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tamingthemuseTitle: Like You Stole It [ficlet]
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: 367 – possession
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~660
Summary: Dean and Sam take a borrowed car for a joyride.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
oxoxo
Sam stands from the motel bed and tosses the book he'd been trying to read onto the nightstand. Dad's been gone since Monday and Dean was supposed to be back with dinner over an hour ago. He glances at the alarm clock, red digital numbers barely visible beneath his paperback. Dean's officially two hours late. He'd said he was going to the bar and grill down the street to hustle a little pool and pick them up some burgers and he'd be back around nine. It's after eleven and his brother could be anywhere.
Sam shoves his feet into his sneakers and digs his wallet out of his duffel. He's pretty sure the gas station across the street is open until midnight and he's starving. Pulling the locked door closed behind him, Sam shoves the room key into his pocket and starts to cross the parking lot.
A car comes speeding down the street, turning into the motel lot with a squeal of tires, narrowly missing Sam by a matter of feet when it stops right in front of him. Sam slams both hands down on the hood. “Watch it, asshole!”
The driver's side door swings open and the driver starts to climb out. “Get in the car,” the man growls before bursting out laughing. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean says. “Get in.”
Sam steps out of the glare of the headlights and sees his idiot brother grinning at him like a loon. “You almost hit me, jerk.”
“Totally didn't. Get in, bitch.” With that, he slaps a palm on the roof and climbs back inside the car.
Now that he's not almost peeing his pants in terror, Sam realizes that Dean nearly hit him with a car that isn't the Impala. He rounds to the passenger's side and climbs in, leather of the seat butter-soft. “Whose car is this?” he asks, breathing in the clean, new car smell.
“Mine,” Dean smirks with a waggle of his brows before shifting the car into drive and peeling out of the parking lot. “Possession's nine-tenths of the law.”
Sam quickly fastens his seat belt. “Seriously, Dean. Where'd you get the car?” When they pass under a streetlamp, the amber light gleams off the Mercedes Benz emblem inlaid at the center of the steering wheel.
“I was hustlin' pool and this douche bag thought he was gonna beat me.” Dean laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard. “Obviously, he didn't, so we went double or nothin' – twice – and he lost everything. Then,” Dean says, glancing over at Sam with a grin so wide his cheeks have to be hurting, “he's like, Let's play a game of poker.
“Jackass bet his car.”
“How do you know he's not gonna call the police and say you stole it?” Sam asks, glancing in the side mirror, looking for any hint of flashing red and blue lights.
“I told him I'd return it – the hell would I do with a car like this anyway? Told him if I saw a single suspicious lookin' cop car, I'd leave his fancy car wrapped around a tree.”
Sam shakes his head and settles back into his seat, smiling at the expression on his brother's face as they hit the open highway and the engine purrs as Dean hits the gas, speedometer easily climbing to ninety. It's much quieter and smoother than the Impala and nowhere near as satisfying. “You're crazy, you know that?”
Dean throws his head back on another laugh and reaches over to ruffle Sam's hair. “You still love me.”
“You still owe me dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah, princess. I'll buy you your burger as soon as we get back.” He tousles Sam's hair again before palming his face and whooping loudly as the car picks up even more speed.
Sam bats Dean's hand away and laughs right along with him.
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: 367 – possession
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~660
Summary: Dean and Sam take a borrowed car for a joyride.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
Sam stands from the motel bed and tosses the book he'd been trying to read onto the nightstand. Dad's been gone since Monday and Dean was supposed to be back with dinner over an hour ago. He glances at the alarm clock, red digital numbers barely visible beneath his paperback. Dean's officially two hours late. He'd said he was going to the bar and grill down the street to hustle a little pool and pick them up some burgers and he'd be back around nine. It's after eleven and his brother could be anywhere.
Sam shoves his feet into his sneakers and digs his wallet out of his duffel. He's pretty sure the gas station across the street is open until midnight and he's starving. Pulling the locked door closed behind him, Sam shoves the room key into his pocket and starts to cross the parking lot.
A car comes speeding down the street, turning into the motel lot with a squeal of tires, narrowly missing Sam by a matter of feet when it stops right in front of him. Sam slams both hands down on the hood. “Watch it, asshole!”
The driver's side door swings open and the driver starts to climb out. “Get in the car,” the man growls before bursting out laughing. “Come on, Sammy,” Dean says. “Get in.”
Sam steps out of the glare of the headlights and sees his idiot brother grinning at him like a loon. “You almost hit me, jerk.”
“Totally didn't. Get in, bitch.” With that, he slaps a palm on the roof and climbs back inside the car.
Now that he's not almost peeing his pants in terror, Sam realizes that Dean nearly hit him with a car that isn't the Impala. He rounds to the passenger's side and climbs in, leather of the seat butter-soft. “Whose car is this?” he asks, breathing in the clean, new car smell.
“Mine,” Dean smirks with a waggle of his brows before shifting the car into drive and peeling out of the parking lot. “Possession's nine-tenths of the law.”
Sam quickly fastens his seat belt. “Seriously, Dean. Where'd you get the car?” When they pass under a streetlamp, the amber light gleams off the Mercedes Benz emblem inlaid at the center of the steering wheel.
“I was hustlin' pool and this douche bag thought he was gonna beat me.” Dean laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard. “Obviously, he didn't, so we went double or nothin' – twice – and he lost everything. Then,” Dean says, glancing over at Sam with a grin so wide his cheeks have to be hurting, “he's like, Let's play a game of poker.
“Jackass bet his car.”
“How do you know he's not gonna call the police and say you stole it?” Sam asks, glancing in the side mirror, looking for any hint of flashing red and blue lights.
“I told him I'd return it – the hell would I do with a car like this anyway? Told him if I saw a single suspicious lookin' cop car, I'd leave his fancy car wrapped around a tree.”
Sam shakes his head and settles back into his seat, smiling at the expression on his brother's face as they hit the open highway and the engine purrs as Dean hits the gas, speedometer easily climbing to ninety. It's much quieter and smoother than the Impala and nowhere near as satisfying. “You're crazy, you know that?”
Dean throws his head back on another laugh and reaches over to ruffle Sam's hair. “You still love me.”
“You still owe me dinner.”
“Yeah, yeah, princess. I'll buy you your burger as soon as we get back.” He tousles Sam's hair again before palming his face and whooping loudly as the car picks up even more speed.
Sam bats Dean's hand away and laughs right along with him.
