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"Can't Keep A Good Man Down"
Title: Can't Keep A Good Man Down
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 765
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Summary: Five ways the Winchesters deal with being undead.
~ Werewolf ~
Sam is never going to let it go.
“Are you going to give me the silent treatment for eternity?” Dean asks, watching his little brother pace, leaves and sticks crackling under his bare feet. Dean knows that Sam can move silently so he’s making noise on purpose. Just to bug him, which, you know, fair enough.
“It was an accident.”
“An accident,” Sam spits, whipping around and glaring. He flings his arms out wide and Dean fights the urge to cover his eyes because Sam is not wearing anything and for someone that had always been swamped with layers, he’s gotten okay with the whole naked thing pretty fast.
Closet nudist, Dean thinks and snorts to himself. He, on the other hand, waits until the very last moment to strip off. He’s seen movies. He knows dramatically ripping off your shirt right before you change is the cool thing to do.
A low growl has started deep in Sam’s chest and Dean snorts again, thinking of all the quick off the mark jokes he can make later.
For one perfect second they had forgotten. In between cycles and just lazing about, Sam had stolen Dean’s beer, they’d wrestled and Dean had bitten him. He’d only meant to do it lightly but Sam had jammed his arm back and Dean’s teeth had caught and ripped skin.
So yeah, accident.
Dean sees a ripple across Sam’s skin and Sam grunts, stumbling a little. “I still think you did this on purpose,” Sam says, his words edging down into a snarl around elongated teeth.
Yeah, Dean thinks. Never letting it go.
~ Vampire ~
Dean buying a cape is one thing.
Dean counting aloud at every opportunity and adding a “Bwahahaha,” to the end of it is just a step too far.
“Because it’s just ludicrous,” Dean sighs when Sam asks him just why the hell he can’t take anything seriously.
~ Zombie ~
“Dude, you smell like death.”
“Every day, Dean? Do we have to do that joke every day?”
“Be nice,” Dean snaps. “I’m sewing your hand back on aren’t I?”
“Because you threw a machete at me!” Sam cries, smacking his other hand over his face.
“Who told you to try and catch it?” Dean snorts, wincing a little when a particularly stubborn knot just won’t work its way through the flesh of his brother’s wrist. He figures that's good enough and ties off, grinning to himself because the only thread he’d been able to find was bright pink.
“So, should we try burial at a crossroads again?” Sam asks, picking at his stitches absently until Dean slaps his hand away.
“Nah, I really don’t think that works. We could try the silver stake?”
“That just gave me a rash.”
“Burning?”
“Can we leave that till last?”
“What else have we got?”
“Painted blue under moonlight and saying our names backwards three times.”
“Now you’re just making shit up.”
“It’s quite possible that I am.”
Dean and Sam look at each other for a moment and then grin.
“Movie?” Dean proposes.
“You read my mind,” Sam laughs.
~ Ghost ~
Two men sit on the side of the road, side by side on a fence that’s seen better days. There are duffles tossed on the ground by their feet and it looks like they are in the middle of a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors. Every now and again, someone will slow their car but when they get close, the men disappear and they think it must be a trick of the light.
~ Banshee ~
Dean folds his wings back and rubs his chin. “This whole gig is depressing.”
Sam, crouched at his side with his hands dangling between his knees looks up and raises an eyebrow. “You thought being a death herald would be all rainbows and ponies?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that… no one will ever be happy to see us, ever again.”
“That’s true,” Sam says, nodding slowly. “Plus, we’re the only males.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dean snorts and Sam has to grin.
“Okay, is it your turn to wail or mine?”
“Who knows? And stop calling it wailing. I’m a guy. I holler.”
“You’re a banshee. You know, woman of the fairy mound?”
“I don’t have a fairy mound,” Dean snaps, leaning sideways to push at Sam’s shoulder. “Stop saying shit like that.” Dean glares for a moment before he grins. “Besides, I’m a ban-he. The only ban-she on this roof is you.”
“You’re a riot.”
“You know what? I’m tired of waiting. Let’s go grab a burger.”
By:
kellifer_ficFandom: SPN
Rating: PG (language)
Words: 765
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Summary: Five ways the Winchesters deal with being undead.
Sam is never going to let it go.
“Are you going to give me the silent treatment for eternity?” Dean asks, watching his little brother pace, leaves and sticks crackling under his bare feet. Dean knows that Sam can move silently so he’s making noise on purpose. Just to bug him, which, you know, fair enough.
“It was an accident.”
“An accident,” Sam spits, whipping around and glaring. He flings his arms out wide and Dean fights the urge to cover his eyes because Sam is not wearing anything and for someone that had always been swamped with layers, he’s gotten okay with the whole naked thing pretty fast.
Closet nudist, Dean thinks and snorts to himself. He, on the other hand, waits until the very last moment to strip off. He’s seen movies. He knows dramatically ripping off your shirt right before you change is the cool thing to do.
A low growl has started deep in Sam’s chest and Dean snorts again, thinking of all the quick off the mark jokes he can make later.
For one perfect second they had forgotten. In between cycles and just lazing about, Sam had stolen Dean’s beer, they’d wrestled and Dean had bitten him. He’d only meant to do it lightly but Sam had jammed his arm back and Dean’s teeth had caught and ripped skin.
So yeah, accident.
Dean sees a ripple across Sam’s skin and Sam grunts, stumbling a little. “I still think you did this on purpose,” Sam says, his words edging down into a snarl around elongated teeth.
Yeah, Dean thinks. Never letting it go.
Dean buying a cape is one thing.
Dean counting aloud at every opportunity and adding a “Bwahahaha,” to the end of it is just a step too far.
“Because it’s just ludicrous,” Dean sighs when Sam asks him just why the hell he can’t take anything seriously.
“Dude, you smell like death.”
“Every day, Dean? Do we have to do that joke every day?”
“Be nice,” Dean snaps. “I’m sewing your hand back on aren’t I?”
“Because you threw a machete at me!” Sam cries, smacking his other hand over his face.
“Who told you to try and catch it?” Dean snorts, wincing a little when a particularly stubborn knot just won’t work its way through the flesh of his brother’s wrist. He figures that's good enough and ties off, grinning to himself because the only thread he’d been able to find was bright pink.
“So, should we try burial at a crossroads again?” Sam asks, picking at his stitches absently until Dean slaps his hand away.
“Nah, I really don’t think that works. We could try the silver stake?”
“That just gave me a rash.”
“Burning?”
“Can we leave that till last?”
“What else have we got?”
“Painted blue under moonlight and saying our names backwards three times.”
“Now you’re just making shit up.”
“It’s quite possible that I am.”
Dean and Sam look at each other for a moment and then grin.
“Movie?” Dean proposes.
“You read my mind,” Sam laughs.
Two men sit on the side of the road, side by side on a fence that’s seen better days. There are duffles tossed on the ground by their feet and it looks like they are in the middle of a rousing game of rock, paper, scissors. Every now and again, someone will slow their car but when they get close, the men disappear and they think it must be a trick of the light.
Dean folds his wings back and rubs his chin. “This whole gig is depressing.”
Sam, crouched at his side with his hands dangling between his knees looks up and raises an eyebrow. “You thought being a death herald would be all rainbows and ponies?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that… no one will ever be happy to see us, ever again.”
“That’s true,” Sam says, nodding slowly. “Plus, we’re the only males.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dean snorts and Sam has to grin.
“Okay, is it your turn to wail or mine?”
“Who knows? And stop calling it wailing. I’m a guy. I holler.”
“You’re a banshee. You know, woman of the fairy mound?”
“I don’t have a fairy mound,” Dean snaps, leaning sideways to push at Sam’s shoulder. “Stop saying shit like that.” Dean glares for a moment before he grins. “Besides, I’m a ban-he. The only ban-she on this roof is you.”
“You’re a riot.”
“You know what? I’m tired of waiting. Let’s go grab a burger.”
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