SPN Fic: Farewell my Concubine
Nov. 4th, 2007 10:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
linden_jayFarewell my Concubine
by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
linden_jay
Characters: Sam and Dean (gen)
Rating/Warnings: G. I don't even think there's hardly any swearing... I'm a little shocked my own self
Spoilers: Nothing past Houses of the Holy.
Disclaimer: Despite living six hours from where SPN films, I own nothing. Not mine, never will be.
Summary: What kind of sick bastard goes through an entire roll of quarters in one afternoon on 'Magic Fingers'?
Word count: ~ 782
"Sam-"
"Shut up."
"Look, if you-"
"Shut. Up."
"It's your own fault, you know."
"For the love of God, would you shut the hell up?" Sam wheeled around in exasperation, sudsy hands going to his hips. "I'm washing my underwear in the sink, and it's your fault because you used up all the laundry quarters and anywhere we could have gotten change from is closed for the night."
"And if you'd brought me back quarters like I asked you to, it wouldn't have happened. Which makes it your fault," Dean said, all smirking logic. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he gestured at Sam with his free hand. "You're dripping," he said, mouth full.
Sam looked down at the floor, which he'd just dripped soapy water all over, and the hips of his jeans, which were now wet. "Great. That's just great. What kind of sick bastard goes through an entire roll of quarters in one afternoon on 'Magic Fingers'?" he muttered, turning back to the sink. "There should be studies done on you, except it'd probably traumatize the participating scientists."
"You know, when you mutter angrily at the sink, and I'm already not listening anyway, it makes it really hard to hear what you're saying about me behind my back," Dean called over to Sam, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV, which of course made it even less likely that he'd be able to hear Sam's deranged mutterings.
"I hate you."
"I know." Dean smirked even wider, crossing his legs at the ankle and sprawling back against the headboard, going to the TV guide channel to see if there was anything worth watching, before he started flipping channels to see if there was anything worth watching. The fact that the constant channel flipping drove Sam crazy (honestly, he was such a damned woman sometimes) was just a side benefit. Recognizing a title, he tilted his head to the side and hollered out to Sam again. "Hey... Farewell My Concubine... isn't that a book? Didn't you read that in high school or something?"
"The television is blasting, Dean, I can't hear you," Sam called back, sounding pissy. So, pretty much sounding normal, as far as Dean was concerned.
"Farewell My Concubine... you read that in high school," Dean said, not turning down the TV, but yelling a little louder, so Sam didn't have an excuse to ignore him. "You were always reading stuff like that... not that I can see why you wanted to read a book about farm machinery, but whatever."
There's a few seconds of pause, and then Sam appears in the door frame of the bathroom, looking completely baffled. "I'm sorry... what did you just say?"
"I don't know why you wanted to read a book about some guy who's all depressed about losing his concubine. I mean, machines break down eventually, you know? It's part of farm life. Sooner or later, if you use it enough, you're gonna need to get a new concubine. No reason to get all depressed and pissy about it."
Sam stared back at Dean, looking like he wasn't sure if he wanted to start laughing, or if he had a migraine coming on. "Dean... that's not what a concubine is."
"Sure it is. Big-assed tractor thing, I've seen them a million times," Dean said, talking with his mouthful again.
"No... that's a combine," Sam said, slow and deliberate. "A concubine is a ... well, it's different."
"I'm pretty sure you're wrong about that, Sammy," Dean gave Sam his most patronizing smile.
Sam started looking a little less amused and migraney and a lot more ruffled. "I'm not wrong--first of all, I remember the book, and second of all, I know the difference. Look it up on the computer if you don't believe me."
"Look it up on the computer, huh? Sounds like someone's not so sure they actually have their word definition right if they need to check it out on the computer and make sure they know what they're talking about."
"You're the one who doesn't believe me--you're the one who doesn't know the difference between a concubine and a damned tractor!" Sam snapped at him, looking even more pissed when Dean cracked up. "What?"
"God... nothing, it's just too damned easy some days," Dean managed to force the words out, still laughing. "You honestly thought I didn't know the difference between concubine and combine? For one thing--I was born in Kansas, and for another, you think I wouldn't know a word that's basically the same as 'mistress'? Please, Sammy."
"You're a jerk, you know that?"
"Yeah, well... next time you'll get me quarters when I tell you to."
by:
linden_jayCharacters: Sam and Dean (gen)
Rating/Warnings: G. I don't even think there's hardly any swearing... I'm a little shocked my own self
Spoilers: Nothing past Houses of the Holy.
Disclaimer: Despite living six hours from where SPN films, I own nothing. Not mine, never will be.
Summary: What kind of sick bastard goes through an entire roll of quarters in one afternoon on 'Magic Fingers'?
Word count: ~ 782
"Sam-"
"Shut up."
"Look, if you-"
"Shut. Up."
"It's your own fault, you know."
"For the love of God, would you shut the hell up?" Sam wheeled around in exasperation, sudsy hands going to his hips. "I'm washing my underwear in the sink, and it's your fault because you used up all the laundry quarters and anywhere we could have gotten change from is closed for the night."
"And if you'd brought me back quarters like I asked you to, it wouldn't have happened. Which makes it your fault," Dean said, all smirking logic. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he gestured at Sam with his free hand. "You're dripping," he said, mouth full.
Sam looked down at the floor, which he'd just dripped soapy water all over, and the hips of his jeans, which were now wet. "Great. That's just great. What kind of sick bastard goes through an entire roll of quarters in one afternoon on 'Magic Fingers'?" he muttered, turning back to the sink. "There should be studies done on you, except it'd probably traumatize the participating scientists."
"You know, when you mutter angrily at the sink, and I'm already not listening anyway, it makes it really hard to hear what you're saying about me behind my back," Dean called over to Sam, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV, which of course made it even less likely that he'd be able to hear Sam's deranged mutterings.
"I hate you."
"I know." Dean smirked even wider, crossing his legs at the ankle and sprawling back against the headboard, going to the TV guide channel to see if there was anything worth watching, before he started flipping channels to see if there was anything worth watching. The fact that the constant channel flipping drove Sam crazy (honestly, he was such a damned woman sometimes) was just a side benefit. Recognizing a title, he tilted his head to the side and hollered out to Sam again. "Hey... Farewell My Concubine... isn't that a book? Didn't you read that in high school or something?"
"The television is blasting, Dean, I can't hear you," Sam called back, sounding pissy. So, pretty much sounding normal, as far as Dean was concerned.
"Farewell My Concubine... you read that in high school," Dean said, not turning down the TV, but yelling a little louder, so Sam didn't have an excuse to ignore him. "You were always reading stuff like that... not that I can see why you wanted to read a book about farm machinery, but whatever."
There's a few seconds of pause, and then Sam appears in the door frame of the bathroom, looking completely baffled. "I'm sorry... what did you just say?"
"I don't know why you wanted to read a book about some guy who's all depressed about losing his concubine. I mean, machines break down eventually, you know? It's part of farm life. Sooner or later, if you use it enough, you're gonna need to get a new concubine. No reason to get all depressed and pissy about it."
Sam stared back at Dean, looking like he wasn't sure if he wanted to start laughing, or if he had a migraine coming on. "Dean... that's not what a concubine is."
"Sure it is. Big-assed tractor thing, I've seen them a million times," Dean said, talking with his mouthful again.
"No... that's a combine," Sam said, slow and deliberate. "A concubine is a ... well, it's different."
"I'm pretty sure you're wrong about that, Sammy," Dean gave Sam his most patronizing smile.
Sam started looking a little less amused and migraney and a lot more ruffled. "I'm not wrong--first of all, I remember the book, and second of all, I know the difference. Look it up on the computer if you don't believe me."
"Look it up on the computer, huh? Sounds like someone's not so sure they actually have their word definition right if they need to check it out on the computer and make sure they know what they're talking about."
"You're the one who doesn't believe me--you're the one who doesn't know the difference between a concubine and a damned tractor!" Sam snapped at him, looking even more pissed when Dean cracked up. "What?"
"God... nothing, it's just too damned easy some days," Dean managed to force the words out, still laughing. "You honestly thought I didn't know the difference between concubine and combine? For one thing--I was born in Kansas, and for another, you think I wouldn't know a word that's basically the same as 'mistress'? Please, Sammy."
"You're a jerk, you know that?"
"Yeah, well... next time you'll get me quarters when I tell you to."
