So as soon as this episode aired I promised myself I wouldn't do this. But savingfaith333 told me to. *facepalm* I have never written crack!fic before and PLEASE take this as crack! Well it started out as crakc and now I have come to the conclusion that I can't write light hearted Wincest. So anyway...here we go. Re-write of Its A Terrible Life so spoiler warning if you haven't seen it.
Happy (Early) Birthday necro_omen13 you sweetheart. Hope you like it! *cuddles*
The first time he sees him, in the elevator, Dean gets a jolt, like his stomach falling into his legs or something. But putting it down to the usual fear of riding in elevators, well not fear, more of a dislike really, but anyway, putting it down to his dislike of elevators, small steel boxes of death on tiny thin cables, or the wheatgerm he had for lunch, that stuff always does things to his stomach, he ignores it. Brushes it off, just like he does with Sam and the do I know you, blatant pick up line if Dean has ever heard one. He's just not into that, anymore. Wait, no never. He's never been into that. And no matter how tall, and god he was tall, and how...big he looks, the guy looks really bad in yellow. Ok, he doesn't really look that bad but he'd look better in blue. Dean spares him a disparaging look because he doesn't like the way his mind is thinking right now.
“Save it for the health club pal.” Dean says as he walks out because he needs to get out of the small space that seems to be taken up completely by the guy. How the hell does the company even have shirts that big?
He grips the steering wheel extra tight on the way home and throws his new detox drink down his neck and studiously tries to ignore the image of that guys lips that float across his mind as he gets into the shower.
Sam is crowded. Crowded by the cubicle. He hates the way it makes him feel even bigger than he already feels standing next to normal people. It also doesn't help with the fact that he is nearly bent double and every time he moves the near hard on he's had since this morning gets rubbed the wrong way. He's in a bad mood. Ok, he's pissed. Pissed at the guy in the elevator last night brushing him off. He really did look familiar, and not just because he looked like every wet dream Sam had ever had. Because Sam had looked at the guy and knew him. He's pissed at answering stupid tech questions did you try turning it off and then on? Ok, go ahead and turn it off...no, no, no...just off. Jesus you think these people might know how to make their printer work by now. That guy calls every stinking day. He's pissed at pretending to give a shit when Ian snakes the pencils from the stationary cupboard. Sam rolls his eyes and hands the coffee to Ian, I hope it burns your throat you shit, he thinks. But then for some reason he spills about his dreams. Ok, not spilling everything because he's definitely not going to tell Ian how last night Dean pressed the emergency stop button in the elevator and sunk to his knees and wrapped those sinful lips around his cock. Nope, definitely not.
“Dick.” He tries to put as much feeling into the word when he looks at Ian. Ian just laughs.
“Wizard.” Ok, now Sam's really pissed.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ok, so its not the big guys fault that he's massive, and manly, and looks bad in yellow, but Dean's had a really bad day and all he wants to do is go to the gym. So he turns and says the first thing that comes into his mouth, no matter how untrue it may be.
“Look man, I told you, I'm not into that...”
“Dude, come on, I'm not either, I just wanna ask you one question.” He looks pleadingly at Dean and Dean sighs internally because he really is, and always has been, a sucker for the puppy dog eyes of doom and this guy is working them real hard right now.
“Ok.” And now the guy is harping on about ghosts? Ok, so he's a big, tall, strong heap of crazy, and my god doesn't Dean know how to pick them. Not that he picked this guy, but you get the point.
“To tell you the truth, I've never given it much thought.” I'll tell you what I haven given thought to though...shut up Dean. Dean wants out of this conversation. The long day combined with the tiny steel death trap and the large body that is whats-his-name-looks-bad-in-yellow has his mind spinning all over the place. And he doesn't like the fact that he is talking pretty much without speaking.
“Vampires.” Yep, definitely crazy.
“Cos I've been having some...weird dreams lately, know what I mean?”
Hell yes....”No, not really?”
“So...you've never had any...” please shut up “weird dreams?” Dean wants to smash his head against the control panel, because honestly, if Mr Crazy But Hot keeps talking he's gonna do something that he's really going to regret. Dean punches the next floor button, repeatedly. Desperate to get out of the death trap and away from the tech guy with the long hair that begs to be touched...Ok, definitely detox time.
“Alright look man, I don't know you, ok? But I'm gonna do a public service and uh and let you know that, that you over share.”
And yet again its another bad day. Another day of answering the same calls, that guy seriously needs to figure out how to print, of trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore Ian when Sam is trying to look up images of vampires and doodling on his pad, not paying a speck of attention to the brain dead woman on the end of the phone who can't seem to print. What is with this company and the crappy printers?
“But I haven't turned it on yet.” Maybe its not the printers, maybe its the employees.
“I haven't even turned the printer on yet...I thought you were meant to do that.” Yep, definitely the employees. But it just so happens that Ian, possibly, might have got his comeuppance for the Wizard remark yesterday. He's been called to HR. And no matter how much Sam likes the guy, and he really does, deep down, he's the only bit of amusement Sam has in an otherwise dull as ditch water, make you want to stab your eyes out with a pencil, day, he can't help but laugh when Ian slinks off, shoulder's slightly slumping.
But then Paul's acting weird, getting all het up about the fact that he lost a days work, its not like its important life saving stuff anyway.
And if Sam thought something was wrong with this place before, he definitely thinks it now. Because Paul has never shown an interest is staying late to try to find lost work. And when Sam gets in the next morning, Paul is dead. Killed himself. Seriously, who microwaves their own head?
Sam's gaze locks with Dean's over Paul's body. Dean looks spooked, he also looks stupidly hot in blue. And the yellow tie is just the icing on the cake. But anyway, he looks spooked. Worried and Sam wants to go over and reassure him. But he over shares. So Sam just looks at him, as the medics carry Paul's body out on a gurney.
Sam tries to talk to Ian, tries to get Ian to talk to him, but Ian is acting weird. And he's wearing the required uniform, and man, Sam has never realised what a hideous shade of yellow he wears every day until he sees Ian in it. Because Ian never wears the shirt. But Ian is acting weird, that was the point, like Paul was the day before, harping on about how he doesn't have time to talk, how he has too much work to do. And then he gets a phone call and slopes off. Sam looks at him. Ok, things are definitely weird right now.
Dean looks up at the quite knock on the door. What idiot decided that yellow would be a really good colour for tech support? This guy looks even worse that the big guy. Dean wants to squeeze his eyes closed because, man, he has got to stop thinking about Mr Big and Muscular.
“Ian is it?” Ian looks nervous as he steps properly into the office and Dean explains that he filled a form out wrong, needs to fill it out again. And now Ian is freaking out and Dean has never been good with crying women let alone crying men. But he can't help thinking that Big Guy would be good at this, something in his demeanour makes Dean think that he would be good with tears. But then Ian rushes out and Dean goes after him. Only because he doesn't want the entire company thinking that he's a douche bag for making Ian cry. Oh my God, he made a man cry.
But, what the fuck, its suddenly freezing cold, freezing, and Dean can see his breath and all the taps are running pouring out of the
automatic dispensers. Dean knew they just had to malfunction sooner or later, really? Is it necessary to have automatic soap dispensers? Who the hell is that lazy that they can't be bothered to dispense soap themselves?
Enough Dean, he thinks and tries to get Ian to look at him. Ian does, his eyes wide and terrified. And then he goes and stabs a pencil into his neck...in his NECK. What is wrong with people right now? Dean is frozen for a bit, standing stock still in the bathroom, in the freezing bathroom, as Ian plunges the pencil into his neck and blood pools around his fingers before he takes a stumbling step and then collapses on the floor and Dean is at his side as the life goes out of Ian's eyes. And when Dean looks up, there is a reflection of a old dude in one of the stall doors. Dean looks around and he's not there, vanished. And he blames it entirely on the Big Guy from Tech Support. He's never given much thought to ghosts and now he's seeing them? Definitely Mr I Look Not Bad In Yellow's fault.
And speak of the devil, he's there, when Dean is talking to the police, sending him a look that reads See? I told you. Ghosts.
Ok, Mr. You wanna share? Fine, sharing time it is then. Starting with who the hell has the right to look sexy in a really bad shade of yellow?
“I need to see you in my office...now.” The urgency in Dean's voice is enough to make the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. It doesn't help that he had just been day dreaming out him. Sure, he should have been thinking about his friend who just stabbed himself in the neck, but he was thinking about Dean, Mr Dean Smith and they way he had looked vulnerable and in need of some serious looking after. Looking after that Sam was more than happy to give him, if it involved, you know...sex.
It didn't help matters when Sam got there and Dean was buttoning up his shirt. Sam wanted to tell him to stop, to wrench the shirt apart and make the buttons fly all over the place.
It made Sam tingly inside when Dean told him to shut the door. The command in his voice was so familiar and it made him shiver in anticipation. But then Dean was demanding to know who he was. How the hell was he meant to answer that when he himself wasn't sure. He was Sam Wesson. Tech Support. But not just that, there was something else lingering under the surface that made Sam unsure. Something longing to break out. And it wasn't just the erection he had been sporting since Dean demanded he come up to his office.
“You cornered my in the elevator...talking about ghosts...and now...” Sam wants to tell him that he had wanted to do a whole multitude of other things to him in the elevator, not just talk about ghosts. But Dean looks nervous and spooked again and he grabs his bottle of something that looks like piss and takes a swig, talking about how it detoxes like “nobody's business.” What the hell does that even mean? Even now, when Sam has no idea what the hell to think anymore, he knows that Dean drinking that is wrong. He should be drinking coffee. Black. And lots of it. Riding on caffeine and adrenaline and not much else. He doesn't know where these thoughts are coming from.
“When you were in the bathroom with Ian...” Sam has to ask. “Did you see something?”
“I don't know, I don't know what I saw.”
“Wait, are you saying that...did you...see a ghost?” Sam asks incredulously.
“I was freaking out. The guy pencilled his neck.” And that right there is a perfectly legitimate reason to freak out Sam thinks.
“You did, didn't you? Ok, listen, what if these suicides...aren't suicides.” Ok, so Sam knows he sounds crazy. He sounds practically insane, locked up in a padded room with only a straight jacket for company insane but the look in Dean's eyes tells Sam that its ok. Dean will pretend to think he's insane but deep down Dean knows what Sam is talking about. “What if there's something...not natural.”
“So what ghosts are real? And they're responsible for all the dead bodies around here, is that what you're telling me.” Dean sits, and Sam sits with him. Once against struck by how this is normal, how they are normally meant to be in sync with each other, instinctively know what the other is thinking and ok...Sam really needs to get laid soon otherwise he is going to unhealthily obsess over Mr Smith.
“I know it sounds crazy, but yes. That's what I'm telling you.” Plus...Sam kinda wants get into Dean's pants so if he could just let Sam explain then maybe they can get this over and done with then have celebratory sex, that would be great. Great for Sam's sanity because he honestly thinks he might be going crazy. He can't even remember the last time he obsessed over a girl this much. But Dean does have very womanly lips. Right, back on track.
“Uh-huh. Based on what?” Dean asks. Sam grimaces, because he doesn't really want to tell Dean why. But he does. Opens his mouth and speaks and what the hell is it about this guy that makes Sam loose tongued?
“I've got the same instinct.” And for a second Sam thinks that Dean is talking about wanting to rip his clothes off.
“Seriously? Ok, you know those dreams I was telling you about? I was dreaming about ghosts.” Among other things, things which Sam will probably never tell Dean. Unless under duress. With handcuffs and whips involved.
“And then it turns out that there is a real ghost.” And lord, Sam feels stupid saying that. A real ghost. A real ghost. Seriously?
“So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?” Oh god Sam hopes so because the dream he had about Dean last night, that would be really great if it came true.
“No...I mean that would be nuts. I'm just saying, something weird is definitely going on around here. Right? So, I've been digging around a little. I think I found a connection between the two guys.” Sam can't deny how right it felt digging into Paul and Ian's email accounts. Felt like something he had done over and over again. With Dean. Dean looks a little more than surprised when Sam hands over the print outs.
“You broke into their email accounts?” He asks, raising his eyebrows like a parent scolding a child.
“I used some skills that I happen to have...” and Sam has a lot of skills... “To satisfy my curiosity.”
“Nice.” And Sam would almost swear that Dean was going to say that's my boy.
“Yeah. Ok. So, it turns out that Ian and Paul both got the same email telling them to report to HR, room 1444.”
“HR's on 7.”
“Exactly.” Its great how in sync they are, even though they barely know each other.
“Should we go check this out?
“Like...right now?” Sam asks, hoping that Dean will say yes. Because lord he wants to check this out.
“No, no its getting late, you're right.”
“I am dying to check this out right now.” Dying to check Dean out too but Sam'll keep that to himself.
"Right?" Dean grins and man this guy looks gorgeous when he smiles.
It feels almost natural walking along the darkened corridor with Sam, like this is what they are meant to do. Like him and Sam are meant to be together. Ok, that came out wrong. Not “meant to be together” as in Romeo and Juliet, without the suicide pact, or Cinderella and Prince Charming. “Meant to be together” like...
Someone is screaming from room 1444. And Sam and Dean share a confused look before rushing towards the door. Sam tried the handle but its locked and he takes a step back and kicks the door down. Just like that. Without even flinching and by god doesn't that just go straight to Dean's groin.
“Whoa.” Sam looks impressed with himself too. And that makes Dean want to hug him. Makes Dean want to do other stuff to him too, but there is a guy, pinned beneath a shelving unit and Sam is rushing in to help him. Dean can't ignore the way Sam's shirt stretches over his muscles when he lifts the unit. But then his thoughts are interrupted by a pair of cold hands on his shoulders and he's flying across the room, landing heavily on another unit of shelves. And then he hears Sam being thrown aside too and Dean is up, staring at the skanky looking old dude as electricity crackles from his fingers and Dean grabs the nearest thing he looks at and thinks might work. And its a wrench. He swings the wrench through the air and the old dude disappears, like smoke filtering through the air.
“How did you know how to do that?” Sam looks impressed, shaken and, Dean hopes he isn't reading this wrong, a little turned on.
“I have no idea.” And Dean really doesn't know. Doesn't have any idea. Crap.
“Holy crap dude.” Dean says, swigging, yet again, from the bottle of the piss look alike liquid. Sam resists the urge to say that he might be a tad too addicted to the stuff.
“Yeah. I could use a beer.” Sam says. He has no idea how the hell he ended up leaning up against the back of Dean;s couch but it seemed only natural when Dean said wanna come back to mine and Sam had ignored all the filthy thoughts flying through his head and said yes.
“Oh sorry man, I'm on the cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house.” Ok, something about that is definitely not right. But Dean hands him a bottle of water. “Hey...how the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?” Dean scoffs. A sexy exhalation of breath. Sam thinks that maybe he has been reading too much chick lit, because he has never thought that a scoff could be sexy.
“Crazy right? And nice job kicking in that door too. It was very Jet Li. What are you? Like a black belt or something?”
Sam scoffs too, because honestly? He had no idea how the hell he did it. Has seen it enough times in the movies but never thought it was that easy.
“No! I've no clue how I did that. Its like...we've done this before.” Sam says because for some reason Dean makes him want to be honest. Even though honesty has him sounding absolutely bonkers and might send Dean running to call the men in white coats. But he can't stop himself. Its like word vomit.
“What do you mean? Before? Like Shirley MacLain before?”
“No...I just can't shake this feeling like I don't belong here. You know what I mean? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle.” And man Sam hates that cubicle. Wants to smash it to tiny itty bitty pieces.
“I think most people who work in a cubicle feel the same way.” Smug bastard, Sam thinks. Just because you have your nice apartment, nice office with a good view, snazzy shoes and smart suits that fit perfectly and leave not enough to the imagination for Sam's liking. Just because those suits make you look like there is an animal underneath waiting to be unleashed doesn't mean you can be smug about it Mr Smith. Sam spares his name a thought. It sounds good, sounds anonymous, sounds like the kinda name you would put in the register of a pay per hour motel on the side of the road. And that though goes straight to Sam groin because he would pay to have Dean in a pay per hour motel.
“No...its more than that, like...like I don't like my job, I don't like this town, I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name. I...I don;t know how else to explain it 'cept that...it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just...something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different.” There is a long pause when Sam just thinks that maybe he;s ruined everything by opening his big mouth. “What about you?” He asks, “Ever felt that way.” Dean looks like he is just about to say yes and really mean it but then he looks away and takes a breath.
“I don't believe in destiny.” You mean you don't believe in my destiny. The words form in Sam mouths for no reason. But he doesn't say them. He has no idea why they come to mind. But he's been feeling that a lot lately, like he should say things, or things that he usually would say if he wasn't clad in a horrible pastel yellow and squeezed into a cubicle that makes him feel ten feet tall. In a bad way.
“I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us though.” Sam can't shake the feeling that Dean has said that to him before. But he's only just worked up the courage to speak to Dean. After spying him on his first day at work. Thinking that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to work here if they have that kind of eye candy parading around the building.
“Ok...so what do we do now?”
“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research.” Sam both hates and loves the way Dean calls him Sammy. No one, and he means no one, calls him Sammy. They are usually too scared to. Not even Madison called him Sammy. But Dean says it likes its perfectly normal, like the word has been coming out of his mouth for years. And Sam doesn't like that. It makes him feel on edge and uneasy so he tells Dean not too, with a sneer on his face, masking the fact, he hopes, that he wants to hear Dean call him Sammy in a breathless voice, with a hell of a lot less clothing and space between them.
Dean is scouring the internet. Desperately hiding from Sam. Because he is embarrassed at the fact that he just called him Sammy. Embarrassed because he has no idea why he did it. Just seemed like the right thing to do. And since when has research been what he did best? Dean feels like Sam should be doing the research. Although, again, he has no idea why he feels that. But Sam is sitting across his apartment, making his large apartment look small. Jesus, that guy really is big. Wonder if he's big all over?
He's also embarrassed because not 5 minutes ago they both got up from their respective tables at the same time and wandered over the the fridge. Their shoulders bumped together and Dean nearly pulled Sam down onto the floor and ripped that god awful polo shirt off him and ravished him then and there. It was obviously plainly visible on his face because Sam shifted away from him and cleared his throat and looked down at his abnormally large feet.
“Wow, you've got big feet.” He blurted out before he could stop himself. “You know what they say about a man with big feet...big...shoes.” He trails off and hurries back to his laptop, leaving Sam staring after him. He knows because he can feel Sam's gaze on the back of his neck. He studiously ignores him as Sam walks past, ignores that change in the air when Sam brushes past him. Its not like he has to brush past him either, the apartment is big enough that Sam doesn't need to touch him...ever. Dean thinks that maybe he's been working too hard recently. Why else would he be wanting to have animalistic sex on the kitchen floor with the tech guy?
“Oh jackpot!” He exclaims as he stumbles onto a website. Real actual ghost hunters. And he tells Sam who comes meandering over and stands far too close to Dean for his own sanity. And he's not even that close. Just leaning forward with his hands on his knees looking at the screen. But its too close for Dean, he's not used to having a guy that close in his personal space and it unnerves him how much he wants Sam closer.
But he tries to concentrate. Thank god Sam doesn't seem to be affected by their closeness because honestly, Dean has no idea what the Ghostfacers are talking about, Sam smells to good to make Dean care about anything else right now.
And then their roles are reversed. Sam is at the laptop and Dean is leaning in too close. Dean is pleased to note that Sam's hands shake just a little when he types on the keyboard and that he's a little sluggish when Deans says that the guy in the newspaper article is the ghost. And Dean is pretty pleased with himself actually that he's making sense when he talks about P. T. Sandover and the ghost coming out at times of grave economic distress. He's pretty pleased with himself till he remembers that his portfolio is in the sewer.
Sam just looks at him like he's gone mad. And maybe he has. Because the urge to run his hand up Sam's arm and feel the skin beneath his fingers. Wait, the Ghostfacers are saying something important. Concentrate Dean.
“Where do we even get a gun?” He asks. And tried to ignore the tightening in his groin at the though of Sam holding a gun.
“Gun store?” Sam asks handing him salt. Dean takes it and lets his fingers touch Sam's.
“Isn't there some kind of waiting period?”
“I think so.”
“Well how in the hell?”
“I don't know man, it seems pretty impossible honestly.”
The whole research is going really badly. Ok so its actually going really well because Dean gets to spend a lot of time cramped up at the back of Sam, feeling the heat, my god this guy's skin is hot, through his t-shirt and through his own shirt. But its going badly in the sense that Dean wants more than this. Wants more that leaning over Sam whilst they're watching the Ghostfacers instructional videos. And gross they are saying the they might need to dig up the remains.
Dean heaves a sigh of relief when Sam announces that Sandover was cremated. But then that dredges up a whole lot of problems. How the hell are they going to burn the remains if there aren't any? Genetic material? Well that's easier said than found.