment, easing the tension slightly. They say polite thank yous as she drops of Sam's milkshake and a hot cup of coffee for Dean. Dean dumps three packs of sugar into his coffee before either of them speaks.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?" he asks after he's stirred the sugar into his coffee, and quite possibly the enamel right off the bottom of the cup.

"Because."

"Hmm." Dean sips at his coffee, eyes distant over Sam's shoulder. "Are you still together?"

"No."

"Are you dating anyone at all right now?"

"Maybe - What is this, twenty questions?"

Dean frowns again, annoyed. "Just trying to catch up on your life, Sammy. No need to get defensive."

"Sorry," Sam mutters, wiping whipped cream off the top of his milkshake and sucking it into his mouth.

"So..." Dean prompts. Sam feigns confusion. "Guy or girl? Where did you meet? Is it serious?"

Sam takes a few sips of his milkshake, rolling the cool mixture around in his mouth. "Girl. A bar on campus. I guess it's serious. I mean, I'm not dating anyone else."

"What's her name?"

"Jessica."

Their waitress comes back to check on them and they place their order. Now that it's all out in the open, the atmosphere is more relaxed, although Sam is still dreading Dean asking certain questions pertaining to Adrian.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping at their drinks and just enjoying each others company. Then Dean's posture shifts and Sam is already anticipating what's coming. "What was his name?"

"Adrian," Sam chokes out. It feels weird saying his name to his brother. Saying it out loud at all after how it all went down.

"He looks like me, huh?"

"I didn't even realize," Sam admits, "until that night, and all you did was turn and look at me and it was just so obvious. It was like a kick to the gut that I'd subconsciously hooked up with this guy, who looked just like you. I mean, I was fucking this guy, Dean. I mean, isn't there something Freudian about that?"

"Don't ask me college boy. Unless you're trying to tell me something. In which case, we need to be having a much different conversation."

Sam's mouth drops open. "I - I don't really know what I'm trying to tell you, Dean."

"Look, it's okay. Freudian or not, it's not like you actually want to fuck me. Right?"

Sam snorts. "Of course not." Dean was his brother. Of course not. Right?

--
It's a week before mid-terms and everyone is on edge, snapping at the smallest things and feeling the pinch as exams creep closer and closer. Jess, being a natural student, spends most of her time hanging out in the library pretending to study. Sam sits across from her at the table, hi-lighting and scribbling notes every so often.

"Sam, I'm bored," she says, reaching across the table to flip through the pages that Sam isn't presently reading.

"Jess, please."

She sighs and sits back in her chair, turning the page to a different one in her own text book but not reading anything on it. "This is ridiculous, Sam. Why are we in the library studying when we could be back in my dorm - or yours - fucking the stress away. You know that you're going to do fine. You're am-a-zing." She draws the word out and Sam clenches his jaw, the muscle twitching. He's trying to be patient with her.

"Jess," he says sharply. "I'm sorry that you're bored. But I'm trying to study, and if you don't want to be here, no one is forcing you to be here. I'll catch up with you later, okay?" he adds, trying to soften the harshness of his previous statement.

Jess pushes away from the table abruptly, closing her books with a slam and standing. "Fine," she says curtly. "I guess I'll see you later." She storms out of the library muttering under her breath and drawing the attention of the students studying. They cast varying glances in his direction - everything from surprised to worried to outright annoyed.

When Sam gets back to his dorm a few hours later, the door is unlocked and the lights are off. Turning on the lights reveals Jess, dressed in a short pink slip, a roughly fashioned noose of ties around her neck.

"How was studying?" she asks, but her tone is sarcastic, and her eyes are sharp.
"Good." Sam shifts his weight from foot to foot, dropping his bag to the floor. "Uh, what's all this?"

"All this," Jess gestures down the length of her body, "is going to get shared with the entire floor if you don't close the door."

The sound of the door clicking shut was startling in the quiet of the room.

"Why don't you come join me, hmm?"

“What’s the occasion?” Sam asks hesitantly as he moves further into the room.

Jess pouts. “I just hate it when you’re mad at me, Sam. So I’m going to make it up to you.”

Sam slips off his jacket and throws it over the back of his desk chair. He pulls the flannel that he's wearing underneath off and drops it somewhere on the floor.

He crawls onto the bed, long legs encasing Jessica’s hips between his knees. She’s smiling up at him, triumphant that she’s gotten what she wanted in the end. Sam reaches out and pulls gently on the tie around her neck, pulls until it tightens across her esophagus and she lets out a soft intake of breath.

Raising a speculative eyebrow, he does it again, watches the way that Jessica’s pupils dilate at the pressure. He leans in close, breathes his words against her ear, “you like that, hmm? Like the way that I’m in control, baby?” Sam’s voice is dark and he tugs a bit tighter, and Jessica’s hand flies to his bicep, gripping but not pushing him away.

“Don’t forget the safe word,” she reminds him breathlessly.

Sam thinks about the safe word they decided on – cheese¬ – and how for nearly two weeks Sam couldn’t look at or eat cheese without get hard.

They don’t move for a minute, looking at each other, gauging the other’s next move. Jess moves her hand slowly down Sam’s arm, tracing over his back and creeping under the top of his jeans. There’s a question in her eyes, and Sam answers it by shift his hips gently against her thigh. She smiles quickly before trailing her finger along Sam’s side and flicking the button and pulling the zipper down. She uses her feet to pull Sam’s jeans down, pressing up into the pressure against her throat.

“Gonna fuck you,” Sam tells her. His breath comes quick and his eyes are dark. “Gonna hold you just like this and give you what you want.”

Jess licks her lips, closes her eyes and breathes the best that she can against the restraint.

Using his other hand, Sam brushes his fingers along the inside of Jessica’s thigh; He’s not surprised to find that she’s not wearing anything under the flimsy excuse for a nightgown. She’s already wet, cunt sucking at his fingers as he presses them teasingly against it with the tips.

“Come on,” Jess gasps and Sam smirks.

Without warning, he’s pressing in – hard – a quick jerk of the hips that has Jessica clutching at Sam’s back and the tie pulling tight around her neck as she inhales sharply.

“Ready?” Sam asks. He twists the tie around his hand and Jessica’s eyes widen, air supply completely cut off. Sam pulls back and plows right back in, tie pressing a white line into the tan skin of Jessica’s neck. The hand that was clutching at Sam’s shoulder turns to scrabbling, scratching finger nails as Jessica fights to breathe. “If you trust me, you’ll stop fighting,” Sam warns and Jessica goes still, eyes still wide and frightened.

Her legs hitch up around his hips, tightening and loosening to let Sam know how she’s doing. He smiles down at her, toothy and predatory. He watches the way her throat tightens as she swallows, but he pushes down the urge to wrap the tie just that much tighter around his hand.

“Fuck,” Sam grunts, rhythm stuttering. “I’m gonna come.” His grip tightens and Jess is choking, scratching her nails down Sam’s back as he comes, eyes clenched tight. When his eyes flutter open, a satisfied smile playing at his lips, Jessica is staring up at him unblinking, eyes scared and panicked; her mouth is parted in what Sam can only assume was the safe word, something he had completely forgotten about.

“Oh my God.” He climbs off the bed; his hand releases the end of the tie like it’s alive. “Shit. Shitshit. Shit.” He pulls on his boxers and shoves his fingers through his hair, trying to remember how to breathe. “Call nine-one-one you idiot!” he tells himself, but when he picks up the phone and starts to dial, he pauses.

“What the fuck am I going to tell them?” His finger hovers over the send button before moving to end and dialing a different number instead.

“Sam?”

“Dean,” Sam says quietly. “Shit, man. I need your help.”

Dean is instantly worried. “Sam? What happened?”

“I killed her, Dean. Oh God, I fucking killed her!”

“Sam, calm down. What are you talking about?”

The more time it takes for Dean to agree to help him, the more Sam begins to panic. “We were – and I was – and then – fuck. Can you just get here, please? I need your help.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says softly. “I’m on my way. Are you in your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

When Dean finally arrives, Sam is pacing, shirt ripped at the shoulder – he never did take it off – and his jeans hang loose around his hips, only half fastened. Dean’s eyes go right to Sam once the door opens, then right to Jessica, laying on the bed.

“Holy shit!” Dean says, closing the door quickly behind him.

“I know! Fuck, Dean. What do we do?”

“Call a fucking ambulance, that’s what! Jesus!”

“I was going to, and then I thought, how am I going to explain this?”

Dean starts pacing the small area of Sam’s dorm room. “We are so fucked. You not calling this in only makes it that much worse. Fuck.”

Sam clears his throat. “Well, I was thinking –“

Dean stops pacing. “What?”

“Well, what if we waited until, uh, later, and then just… got rid of the body?”

Dean’s mouth drops open. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“If you’ve got any better ideas, I’d like to hear them. Please. You have the floor!”

“Keep your voice down,” Dean hisses. “The last thing we need is your entire building knowing that you’ve got a dead girl in your room.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air and they both let out frustrated sighs. “Fine,” Dean agrees after several tense minutes. “You got any ideas as to where?”

They wait until it’s almost midnight, wrapping the corpse up in Sam’s bed sheet and carefully carrying her out of the dorm. There’s a cemetery on the west campus, just off Irving Hill Road by the marching band practice fields. Dean pitches a fit about having a fucking dead body in his car, but Sam begs him to shut the fuck up and assures him that he’ll make it up to him.

The cemetery is locked, so it takes some work to get the body over the wall. They find an open grave and, looking at each other skeptically, drop the body in. It makes a sickening thunk when it hits the bottom. They cover it with a layer of grave dirt and hope that no one will notice her in the morning.

“Own your fucking soul for this, Sam,” Dean says as they get the hell out of dodge. “Fucking dead bodies. What the fuck.”

They don’t go back to campus, instead opting to go back to Dean’s apartment. Dean tells Sam that they’ve got to work out a good alibi, because someone is going to notice that Jessica is missing sooner rather than later. She is a college student – popular and well liked, and smart. Also, it’s mid-terms, and missing your mid-terms unexcused rarely goes unnoticed.

--
At Dean’s apartment, Sam collapses on the couch and immediately breaks into giggles that quickly turn into roaring guffaws. “Dude, what the hell?”

“We – Oh my god, Dean!” The adrenalin is still running, causing Sam to jump to his feet, grabbing Dean’s face and with a manic grin and a crazed look in his eyes declare “We fucking got away with it!” He pauses for a minute and then presses his lips against Dean’s.

They stay like that for a moment before Sam jumps away, a completely different look on his face and he turns and walks as far across the room way from Dean as he can.

Dean’s fingers are touching the corner of his mouth, eyes directed at the floor, and Sam is verily vibrating where he stands; the only reaction to this can be bad.

“Oh my god, Dean. I didn’t mean – It was just the adrenalin and –“

“Sam, shut up.”

Sam falls silent and instead casts his eyes around the room, taking in the familiar shape and furniture, the color of the walls, anything to keep his mind occupied.

“You’ve never even thought about it?” Dean asks after a moment. It’s a casual question; far too casual for the weight of the meaning behind it.

He considers the question being asked. Has he ever thought about it? Not seriously, no. Maybe not even actively. But what about what happened with Adrian? Surely that wasn’t simply a reaction to their appearance. Sam had nearly said as much that night at the diner; Besides, it hadn’t been until that night, when Dean had looked at him with hazy eyes and an easy smile that Sam had seen the similarities, felt the same kind of affection.

“Maybe not never,” Sam admits quietly, and when he looks back at Dean, Dean is watching him carefully.

“Ever since what you said,” Dean confesses just as quiet, “I’ve thought about it a lot. More than a lot, maybe. Can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sam swallows. “Did you like it?”

“Didn’t hate it.”

“It wasn’t weird?”

“Did it feel weird to you?”

“No.” A whisper. A confession.

Dean clears his throat. “Come over here.”

Sam crosses the room, stopping in front of his brother who looks up at him, a soft, affectionate smile on his face. “When did you get so tall?” he asks as he slips a hand into Sam’s hair.

“When you weren’t looking,” Sam answers just before their lips touch for the second time.

--
There’s an investigation into Jessica’s disappearance a week after the end of mid-terms. A detective comes knocking on Sam’s door one afternoon, and Sam is ready for the questions.

They’re standard questions: where were you the night of, between the hours of such and such; is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts; how long had you and Jessica been dating; do you have a history of violence, etcetera.

He and Dean had worked out the details, Sam already safe in the knowledge that he’d been in the library studying for most of the afternoon and into the evening, surrounded by fellow students to corroborate his story; they’d witnessed the argument that he’d had with Jess just before she left. As far as Sam was aware, no one else knew that Jess had been in his room, and then the rest of the night he’d been with Dean. It was airtight. Just about.

Detective Hendrickson took more notes than Sam thought was suitable, but he wasn’t a cop, so he kept his mouth shut.

Just as they were finishing up, Detective Hendrickson looks at Sam speculative. “I talked to a few other students before you, Sam. There were several references to an argument that you and your girlfriend had the evening that that she went missing.”

“It wasn’t really a fight. She was keeping me company in the library while I was studying for my mid-terms, and being kind of a distraction. I just… I kind of snapped at her.”

Detective Hendrickson makes another note in his book and nods. “Okay. We’ll be in touch, Mr. Winchester. Don’t leave town any time soon.”

“Of course, detective,” Sam said as he held the door. “Anything I can do to help along the investigation.”
--
The body never does get discovered, covered with a coffin and a ton of dirt somewhere on the west side of campus. The police conclude that Jessica was likely abducted, and if she is still alive, out of the county or the state already. They announce to the press that there is little they can do without further tips to go on, and encourage the public to come forward if they have any information regarding the disappearance of the up and coming sophomore student.

The student union holds a memorial service cum vigil for her a few days later, pictures friends donated for use and the lighting of candles. Sam doesn’t go – says he’s grieving – and spends the night at Dean’s.

Previous | Next

The Lady Killers - Part 2

2009-06-24T19:58:46Z

The knock at the door at 2 am wakes Sam and John. Sam hovers at the top of the stairs as John answers the door, the gruff voices of police officers describing the situation. Sam hears Dean's name several times and Rhys's name a few times, and instantly knows what happened. He also hears the word 'hospital' and 'pressing charges', and a lump rises in his throat. When the door closes, Sam darts away from the top of the stairs and back to his room, leaving his door open a crack and listening for the ensuing argument. He's not disappointed.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" John shouts almost as soon as the door clicks shut. "What the hell has gotten into you? Assaulting another boy?"

Dean is silent, and Sam can just see him in his head, face stoic and posture stiff.

"You put him in the hospital, Dean. His parents are pressing charges! Do you realize what that means?" John lets out a furious sound. "I cannot figure you out. You get into that fight when you're seven, then nothing for all these years. Now you’re sixteen, assaulting other boys and I have no explanation for either. You've got a criminal record now! This is going to follow you for the rest of your life!"

Sam wills Dean to say something, defend himself. "Tell him that Rhys beat me up. Tell him you were defending me!" Sam whispers fervently to himself under his breath.

Then, quietly, barely even loud enough for Sam to hear, Dean says, "I did it for Sam."

"What?"

"I did it for Sam. I warned Rhys, that arrogant fuck and he didn't listen. I did it for Sam."

"Sam!" John calls and Sam flinches, fingers clenching in the leg of his pyjama pants. His palms are sweating he's been holding his breath. "Sam!" John calls again and Sam starts. He swallows thickly and opens the door, going only so far as the top of the stairs.

"Yeah, dad?" he calls, trying for casual, as if he hasn't been listening to the entire conversation.

"Come down here for a minute."

Sam knows that this is going to blow up once it all comes out and takes the steps as slowly as he can, drawing out the inevitable. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs and sees that Dean is exactly as he pictured, except that his hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, still raring for a fight. Their father is pacing back and forth across the living room. John looks up and points at the couch. "Sit. The both of you. You're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

Dean sits at one end of the couch and Sam at the other; they don't look at each other. "Sam, anything you think that maybe I should know?"

Sam chews his lip before he answers, fingers pulling idly at his pant leg. He swallows past the lump in his throat. "I got in a fight with Rhys a couple weeks back."

"You got into a fight?" John asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Over what?"

Sam scowls. "Rhys was being an asshole and talking about how I don't have a mom because she's... well. And I got pissed off and I punched him."

A frown pulls at John's mouth. "I still say he deserved it," Sam grouses.

Dean's mouth twists into a smirk. Sighing, John stands from where he's sat on the coffee table between them. "Dean, you're grounded until further notice. Sam, try to keep your temper. Now, get to bed."

Sam slants a glance at his older brother after their father has left the room. Dean returns the look, offers Sam a quirk of the lips before getting up, ruffling Sam's hair as he passes and trudging up the stairs to his room. Sam turns the details over in his head and wishes that he hadn't told Dean that it was Rhys who Sam had come to blows with. It was Sam's fault, even if Rhys did deserve it.

Even if they aren't as close as they once were, Sam is relieved to know that Dean still has his back.

--
The court date is set for a month later. Dean tugs at the collar of his shirt and fusses with the tie that John forces him to wear. Sam feels just as constricted as Dean; his skin feels tight and stretched over his bones.

"Remember," John begins as he straightens Dean's tie once more, "don't give the judge any attitude. Answer all of the questions directly and without preamble."

The judge is young, but has a stern face. He observes the courtroom over the rim of his glasses, eyeing Dean sitting stiffly next to their lawyer. Across the aisle at the other table, Rhys sits with his lawyer, neck held nearly immobile by the brace it's encased in, his face an unsavory mix of greens and yellows from bruises healing and fading.

It's a relatively quick trial, where Dean is served with 500 hours of community service and three months house arrest. Rhys's parents don't seem completely thrilled by the verdict, and they let John know as they're leaving that they're going to file an appeal and get Dean sent to a juvenile detention facility.

He spends the next several months working in a center for victims of abuse. He doesn't talk about it much at home, and often comes home in a dark mood, heading straight to his room and not eating dinner.
--
They have a celebratory barbeque when Dean completes all of his hours, inviting the neighbors and some of Dean's school friends. One thing was for sure, Dean's reputation at school changed in the days leading up to the trial, and not for the better. Most students poorly hid hushed whispers and pointed fingers behind Dean's back as he walked down the hallway.

Mike and Karen as well as some other family friends, mill around the backyard as John mans the grill. Sam sits by himself, picking idly at the potato chips on his plate and taking occasional sips from his cup of punch.

Dean is sitting on the other side of the yard with his friends. They're laughing and joking about something, some stupid joke, probably, trying to pretend like everything is back to normal.

On a plate by the grill, there's a pile of burger patties and hot dogs waiting for their turn. "Dean-o!" John calls, and Sam watches as his brother turns slowly to acknowledge their father. "Burger or dog, kiddo?"

"Burger," Dean answers flatly, and turns seamlessly back to the conversation. John flips a patty into place over the flame and turns to smile at Karen as she comes to stand next to him.
"Glad that appeal from the Martin's didn't go through," she says conversationally and John pauses.

"Well, the judge said that 500 hours and three months house arrest was a suitable conviction. But I'm not going to lie to you, Karen. I almost feel like juvie would have been better. I hate to say it, but what he did to that boy?"

Karen's eyes widen. "You don't really mean that, do you?" She rests a hand on John's arm. "He was just looking out for his family."

"In any other situation, any other person, Karen, you would feel differently. I'm not proud that I feel that way, but, well..."

Karen squeezes John's arm gently. "You don't think that he feels remorse about it?"

John shrugs. "It's hard to say. He's a different person now. I don't know what to think."

John rubs at his chest and winces. Karen’s brow furrow and she touches John’s arm again. “John? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just have this tightness in my chest.”

“Is this the first time you’ve experienced this?” Karen asks.

John shakes his head. “No. On and off over the last few days.”

Karen’s lips flatten. “John, you should have gone to see a doctor. It could be serious!”

He waves her away. “Nah. I’ll be fine. Probably just stress or something.” Suddenly John grabs at his chest, choking in air.

"John? Mike! Mike, something's wrong with John!"

The entire party atmosphere evaporates as everyone crowds around John.

"Dad? Dad!" Dean is shouting, pushing people out of the way to get to his father. John reaches up and Dean is there by his side, eyes wide and worried as he squeezes Dean's hand.

"Sam!" Dean shouts. "Sam, call an ambulance! Call a fucking ambulance!" He's crying when he turns back to his dad. "Dad, please. Come on, you gotta be alright. Please. Please."

--
The ride to the hospital is a blur of noise and flashing lights, Sam gripping his brother's hand as they follow the ambulance in the car with Karen. When Dean had tried to climb into the back, followed by Sam, the paramedic had shaken his head and told them that unfortunately, he couldn’t allow them to ride in the back.

“I’ll go with him, boys. You go with Karen.” Mike says.

“I don’t understand!” Dean says to the paramedic. “We’re his kids! Why can’t we go with him?”
The paramedic frowned. “It’s just standard, boys. Needs to be someone of legal age. Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to keep your dad from slipping away.”

Before the doors closed, they watched as the defibrillator was pulled out and the way their father's body jerked as the electric current tried to restart his heart.

--
The wait in the hospital waiting room is impossibly long.

Karen and Mike talk quietly between themselves, Sam's hand caught in the tight grip of Karen's own fingers. Dean paces, tracing the perimeter of the small room in an uncoordinated kind of waltz. His jaw is set tight, and his eyes are hard. His eyes flicker up to Sam's and away on every pass.

When a doctor finally emerges, her face is grave. Dean stops in his tracks the moment the door cracks open, and they stare at each other expectantly; she waiting for Dean to have some kind of screaming fit, and Dean waiting for the verdict - good news or bad.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers as she steps further into the room. Sam sees Dean's throat work as he swallows, the way his eyes cast around the room, focusing on anything but the doctor delivering her standard apologies for now-grieving families. Half phrases make it through: "Best that we could," and "didn't make it," and "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Mike says, arm coming around Dean as he reaches out to shake the doctor's hand. Karen is sobbing behind them, and when Dean looks at his brother over his shoulder, he is stock still, face pale. Dean pulls away from Mike and pries Karen's fingers from around Sam's.

"Come on," he says quietly.

Sam stands and follows Dean as they walk out of the hospital. They pause at the corner, just breathing, and then Dean takes off at a sprint, Sam on his heels, the soft breeze turning into a whipping wind as they run.
--
They turn up back at the house several hours later, Mike and Karen sitting in the living room stand as soon as the door opens.

"Sam? Dean? Is that you?"

Karen envelops them in a hug as soon as they round the corner into the living room.

"We were so worried!" She holds them until it feels awkward, and Sam and Dean pull away carefully.
Karen's bottom lip quivers, holding back tears. "Mike and I think you should stay with us tonight, obviously. We'll handle the details of everything tomorrow, okay?"

One plump tear escapes the corner of her eye and traces a long black trail down her cheek.

They only have one guest room with a double bed, and Karen shrugs a shoulder and says that if it's too weird, someone is more than welcome to take the couch. Sam shrugs, and Dean assures her that it's fine. However, even after she's left, door clicking softly shut behind her, the boys stand and stare at the bed.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Sam offers quietly.

Dean punches him in the shoulder. "Shut up. No you won't. Get in the bed."

That night they sleep fully clothed, no part of them touching, on top of the covers. In the morning, Sam is tucked under Dean's arm, head pillowed on his chest. Neither looks as if they had any rest at all, but the contact between them seems to make a difference.

--
Two days later, their lawyer reads their father's will, leaving the house to Sam and Dean. Mike and Karen are awarded guardianship, at John's request, until Dean is nineteen, at which time, he can legally become Sam's guardian - although Sam can choose to stay with Mike and Karen until he is of legal age as well. Dean also receives the shining black Chevy Impala that sits in the drive.

The body is cremated and a headstone is placed next to Mary's, although no body occupies either space. The urn containing the ashes sits on the mantle above the fireplace, collecting dust, but always a reminder.
--
Dean graduates when he's eighteen and on his nineteenth birthday, packs up and moves into an apartment across town. The house that he and Sam inherited was sold within a couple years, a decision that was made by Sam and Dean both; neither of them was comfortable living in a house where they family had died.

Sam, fifteen and hitting the peak of his rebellious stage blows up at Mike and Karen who've become worn down and tired of dealing with the two boys over the three years they were in their care, demanding that now that his brother is old enough, that he should be able to leave and go live with him. Karen is against it, and Mike is resigned. No resolution is come to, but they are not surprised when Sam doesn't come home for a few days. When they call Dean, just to check, they are relieved to know that Sam is with someone safe.

"I think that you should go back, Sam," Dean tells him after he hangs up the phone. "I mean, I like having you around and everything, but I'm not ready for this kind of responsibility."

"I hate it there! Karen hovers. She acts like I’m something fragile that’s going to break. She’s not my mother!”

Dean sighs. "You never even knew mom," he reminds gently. "Karen is about as close to one as you ever got."

Furious, Sam crosses his arms and slumps back into the cushions of the worn, second-hand couch that Dean acquired. "One more day, okay?"

"Okay."

Two days later, Sam is back in his room at Karen and Mike's. He doesn't want to be there, but he’s made a deal with Dean. It's only two and a half years until Sam graduates, and then he can do whatever he wants.

Karen gives Sam a watery smile when he comes in the door, and Mike holds back from patting him on the shoulder. The atmosphere is tense and Sam thinks it’s worse than it was before.

At school, Sam starts spending an hour every afternoon in the counselor’s office, talking about losing his mom and dad and how it feels to have people he's known his entire life try to fill those roles. In the long run it doesn't do much to make Sam feel better about things, but at least all the things he feels aren't bottled up inside him all the time.

--
In his last years of high school, Sam throws himself into school work, becoming an honor student and less of a social outcast. The incident with Rhys is more or less forgotten in the years since Dean had graduated, and the black cloud that once hung over the Winchester name seems to have completely dissipated.

He goes to prom with Laura Coffey, the head cheerleader, and they get elected Prom King and Prom Queen.

He loses his virginity to her. It wasn’t an experience that he wants to talk to anyone about and they break up three days later. He isn't upset about it, since word around the school campus was that she was kind of a slut.

Every school application Sam fills out comes back with thick envelopes filled with congratulations and warm welcomes, trying to entice him to pick their school to attend in the coming fall. He wins a scholarship to any school of his choice, full ride, and he's not sure what to decide: Berkley, Stanford, Brown? He thinks about how much he wants to just get out of Lawrence for a while, be a different person, be his own person. He thinks about how hard it's been to not have Dean living at home with him for the last couple of years and how much harder it will be if he leaves.

In the end, Sam decides to go to Kansas University in Lawrence to be close. He tells Karen and Mike that he's going to Stanford, take advantage of that California sun. That summer, Sam buys a truck - an old beat up Ford. It runs good and is in decent condition. He tells them that he's going to drive there, take time to clear his head and get ready for a fresh start.

Karen cries.

Mike gives him a manly slap on the shoulder and wishes him luck, reminds him to keep in touch.

Sam has never been a very good liar, but he smiles and says that he will. He gets in his truck, all packed and loaded with his stuff, and takes off down the street, watching as the house that he grew up in, and one that was never really home, fades in the rear view mirror. He turns left at the end of the street, as if heading out to the highway. The cell phone, clunky and new, that he bought two days earlier and that only contains one number - Dean's - sits on the seat next to him. It's the last time he sees Mike and Karen.
--
It's a surprise when Dean opens the door to his apartment and finds Sam standing there.

"Sam!" Dean says eyes wide. "I thought you'd be half way to California by now, from the way Mike was talking about it."

"I'm not going to California, Dean."

Dean's brow crinkles in confusion. "What? Of course you are. Stanford? Full ride?" He confusion turns to anger. "Did I fucking miss the memo when you completely changed gears here?"

"I just told Karen and Mike that I was going to Stanford. I'm going to KU."

Dean's face slackens in shock. "You lied to them?"

Sam's jaw tightens but he doesn't respond. He made the right decision, he's sure of it.
"Look, I just. I wanted you to know that I'm still in town though, okay? I mean, if I'm being honest here, you're the reason I'm not leaving in the first place. Don't tell them, okay? Please?"

"I- Sam, I don't know, man..."

"Please, Dean. Just, if they ask if you've heard from me, tell them whatever. Just don't tell them that I'm still in Lawrence." He glances down at his watch. "I gotta go. I'll call you later."

Dean stands at the door watching as Sam retreats down the hallway. Who is this man that his brother has grown into?

Next

The Lady Killers - Master Post

2009-06-24T19:42:41Z

Title: The Lady Killers
Author: thrdstrike
Artist: proofpudding
Genre: Slash
Rating: NC-17
Words: 21, 347
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean Winchester, as well as their universe is created and owned by Eric Kripke. I'm just playing in his sandbox and knocking down some of his original stucturing.
Warnings: (skip) Alternate universe, graphic sexual violence, disturbing scenes, may not be suitable for all readers. This is dark!fic, guys. It is not a pretty story at all, please tread carefully if you are not okay with stories with dark themes.
Summary: After their parents die, Sam and Dean end up living with family friends. But when Sam goes off to university, he develops a completely different version of himself. An accident involving his girlfriend leads to a dramatic change in his relationship with his brother, as well as something much, much more sinister.

Watch/Download the amazing trailer by proofpudding here!
Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

The Lady Killers

by thrdstrike

Charred Remains of Local Woman Found in Field
Lawrence Journal
Andrew Kinsdale - Staff Writer

November 3, 1983

Lawrence local police were called to Hoyland Farm late last night, owned by Robert Lominska, where they discovered the badly burned body of a young woman near the far back acres of the fields. Police reported that the owner of the farm, Robert Lominska, was finishing a night perimeter check of the farm when he came across the body. Lominska recalls that he immediately called the police upon the discovery, and after directing the police to the body's location, maintained a wide berth from the crime scene.

While the police have no leads at this time, the death is suspected to be a homicide.

The name of the victim is not yet being released to the public.

John looks out at the sea of black, faces blurred and unrecognizable. He feels dizzy, as though he’s just stepped off a ride at the fair, and everything is just a swath of colors. He's got Sam cradled in his one arm – drooling a puddle onto the shoulder of John’s jacket - and Dean pressed against his leg, tiny fingers wrapped around his own. He can still feel the dirt from the grave that he'd sprinkled on top of his wife's coffin, gritty in the lines of his palm and under his fingernails. People put supportive hands on his shoulder; touch his children’s heads. Their faces are solemn and grave; John thanks them. It’s automatic, a social expectation. He doesn’t know who these people are.

John wants them to leave. He doesn't want their condolences. He wants his wife back.

Mike, John’s business partner, and his wife, Kate come over, edging through the crush of bodies, a frown on Kate's face. She takes Sam from John's unresisting arms, and Sam rests his head on her shoulder, blinking owlishly and yawning. "Come on, John," Mike says. "Let Kate and I take the boys and you can go and have a few minutes for you, okay?"

He kneels down in front of Dean and offers a friendly smile. "What do you say, sport? Want to go and get some ice cream?"

Dean looks up at John curiously, fingers tightening. "Go on, kiddo," John says. He runs a hand lovingly through Dean's hair and tries for a smile. Dean hesitates for a second longer before pulling his hand away from his father's and taking Mike's. He looks up at Sam who's staring at him intently over Kate's shoulder, her straight dark hair grasped tightly in one chubby fist.

--
Later that night, after the house is empty and silent, John sits at the kitchen table, a tumbler with a couple fingers of bourbon occupying the space in front of him. Sam and Dean are asleep upstairs. John had stood in the door of Dean's room for some time, watching the soft rise and fall of his son's breath as he slept, tracing the gentle curve of his cheek, so much like his mothers. He thought about how quiet Dean has been since the police had shown up on their doorstep four days ago. Their faces had been grave (just like all those other people he doesn’t know) when they'd told John that they'd found Mary, and could he please come down to the station to answer a few questions.

"Sorry to bring you down so late, Mr. Winchester, but we'd like to get a head start on the investigation."

"No, that's fine. Anything I can do to help."

"Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Where were you last night, Mr. Winchester?"

"At home, with my children."

"And where was your wife, last night?"

"Mary was... She has a pottery class on Wednesday nights."

“Is there anyone else who would be able to confirm this?”

“My best friend, Mike. His wife went with her.”

"Mm-hm. And how was your relationship with your wife in the last week or so? Any fights? Disagreements? Have you had any problems concerning the boys?"

"What? No. Everything was fine. I loved my wife... love my wife. Mary was my entire world. She was a wonderful mother. We were very happy together."

"No one is disagreeing with you, Mr. Winchester. These are just standard questions we're asking. Is there anyone you know of who'd want to hurt your wife in anyway?"

"No. I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt Mary. I can't imagine any reason why this might have happened."

"Do you know Robert Lominska, Mr. Winchester?"

"The name is familiar. He's a farmer, isn't he? Won some awards at the agricultural festivals a few times, I think. I’ve never met the man. Are we done here? I'd like to get back to my kids. I don't think I can be of any more help right now."

"Of course, Mr. Winchester. We'll be in touch."

In the days following the funeral, John is surprised to find Dean sleeping in his brother's crib each morning, Sam wrapped carefully in Dean's arms. John sighs, touches the heads of both his boys, and leaves them to sleep.

He begins to worry when Dean won't stray farther than a few feet away from John at any time, so quiet and reserved, hovering over his brother when he's not clinging to his father. Mike tells John that he should maybe go see a shrink, try to talk through the pain.

"He's grieving!" John shouts defensively. "I appreciate your concern, Mike, but my wife just died, okay? Murdered. You don't just recover from that kind of thing overnight! Dean just lost his mother! He doesn't understand what that means, and he's clinging to the people that mean the most to him."

Mike raises his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

John sighs. "We just need some time, okay?"

"Okay."
--
The following months continue to be a difficult adjustment; John is not prepared to be a single father. Kate ends up looking after the boys so that John can - reluctantly - go back to work. Dean is still as quiet as ever, playing by himself, but always within reach of Sam. He only answers questions from Kate with affirmative nods or shakes of the head, sometimes not answering at all, as if he’d never heard her. He stares at the floor and makes very little eye contact.

On one isolated occasion, Kate is almost brought to tears when in the kitchen, Dean tugs gently on the hem of her skirt and quietly whispers from behind her, ”I want my momma."

"Oh, baby, I know you do," she tells him, sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around Dean in an effort to comfort him. Dean freezes at the contact until her arms slowly slip away. She offers him a watery smile, but Dean shrugs her hands from his small shoulders and exits the kitchen without another word.

She is reluctant to tell John about it; the bags under John's eyes deepening more every day from the stress of going to work and managing his two small children.

He frowns while she explains, but thanks her nonetheless. It was only a matter of time before Dean started asking. After she's left, John slips into Sam's room, finding Dean already tucked around his younger brother. His eyes are open, shining in the sliver of light spilling through the open door from the hallway.

"Hey, sport," John says. Dean blinks, fingers curling in the blanket covering the small bodies inside the cramped space of the crib. "Want to tell me what happened with Kate today?"

"I want momma," Dean whispers.

"I know you do kiddo. I want momma, too."

"Why did momma go away?" The confusion in Dean's voice breaks John's heart.

He hesitates before he answers, searching for the best way to explain the concept of death. In the end, he can't think of anything and answers, "You remember in Sunday school, what they taught you? About the angels and heaven?"

Dean nods.

"Well, the angels came and took momma away. They needed her help up in Heaven and they just couldn't wait."

"Is she ever coming back?"

John shakes his head. He's standing over the crib now, hand reaching down to brush through the silky strands of Dean's hair. "'Fraid not."

"Did it hurt?" Dean asks after a moment. "When they angels took her away?"

"No," John lies. He can feel the sting of tears behind his eyes. "No. The angels made sure it didn't hurt. But when you're really missing momma, I want you to just remember that she's up in Heaven with the angels, looking down on you and loving you so much. Can you do that for me?"

Dean nods.

"That's my boy." Sam lets out a rush of breath against Dean's chest and John sighs. "Go to sleep now, okay?"

"Okay." John hovers and Dean stares up at his father. "I love you, daddy," he says.
"I love you too, Dean." Then Dean closes his eyes, burrows closer to his little brother and falls asleep.

John stands over the crib watching until Dean's breaths even out and his face relaxes before stepping out of the room. He sits on his own bed heavily, springs groaning in protest, and puts his face in his hands, allowing the tears to run freely down his face. "I miss you, Mary," he whispers into the dark of the room. "Christ, I miss you so damn much."

--
As the months crawl by, things get better, slowly but surely. The development of a routine and the change in the weather lifts spirits and makes every day feel like less work, becoming more like the way things were.

Dean starts kindergarten, and John sighs in relief when Dean's entire demeanor seems to change. He comes home from school smiling and laughing. He's talking almost as much as he was before... before. John thanks God for small favors, even when he occasionally finds Dean quietly talking to himself as he plays in his room. He asks him about it once, and Dean beams at him and says, "I was talking to momma!" and something in John's chest tightens. Dean still sleeps with Sam more often than not, John too afraid to suggest otherwise.

Dean's teacher loves him, showering John with praise at their parent-teacher meeting. She tells him about what a smart, sharp boy Dean is and how well he interacts with the other children. Dean sits quietly next to John, swinging his legs and smiling at something just over his teacher's shoulder. John thanks the teacher gratefully. On the way back to the car, John ruffles Dean's hair and smiles. "Hey, sport. Want to get an ice cream on the way home?"

Looking up at his father, Dean smiles and nods. John wonders what happened to cause such a turnaround in his son, but he is happy to see him growing and thriving in a new environment.

--
The next time that John is required to go to Dean's school, Dean is seven and it is not because Dean is doing well. Mrs. Castleman has her arms crossed over her chest, Dean and another boy, whose nose has crusted over with blood and a scrape on his cheek, are sitting in chairs outside of her office when John arrives.

"Mr. Winchester?" she greets and John nods. "I'm Mrs. Castleman, the principal. It's unfortunate that we should meet under these circumstances."

John nods, eyes darting to Dean who is fixated on the floor in front of him. "What happened?" John asks as he kneels down in front of Dean. There are tear tracks still visible on his cheeks and an angry red-turning-purple mark under his eye.

"Dean and Rhys got into a fight this afternoon out on the playground."

"What?"

"There was quite a scuffle before any teachers were able to intervene."

John lets out a heavy breath. "Any idea what started it?"

Mrs. Castleman shakes her head. "Neither of them is willing to confess to anything." Her attention shifts to Dean. "I hope I won't be seeing you in my office again any time soon, Dean."

Embarrassment colours Dean's cheek and John leads him out into the hallway with a polite thanks to Mrs. Castleman as they leave the office.

"Jesus, Dean. What's gotten into you?"

Dean stares straight ahead, stoic and silent.

"I won," is the only answer that John receives as the front doors of the school shut behind them.

--
Back at home, John does not know what to do with the situation. He can already hear Sam screaming before the door is open, and Kate looks exhausted, trying in vain to get Sam to calm down. "He's been like this for the last two hours. I can't get him to stop."

Dean jerks away from the hold his father has on his shoulder and moves across the room to tug gently at Sam's foot. Almost instantly, the crying stops, and Sam blinks glassy eyes. Kate and John share a look. Sam casts around the room to find Dean, and when he does, he squirms out of Kate's arms and wraps small arms around Dean's waist.

"Dean," he mumbles into his brother's stomach.

That is how it works as the boys get older, Dean the only one capable of calming Sam when he is upset. That is how it works. Until it doesn't.
--
Sam is twelve and comes home from school with a black eye and a bleeding nose. Dean is two steps behind him, shouting Sam's name in a vain attempt to get his brother's attention.

"SAM!" Dean shouts and Sam whirls around.

"WHAT?" he shouts back, his eyes blazing. The collar of his shirt is crusted with blood.

Dean takes a step back. "Jesus. I've been calling you for like, twelve blocks. What the hell happened to you?"

"It's none of your fucking business," Sam snaps before marching up the stairs, quickly accompanied by the sound of a slamming door.

Dean, sixteen and feeling the need to push and push even though he shouldn't, grits his teeth and marches up the stairs after his younger brother. He barges into Sam's room without knocking, and Sam glares up from the mirror where he's poking at the purpling bruise under his eye. "God, Dean. Can’t you knock?"

"Watch your mouth, you little shit. What the fuck happened to your face?"

"I already told you. It's none of your business. Now get out!"

Dean's face hardens and he makes it so that he fills the entire doorframe. "You're my little brother. That makes it my business."

Sam is glaring so hard that his nose has started to bleed again. He wipes his arm across his face, leaving a wet rusty blood trail across his cheek.

"I got in a fight." He sets his jaw like that's all he's planning to say, as if it's enough and Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Wow, really? Because I thought that maybe you ran into a tree or something, what with you being a total klutz." he replies meanly.

"Fuck you, Dean. I told you what happened. Now get out."

"Who'd you get in a fight with?"

"It doesn't matter?"

"What'd you get in a fight over?"

"It's not important."

Dean snorts out a laugh. "It just figures you're the type of kid to start a fight over nothing, Sammy."

"Don't call me that!"

"Jesus, I just can't do anything right today, can I, Sam?" He shrugs a shoulder and smiles meanly before leaving Sam's room, door left standing wide open.

"Dean," Sam lets out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Wait."

--
He finds out that Rhys is the one that had an intimate encounter with Sam's face. They have a few classes together, but due to past circumstances, they don't travel in the same social circles - mostly because Rhys is a bully. And a meathead jock.

One day, after school, Dean finds Rhys at his lock surrounded by his sycophantic admirers. "Hey, Rhys."

Rhys looks up, and all of his cronies turn to look. Rhys sneers at Dean and leans heavily against his locker. "What do you want, Winchester?" A few of Rhys's buddies snicker into their fists.

"Just to talk, s'all," Dean replies lazily.

Rhys narrows his eyes. "Yeah? So talk."

Dean's nostrils flare. "Keep your paws off my brother."

A confused crease forms in between Rhys's eyebrows. "And who the fuck is your brother."

"Sam," Dean growls and the other boy lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

"That's so sweet of you, Winchester. Fighting Samantha's battles and defending her honour."

"You shut the fuck up, asshole. Keep the fuck away from my brother."

"Or what?" Rhys challenges as he steps away from the group. His eyes flash angrily and Dean swallows.

"Or else I'll tear your balls off through your fucking throat, that's what."

Rhys takes a step back, face registering surprise and maybe a little fear. Then his face transforms into a smirk. "Is that so." He straightens his letterman jacket. "Well, I guess we'll just have to see you try."

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth. "Believe me, Rhys. None of your buddies are gonna stop me if I want to get to you. You can count on that."

Next

This is a birthday post!

2009-06-22T15:41:55Z

Wishing Happy Birthday to my wonderful friend, citizenjess. Hope your special day is a great one.

Oh Em Gee, Guys!

2009-06-21T23:16:37Z

Holy crap!

My big bang is finished being edited (except this one section, but that's pretty minor), and is ready to be POSTED. WEDNESDAY!!!!

I am pretty excited. I think I turned out a pretty good story, and I hope you guys like it.

Musical question!

2009-06-19T00:22:33Z

Does anyone have a copy of Divine Brown's track Sunglasses? If so, would you mind terribly uploading it for me?

I can't find it anywhere!

TWIRLS

2009-06-19T00:17:38Z

SOMEONE QUIT HER JOB TODAY.

Alby Darned

2009-06-14T04:33:19Z

So, I'm thinking I might continue in my Alby Darned universe. Lord knows I've got lots of experiences to pull from. Who knows, maybe if I can get enough together, I might try to pass it off as a short novel. Although the idea of having anything published scares me to death.

But I have to ask:

View Poll: Book!

[FIc] - Twilight - Bella, Edward - Uh, R

2009-06-13T04:33:38Z

Title: While You Were Sleeping
Author: thrdstrike (although I'm a bit ashamed to admit I wrote this)
Rating: R. I guess. It's... it's fucking ridiculous.
Summary: My theory is, the nights that Edward spent watching Bella when she said/moaned his name in her sleep, she was doing more than just sleeping, if you know what I mean. And if her natural aroma was so fucking intoxicating, then how would Edward manage if he was presented with, uh, that. This is just one possibility.
Notes:I am ashamed to say that I wrote this, even though it's kind of hilarious, badly written, and is something that has been on my mind for KIND OF A LONG TIME. I wrote this while I was waiting for class to start on Wednesday. It just kind of... erupted on the page. IDK. Hardcore Twilighters best not tread her (unless you've got a decent sense of humor).

Edward maybe had to admit that he was a bit of a masochist. Okay, more than a little. As if it wasn't hard enough being around Bella and her naturally intoxicating smell; this was testing his limits.

He'd been watching her sleep for over a month now, and the few times that Bella had shifted in bed and moaned his name had Edward adjusting himself in his pants and causing his breath to hitch.

One night, in particular, Bella had moaned Edwards' name softly, her teeth biting in the soft plumpness of her bottom lip. Edward's eyes tracked the shifting movement under her blanket, the spread of her knees and the twist of her shoulder when...

Oh, god. Edward leaned closer towards the bed, inhaling deeply. He bit his own lip in an effort to contain his own soft moan at the pungent aroma that emanated from between Bella's thighs.

His mouth began to water, leaning so far over the bed that if Bella so much as shifted, he'd brush up against him.

He couldn't move away. He was frozen.

She moaned again, eyes fluttering, his name tripping over her lips in a smooth cadence.

It was too much. Bella's eyes tightened as her mouth fell open in a gasp, back arching off the mattress. Edward watched, transfixed as she relaxed back into the bed, a small smile playing at her lips.

The entire room was filled with the smell of her. Edward's cock throbbed angrily in his pants, and without hesitation he was fighting with the buttons, his cold hand wrapping around himself and stripping his cock in harsh pulls.

It only took a couple of minutes before he was shooting over the corner of Bella's comforter. His body sagged and he let out a rush of breath.

Too risky to stay, he jumped out from the window where he'd entered.

The next morning, when Bella was making her bed quickly before school, she wrinkled her nose at the strange crustiness on the bottom corner of her comforter. It would be the first of many discoveries.

THE END.

[Original Fic] - Alby Darned

2009-06-13T04:24:27Z

Title: Alby Darned
Author: Yours Truly
Summary: Andy works in a dead end fast food job. His co-workers are ridiculous, and he almost hates calling them co-workers, since it implies that there's some work being done. An impromptu conference with the store owner results in Andy moving on in the world, and he realizes that maybe it just isn't quite so bad.
Notes:This story was written as an assignment for my English 104 Creative Writing class. I really didn't care for it when I originally wrote it, but it's come to have a special place in my heart, seeing as it's written based on a lot of personal experience. Most of what you read in here are things that have actually happened to me (or people I know) while working. I hope you like it. :)

Alby Darned

Written by thrdstrike

It is three minutes to five, and Andy still has an hour left in his shift. There haven’t been any customers in nearly twenty-five minutes and all of the cups and lids are stocked, ready for the dinner rush.

In the back, Andy can hear the two short-order cooks horsing around, as usual; the loud guffawing laughter and crude jokes filtering through to the front indicating a lack of productive work. Andy doubts that any of the dinner prep has been done. Idly, he wonders why these guys haven’t been fired yet.

“Andy,” Megan calls from where her head sticks out from inside the office.

“Yeah?” he calls back. He’s wiping down the counter, even though it’s already clean.

“You want to head out at five when Becky gets here?”

He doesn’t really want to leave early. He needs the hours. But it’s so slow that there isn’t really any reason for him to stick it out until six. Andy sighs. “Sure, Megan sounds great.”

Megan’s rebuttal to his affirmative response is to slam the office door, signaling the end of the conversation. This is the way it normally goes.

While he waits for Becky to arrive, Andy takes a few minutes to run through the lobby, picking up errant pieces of garbage and making sure that table tops are clean. He’s already been out here six times, looking for something to do, but it can never be too clean.

Becky arrives late. It’s five minutes past five, and she isn’t even dressed in her uniform yet.

“Hey Andy!” she greets as she runs past him behind the counter and into the staff area, her long pony tail swinging behind her in a shocking shade of red, her uniform half hanging out of her bag.

Andy barely gets his mouth open to register a response before she’s out of ear shot. His teeth grinding together as he watches his neatly stocked drink station teeter and begin to fall as her bag smacks into it on her way past. He hears Mike and Tom in the back call after her, some crude comment that Becky responds to in an aggravated tone. He’s glad there’s no one in the store to hear them.

//
Andy rips the hat off his head and throws it on the floor, stamping a greasy disgusting shoe on top of it and rubbing it into the floor. He throws his arms out and pushes all of the cups and lids onto the floor, toppling the bottles of various condiments onto the floor in the process.

“I hate this place!” he shouts at the ceiling.

The office door opens and Megan comes out, standing by the fryers, wide eyed with surprise.

“Andy! What are you doing?”

“I quit! I hate this place! I hate this crappy uniform and this crappy food and your crappy management!”

In the back, Tom and Mike are peering out through the pass window, mouths hanging open.

“He’s lost it,” Tom stage-whispers to Mike, who nods.

“I always knew someone was going to lose it one day, but I never imagined that it would be Andy.”

Andy whirls around at the sound of their murmured conversation, his eyes wild and crazy.
“You!”

Tom and Mike glance at each other then back at Andy. “You lazy, worthless pieces of garbage! I’m surprise that you haven’t been fired yet, for all the work that you actually do around here.”

Behind Megan’s shoulder, Becky appears. She looks at the clock and grins. She’s half an hour late and doesn’t seem to care. No one really seems to care.

“Sorry I’m late,” she sing-songs, then laughs.

Andy’s eyes bulge. He takes a deep breath before letting out an enraged scream, hopping over the counter and slamming the front door open, the glass rattling in its frame.

//

Nearly ten minutes later, Becky re-emerges. She’s pulling at the red polyester uniform shirt, white collar half popped up on one side, trying to make it fit comfortably. It’s a lost cause. Andy washed his uniform shirt eight washes in a row once, trying to get the smell of stale grease out, to no avail.

“Sorry I’m late,” Becky says.

Andy startles at the sound of her voice, eyes slipping up to the clock. An irritated voice in the back of his head gripes about how it’s quarter after five, and it’s so irresponsible for her to not be on time. “No problem. Megan’s giving me the boot, anyway. Uh… everything is ready to go for you.”

Becky looks around and nods. There is essentially nothing for her to do. “Was it busy today?”

“Not especially.” Andy frowns. “No more than usual, you know?”

She laughs. “Right. Well, I know Megan is probably chomping at the bit to get you off the clock.”

As soon as Megan’s name is mentioned, she’s stuck her head out the door and hollers “Andy, are you clocked out yet?”

Andy and Becky roll their eyes. “Clocking out right now, boss.”

--

Andy lives alone in a one bedroom apartment roughly six blocks from work. It’s sparsely decorated: a television, recliner, DVD player. The bedroom is essentially a mattress that rests on a floor that’s littered with stray articles of clothing, an unknown mix of clean and dirty. There’s a lamp on the floor at the head of the bed (mattress). It has no lampshade. Next to it is a stack of old newspapers and a short stack of food related magazines. The air is permeated by the revolting smell of weeks old burgers and grease.

It’s nothing fancy, and Andy is okay with that. Besides, it’s hard to buy anything when your pay check is only ever big enough to pay for the essentials.

When he arrives home, there’s a pile of mail in the mailbox; cable bill – past due, phone bill – second notice, and a thick stack of random junk mail (grocery store fliers (buy one get one in the meat department!), electronics store sale (choose from a fine selection of half price movies and music)). There’s also a notice of rent due taped to the front of his door. He’s got a week to hand it in otherwise he’ll be evicted.

Perfect.

He rips the notice off the door and does a mental calculation of roughly how much he should be making on his upcoming pay check. Enough to cover rent, at least. Better than nothing. If his cable gets cut off, well, he can live without it for a while.

There’s a bowl of Kraft Dinner sitting in the refrigerator that Andy pops into the microwave before he heads into the bedroom to change out of his itchy polyester work shirt, changing into a pair of worn grey sweats and a holey shirt that’s seen better days. He opens the cupboard for a glass, revealing near bare shelves aside from a sad assortment of canned soup and an entire flat of Kraft Dinner – a splurge purchase on his last shopping trip. The microwave beeps cheerfully, and Andy makes his way into his living room.

He flops gracelessly into the recliner and flips on the television, only half listening to the news as she shovels forkfuls of bright orange noodles into his mouth. He falls asleep in the chair to the chattering of late night talk shows and the flickering florescent glow of the television.

--

At work the next day, Mae - the owner of Alby Darn’s - is in the office. She smiles brightly at him as he enters, and he’s so surprised by her presence, as she’s hardly ever there, that it takes a moment for him to find an answering smile.

“Do you have a few minutes, Andy?” she asks pleasantly.

“Uh,” he answers. “Sure, Mae. Of course.”

Her smile widens and she opens the door to the office and ushers him in. “I’ve got a proposition for you, Andy.” She pauses. “We’ve got a management position opening up, and I think that you’d be a perfect fit for our team. I know you think that no one notices how hard you work around here...”

Andy’s mouth falls open. “Management?”

Mae nods her head, eyes wide and earnest, never leaving his face. “I’ll get you to work with Mark for a couple of weeks, show you the ropes, how to run the store and do the paper work.”

“Wow.” He blinks. Yesterday Andy spent half an hour mentally listing off all the things he hated about this place, how unappreciated he felt and wishing he had the guts to quit. Now he’s suddenly got a management position being offered to him. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

Mae’s smile widens. “Of course. Think it over tonight and get back to me tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay. Sure. Thanks a lot, Mae.”

He’s honestly surprised. He wants to talk to someone about it, but when Becky arrives – late – for her shift around four, he isn’t sure that news of his potential promotion would go over well with her. Becky’s been working at Alby’s a lot longer than Andy.

“How’s it going, Andy?” she asks as she strolls out onto the floor.

Rick is in the office, talking loudly on his cell phone, the door of the office cracked far enough that his voice carries.

Andy shrugs. “Not bad. Slow day.”

She laughs. For some reason the sound grates on Andy’s nerves today. “I don’t know why I stay here, you know. It’s such a sorry excuse for a job. But I’ve been here for so long already; sometimes I think I’ll be here forever.”

Suddenly, Andy has a mental image of Becky, five – ten – years down the road, still working the front counter here at Alby Darn’s. She’s not much different than she is now. Maybe a big heavier, and her demeanor is less exuberant. Sad. Years of working a job that you hate, but are too comfortable working to leave, wearing you down and making you a sad shell of the person you used to be.

“Why don’t you quit?” Andy asks. “I mean, you could probably get a better job somewhere else.”

“If I could get a better job, don’t you think I would have by now?” she answers. Her tone is sharp. Defensive.

Her answer incites another vision, this time of himself. It’s five – ten – years down the road, and he’s still working the front counter, a sour look on his face. Bitter. He doesn’t want that; doesn’t want to be stuck in the same dead-end position for the rest of his life. He thinks about Mae’s offer. He thinks about what would happen if he takes the job. Would he still be working at Alby Darn’s five, ten years down the road? Would he still hate being here?

To lighten the mood, Andy regales Becky with an anecdote about these two middle-aged women that had come in earlier and couldn’t figure out how to read the lid indicators between their regular and diet sodas. “They came back to the counter three times, I swear.”

Becky is bent in half laughing.

“Eventually they asked to just have them remade. It was completely ridiculous. I mean, how hard is it to read the Diet under the bubble?”

It works and he and Becky spend the rest of Andy’s shift, in between the sparse flow of customers, trading stories about customer experiences. His favourite was the woman who had a five minute temper tantrum on the phone with Megan, because she hadn’t received any straws in her bag through the drive through and “How are we going to drink out drinks?”

“You could take the lid off,’ is what Megan suggests,” Andy says, “and the woman just loses it! ‘We don’t want to take out lids off!’” By the end, Andy’s laughing almost as hard as Becky.

--

Much to Andy’s surprise, Mae is waiting for him in the office when he arrives early in the afternoon for his shift. She gestures him into the office with a wide smile.

“Well?” she says by way of greeting and Andy lets a half smile creep across his face.

“I think I’m going to take it,” he answers. It’s a good decision, he can feel it.

Mae is thrilled. She jumps to her feet and claps Andy on the back. She spends fifteen minutes telling Andy about the training and how he made the right choice; that’s she’s proud that he decided to take on such a new and exciting challenge.

--

It is a challenge. Most of the staff that Andy started out with kind of resent him a bit a first. Mike and Tom, the short-order cooks in the back five days a week, refuse to make anything for half an hour, telling Andy that he’s a sell out by becoming the man. Even Becky, at first, has a hard time taking instruction from him. Except that Andy thinks it has more to do with the fact that he’s actually out of the office, giving instruction than his new position.
Mark and Mae, even Megan tells him that it’s a natural reaction to someone that used to be your buddy at work now being the boss.

The strangest thing, though, is that Andy actually finds that he likes his new job. Most of the things that bothered him when he was stuck working the front counter are now things that he can consciously control. He spends more time on the floor than he does in the office – which is a change for everyone, since most managers spend their entire day camped out in the office, eating or talking on the phone. One time Andy knocked on the door only to find Mark taking a nap.

Sales go up.

Suddenly Alby Darn’s is the place to go for a bite to eat. Fridays, which used to be a relatively low volume day, despite it been a weekend night, has rocketed to one of the busiest nights of the week. The movie theatre only a few blocks down the road provides a steady stream of customers during the evening. They’ve hired four new people in the last month, more than they’d hired in the entire time Andy had been working there.

Of course, not everything about management is great. Andy’s had a few nights where he’s been stuck in the office, trying to figure out cash. He thinks about his training with Mark and how he’d been told that if his numbers didn’t quite match up, it was okay to fudge them a little bit. No one would notice. If it wasn’t a cash issue, he was on the phone, customer’s yelling at him about how their order was wrong: missing food, pickles on burgers that specifically requested no pickles.

The pickle thing Andy just doesn’t understand. His stance is, if you hate pickles so much, just pick them off. Unless you are allergic (and really, who is allergic to pickles), he finds it hard to care, and pointless to bother trying.

But policy is to apologize, assume innocence, and do whatever is necessary to make the customer happy.

Meet Andy Wickham - Professional Ass Kisser.

--

It’s after a few months of working as a manager that the workplace depression starts to sink in again. Is this really what Andy saw for himself in the long run? Managing at a local fast food joint? The slightly stale smell of burgers and grease has permeated every aspect of his life and apartment. He can’t go anywhere without smelling Alby Darn’s. Every time he opens his mouth these days, he feels like all he can talk about is Alby’s.

In fact, sometimes it’s almost as bad as it was when he was simply a service person. He works twice as hard only to have to come in the next afternoon or morning and be faced with a messy, under stocked, under prepped store.

The raise on his pay check is a definite perk, but it definitely isn’t worth all the stress head aches.

--

Mae, however, is impressed with his progress. She comes into the restaurant more and more; spends time talking to Andy and to the other managers. It feels like a real business – communication through the ranks and all.

Mae asks if Andy would be interested in taking on more responsibility: payroll, deliveries, advertising, or inventory. “Whatever you want to do, kiddo,” she tells him.

“Don’t tell the others, Andy,” she tells him one day. The door is shut tight and Rick is out on the floor. “You are probably one of the best managers we’ve got here, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think promoting you was one of the smartest things that I ever did.”

Andy is, naturally, complete gobsmacked by the compliment.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious just from looking at the numbers. Sales have improved and the staff is happier because there’s actually someone out there making sure that things are running the way that they should be. This place is like a well-oiled machine, which is how it should have been right from the get-go.”

“Mae… I. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know that I think that you’re doing a terrific job. You’re a real go-getter, Andy. I’m lucky that you ended up here.”

It’s a few more weeks before it really hits Andy. He’s working the drive through, the headset, heavy and warm is making his ear sweat. He’s trying to listen to the order through the crackling static of the squawk box. His job, despite its flaws and frustrations, he really kind of loves it.

He lets out a small surprised laugh and shakes his head. “Well, I’ll be darned.”

The End

thrdstrike @ 2009-06-12T00:52:00

2009-06-12T07:53:15Z

akjdakfj;ASKNASKFblarg...

Big Bang

2009-05-03T21:22:10Z

OH HAI, BIG BANG. I FINISHED YOU ON TIME, DIDN'T I?

YES. YES I FUCKING DID.

thrdstrike @ 2009-04-30T16:41:00

2009-04-30T23:41:53Z

I'M ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!

This is my I Almost Died at Work Post (Except I didn't really)

2009-04-08T04:24:42Z

So I was receiving Brower at work today, and I had a kind of disatrous experience with some milk crates full of 20 litre backs of ice milk. Under the cut is the result of such an event.

[Fic] - Sam Winchester's Guide to the Unforgivables - PG-13 - Whenboymeetsboy

2009-03-16T18:59:07Z

Title: Sam Winchester's Guide to The "Unforgivables"
Author: burnfor and thrdstrike
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 3000

This was written for the J2/Supernatural whenboymeetsboy fic challenge. There's a much longer author's note about it on the original post, so I won't go into detail. But it was quick, and almost didn't see the light of day. So..

Sam Has a List

Posted at our shiny fic community facecakes. :D

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

2009-03-05T18:47:50Z

Happy (22nd!!!) Birthday to MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Ten Inch Hero: The Movie Review

2009-02-27T23:49:41Z

Amazing.

I cried.

I loved all the characters and the different ways in which they were messed up/damaged. Jensen should always do movies where he plays quirky characters that are different than Dean Winchester because he does them so well.

Dear Jensen Ackles,

Upon the viewing of your movie, Ten Inch Hero, please no longer do bad horror movies. Instead, look for roles that allow you to be the expressive actor that you are.

Much love,
me

Why was it so hard to get a distributor for this movie? I don't understand. It was so well done. WILL WATCH AGAIN!

Devour: The Movie Review

2009-02-27T06:12:30Z

Okay, so on a whim I went and downloaded Devour. 1) Because of Jensen and 2) Because I heard that it was terrible.

Not going to lie? I kind of liked it. I mean, the acting wasn't fantastic (although Jensen did a pretty bang up job, though definitely not his best. I feel like they gave him too much direction and it wasn't enough of his own movement. But what do I know?), but the plot was interesting enough to want me to find out how it ended.

I think it was kind of a bizarre movie overall. Like for a horror movie, I was expecting it to be a lot more blood and people dying and stuff, which it wasn't. But, IDK. I am not conveying my thoughts on this properly. I fail. My apologies.

On a scale of 1 to suck, one being good and suck being, uh... suck? It's better than Jared's movies. So, I'll give it like, a five maybe. Kind of middle of the road for a horror movie. More suspense than anything. Although I don't know how suspenseful I was while watching.

Would I recommend? Maybe. Just to check out, but not for any outstanding merit.

We only like you 'cause you're cute and young

thrdstrike @ 2009-11-10T08:04:00

Flisters, unite!

2 Things

You Should Write... Meme

Guess what, it's a meme!

The Lady Killers Part 5

THE END

The Lady Killers - Part 4

The Lady Killers - Part 3

The Lady Killers - Part 2

The Lady Killers - Master Post

The Lady Killers

This is a birthday post!

Oh Em Gee, Guys!

Musical question!

*TWIRLS*

Alby Darned

[FIc] - Twilight - Bella, Edward - Uh, R

[Original Fic] - Alby Darned

Alby Darned

Written by thrdstrike

thrdstrike @ 2009-06-12T00:52:00

Big Bang

thrdstrike @ 2009-04-30T16:41:00

This is my I Almost Died at Work Post (Except I didn't really)

[Fic] - Sam Winchester's Guide to the Unforgivables - PG-13 - Whenboymeetsboy

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Ten Inch Hero: The Movie Review

Devour: The Movie Review

TWIRLS