counteragent

New Fic: What noisy cats are we [AAFSam/Dean, Hard R]

counteragent — Fri, 25 Apr 2014 13:46:37 GMT

Title: What noisy cats are we

Always-A-Female!Sam/Dean, Season Two

Rating: Hard R?
Wordcount: ~3,500

Warnings: incestuous thoughts, sex-pollen style revelations and dub-con touching

Summary: Some things were meant to remain mysteries. Like if your parents talked dirty to each other and how your sister sounded when she wanted to jump the bones of any living thing. Especially if you were the only living thing around.

Set in late Season Two. For salt_burn_porn and a_biting_smile's prompt of "what noisy cats are we"

Read here

Cool OTW video

counteragent — Thu, 10 Apr 2014 18:34:29 GMT

العربية • Bahasa Indonesia • Deutsch • English • español • Nederlands • português • suomi • svenska • Türkçe • 中文

counteragent adds: The scope of what the OTW does is frankly amazing. And look at this awesome video that ash48 did about it!!! Thanks, ash48, for donating your time to making this awesome overview. And of course, thanks to the fans that donate their time to the OTW itself. You guys are amazing.
Here's Ash's post about it--leave her some love!

New fic: Bird of prey [Jared/Jensen, R, see warnings]

counteragent — Sat, 05 Apr 2014 12:36:46 GMT

Title: Bird of prey

Author: counteragent

Betas: rivkat and monicawoe

Pairing: Jared/Jensen

Rated: R (but please see warnings)

Word count: 7,400

Warnings: Consent issues regarding ritualistic sex and drug use: I would classify this as non-con although I believe it’s relatively non-graphic for the genre. Also includes mentions of homophobia, voyeurism, suicidal ideation and both on and off-screen violence
Unofficial warnings: too much plot, melodrama (it’s my favorite, hush) and the unlikely sexual situations you know and love from fanfic.

Summary: Jared offers himself as a sacrifice to the merciless god of his people.

Story here

Happy Birthday, deirdre_c!!! Er...last year. Hope you like it.

New Vid: Radioactive [SPN, R]

counteragent — Sat, 08 Mar 2014 13:06:35 GMT

Vid title: Radioactive
Vidder: counteragent
Song: Radioactive by Imagine Dragons
Summary: I'm waking up to ash and dust. Sam remembers every time his body wasn’t his.
Warnings: Show levels of violence, prominent use of needle imagery, implied (but not depicted) rape to both male and female characters
Beta: colls (Thank you, hon!)

Notes: This vid attempts to visualize Sam’s various disconnects* from his body and how he feels about them. Red = Sam's consciousness under Meg's control. Blue = Sam's consciousness under Lucifer's control. Green = Sam's consciousness under Gadreel's control.

Archive Links: AO3 | Tumblr | YouTube

Download: 1280X720 (125MB) (direct link, no ads)
Stream:
Vimeo Password: sam

Radioactive (Sam Winchester vid) from counteragent on Vimeo.

*I actually didn’t have enough song to include the demon blood, the Asylum possession, the Swap Meat use of Sam’s body for sex, and the Wicked Witch’s spell. Like, I don't think there is a song long enough for Sam's possession trauma, heh.

Heavy beta of one of 9X14's [Spoiler character] scene

counteragent — Sun, 02 Mar 2014 23:11:33 GMT

Liked most of 9X14, but I think they really missed an opportunity to underline the possession issues in one crucial scene.

Original screenplay by Bob Berens
Transcript by the editors at the Supernaturalwiki (thanks, guys!)

9X11 rewrite tumblr post with tracked changes

counteragent — Tue, 28 Jan 2014 14:39:23 GMT

I made a tumblr post of the Tracked Changes version of my 9X11 Sam&Cas scenes rewrite, so you can see how much I (didn't) change and my reasoning. I crossposted this not because I think it's a masterpiece (making jpgs of it took as long as writing it, and it certainly ain't perfect) but because I'd love to see rewrites become more of a fannish "thing", for various reasons.

Heavy beta of 9X11's Sam and Cas scenes

counteragent — Sun, 26 Jan 2014 14:11:49 GMT

First Born, rewritten scenes
Original Author: Robbie Thompson

Editor: counteragent

Beta: balder12

Goal: My goal was to change as little of the scenes as possible, because I don't have the benefit of knowing how this episode fits into the larger season arc. However, I did want to rework the tone and emotional resonance, and I took the liberty of adding a small plot point that I feel is in keeping with the characters this season.

**To the Supernaturalwiki editors that provided the transcript I used: THANK YOU, you are gods among fans!**

ETA: A tumblr post with the Tracked Changes version now exists

INT: LIBRARY, BUNKER

Close up of a PB&J sandwich. Lips chew. Sounds of teeth mashing and saliva swishing. The sound is almost comedic, but not quite.

CASTIEL [clearly not enjoying the sandwich.]
Mm.

SAM [entering the bunker]
Hey.

CASTIEL places the sandwich on a plate and repositions it…next to a tower of sandwiches on plates that covers nearly the entire table.

CASTIEL
Tastes like...molecules.

SAM [indicating the pile of sandwiches]
Cas, what the hell?

CASTIEL calmly gestures at the sandwiches, which all disappear except the last one.

CASTIEL
When I was human, I had to eat constantly. It…annoyed me.

SAM
Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying.

CASTIEL
But...I enjoyed the taste of food -- particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling.

SAM [sitting on the table next to CASTIEL a bit warily]
So, what? Now you can't taste PB and J?

CASTIEL
No, I-I taste every molecule.

SAM
Not the sum of its parts, huh?

CASTIEL
It's overwhelming. It's disgusting. [looks at the sandwich] Worst of all, it does not satisfy. I’m left with only the hunger.

SAM and CASTIEL share a look. CASTIEL stands up, hand raised. SAM backs away slightly. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. Cas’s hands have meant pain in the past.

CASTIEL [talking quietly, lowering his hand and holding it out palm up]
We need to continue your healing. We're almost done.

CASTIEL cages SAM's face with both hands, fingers resting lightly on SAM’s face. CASTIEL starts to heal SAM. Suddenly he looks a little concerned

SAM
What?

CASTIEL [trying to cover it up]
Nothing.

SAM [slaps his hand away]
You're a terrible liar.

CASTIEL
That is not true. I once deceived and betrayed both you and your brother.

SAM [humorless huff of a laugh]
Cas, what's wrong?

CASTIEL
I noticed something. It's resonating inside you.

SAM
What?

CASTIEL
Something angelic.

SAM [growing horror]
He’s still here, inside me?

CASTIEL [placing a hand on SAM’s shoulder]
Sam. No. Gadreel is gone.

SAM looks unsure.

CASTIEL
Maybe we should call Dean.

SAM [moves away and sits down on a chair]
No. He wanted to go, and he’s gone. I need to handle this without him.

END SCENE

****************

INT: LIBRARY, BUNKER

SAM and CASTIEL are in the Bunker doing some research.

CASTIEL
I've found, well, something. It's a detail about when angels leave their vessels...I think. It's Enochian,
which can be a bit flowery. "And the departed shall remain, and the remains shall be the departed".

SAM
Okay, so, when an angel leaves a vessel, they leave behind a piece of themselves. Like, uh...like an angelic fingerprint.

CASTIEL
Whatever you want to call it, this piece of the departed contains Grace.

SAM
Wait, you're saying there's angelic Grace inside of me?

CASTIEL
Yes.

SAM
That doesn’t sound good.

CASTIEL
It is unnatural. But now that we know it’s there, perhaps it might be useful.

[CASTIEL sets down the book and picks up a file titled 'On the Inner Workings of Angels']

According to this, we may be able to use the Grace that remains inside you to track Gadreel...If we can extract it.

SAM
How would we do that?

CASTIEL
Well...painfully.

[he holds up a picture of a huge syringe with a 4-inch long needle]

The Men of Letters believed that you could perform a tracking spell with extracted Grace, but they were never able to test the theory.

SAM
Well, they didn't have a guinea pig, but we do.

CASTIEL [confused]
The bunker has a guinea pig?

SAM [holding up the image of the syringe]
These guys sure had a thing for needles. I think I might know where this is.

END SCENE

****************

INT: BUNKER

SAM and CASTIEL are walking down the stairs in the main room.]

CASTIEL
Sam, may I ask you a question?

SAM
You just did.

CASTIEL
Can I ask you another question?

SAM [sighs—he doesn’t have Dean’s touch with angel banter]
Yeah. What's up?

[They stop in the doorway to the hall and face each other]

CASTIEL
Sam, the trials. I know why you chose not to go through with it. Why you chose to live rather than to sacrifice yourself.

SAM [clearly not wanting to talk about it]
Yeah. I made a mistake. I trusted Dean.

[SAM stalks off to the medical room. CASTIEL follows.]

CASTIEL
What Dean did --

SAM
Look, it doesn't matter what Dean did, not really. I could have put a stop to all this, Cas. I could have closed the gates of hell. You always have a choice.

CASTIEL
Sometimes it only seems that way.

SAM
There is always a choice. I don’t die when I am supposed to, not ever. I always have a debt to settle.

[SAM sets a box down on a table next to a gurney. He talks off his plaid button-up shirt leaving him in just a thin t-shirt.]
[SAM hands the box to CASTIEL and sits down on the gurney.]

Let's start balancing the books.

CASTIEL opens the box and it is revealed to contain the huge needle pictured in the file

END SCENE

****************

INT: BUNKER, MEDICAL ROOM

SAM is lying on the gurney and CASTIEL has the huge syringe needle posed to extract some angel grace. Before he can begin, Sam speaks.

SAM
How could you tell? That Gadreel was gone?

CASTIEL
Your mind, it’s familiar to me. When I broke the Wall Death erected…

SAM
…When you took the burden of Lucifer from me.

CASTIEL
I learned you.

SAM looks at the ceiling, but gives a tiny nod. CASTIEL punctures the needle into the side of SAM's neck, right below his left ear. SAM gasps in pain.

CASTIEL [looking concerned]
Now comes the part that will actually hurt. l’ll begin the extraction.

[CASTIEL slowly pulls back the plunger and the bottom of the syringe barrel fills with a tiny bit of angel grace. SAM is trying very hard not to cry out from the pain.]

SAM [gasping]
Is it working?

CASTIEL
Yeah.

SAM
But?

CASTIEL
I-I need to push the needle in deeper. We need more Grace in order to cast the spell.

SAM
Okay. Do it.

CASTIEL
Sam, if I get too close to --

SAM
Damn it, Cas! Just do it.

CASTIEL slowly pushes the needle deeper and starts pulling back on the plunger again. Suddenly, SAM's body lurches and he has flashbacks to images of when GADREEL was inside of him and then to some of the moments when he was performing the trials. CASTIEL pulls out the needle.

SAM [in shock]
What the hell was that?

CASTIEL
Your body is regressing to the state it was in before Gadreel.

SAM
Do we have enough Grace for the summoning spell?

CASTIEL
Sam.

SAM
Do we or not, Cas?

CASTIEL
No.

SAM
Then keep going.

[CASTIEL again looks very concerned and reluctant.]

END SCENE

****************

INT: BUNKER, MEDICAL ROOM

CASTIEL is still extracting angel grace and SAM is almost unconscious from the pain.

CASTIEL
Sam? Sam?!

SAM [weakly]
Keep going.

CASTIEL
Why?

SAM
We -- we -- we have to find Gadreel.

CASTIEL [starting to remove the needle from SAM's neck]
No. Why must the Winchesters run toward death?

SAM [grasps the syringe in CASTIEL's hand and stops him from removing it]
No, don't. Don't. Don't stop.

CASTIEL
I don’t want you to die, Sam. It’s not worth your sacrifice.

SAM [voice heartbreakingly soft]
My life's not worth any more than anyone else's -- not yours or Dean's...or Kevin's. Please. Please, help me do one thing right.
Keep going.

CASTIEL hesitates and then pushes the needle in further. SAM screams in pain.

END SCENE

****************

INT: BUNKER, MEDICAL ROOM

SAM is nearly unconscious, slowly fading with blood dripping from his nose and eye as CASTIEL continues to extract angel grace until it is all gone. He pulls the needle out of SAM's neck. CASTIEL looks down at Sam, and then shoots half of the grace into his own arm.

CASTIEL presses his fingers to SAM's forehead, healing him.

SAM
Cas. What the hell was that?!

CASTIEL
I honored your wish. I kept going.

SAM
And the Grace?

CASTIEL
Whatever Grace was inside you is gone now. What's left of Gadreel is in here. We'll just have to try the spell with what we have.

SAM
It doesn’t look like much. You sure you got it all?

CASTIEL [after a beat. Reluctantly, kindly]
I’m sorry this didn’t kill you.

SAM [softly]
What are you talking about?

CASTIEL
The only person who has screwed things up more consistently than you...is me. I know what it means to feel sorry, Sam. I know what it’s like to look at your death and feel…relief.

SAM
I didn’t want to die. I just wanted the choice.

CASTIEL [holding SAM’s gaze until CAS believes SAM]
Yes, there is time yet to die another day. Let's fight now.

END SCENE

****************

INT: BUNKER, LIBRARY

SAM and CASTIEL are mixing the spell to track GADREEL. They add all the ingredients and then finally add the angel grace. The mixture boils and then fades away. CASTIEL looks away, disappointed.

SAM
Was that, uh... Was that it?

CASTIEL
I'm afraid there wasn't enough Grace. We'll have to find Gadreel another way. I'm sorry, Sam.

[SAM suddenly leans over and hugs CASTIEL tightly. CASTIEL stands awkwardly without moving for a moment, before hugging Sam back.]

SAM [chuckling]
Ah, there you go. [After a beat] Thank you. For…not stopping.

CASTIEL
You’re welcome, Sam.

[CASTIEL and SAM move back to the books]

CASTIEL
As far as I'm concerned, Metatron is the key to fixing everything that's wrong.

SAM
Agreed. We find Gadreel, we find Metatron.

CASTIEL
We could use all the help we could get..

SAM [solidly]
We got this.

END SCENE

****************

Fanart & ficlet: Space Mountain [SPN, Charlie/Dorothy, G]

counteragent — Mon, 16 Dec 2013 23:25:45 GMT

Title: Space Mountain
Artist and Writer: counteragent
Genre: Gen fanart with ficlet (mention of f/f in accompanying ficlet)
Characters: Charlie/Dorothy (plus Sam in ficlet)
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Note: Made for heidi8 for spn_j2_xmas. Thanks to the mods!!!

The drawing:
(Teaser)

reference x + plus screenshots from eps and promo photos

The ficlet:

Oct_LeGuin	Took me a whole 1/2 hr to hack u and set this chat line up. good wrk sam.
sam	charlie?
Oct_LeGuin	its octavia now
sam	suits you. so you are back--are you ok? Is dorothy with you?
Oct_LeGuin	D and i are great! cleaned up oz.
sam	wow. that was fast
Oct_LeGuin	i guess two years IS pretty speedy to rebalance the forces of good and evil in an entire magical dimension.
sam	yeah, took harry potter 7
Oct_LeGuin	to be fair, he got a degree too. looks like you took care of the angel mess
sam	you could say that
Oct_LeGuin	so we're on vacay in floryay…
sam	that wouldnt be the case at space mountain disneyworld would it? the 300% increase in heart attacks while riding?
Oct_LeGuin	…yeah
sam	workaholic
Oct_LeGuin	like u can talk. plus we r having fun, check it
Oct_LeGuin has sent an attachment
sam	nice. glad to see you taking the hunt seriously, being safe.
Oct_LeGuin	aw sam. worried?
sam	what is that thing anyway
Oct_LeGuin	um. well about that
sam	charlie.
Oct_LeGuin	it kinda followed us back
sam	there are more, arent there
Oct_LeGuin	yeah. its why i rang. not that it isnt a delight to chat! just, id probably be in bed with D for a week or two instead of looking up winchesters on my hunt-cation. no offense
sam	you talked to dean first?
Oct_LeGuin	yeah. again no offense. i kinda figured it'd be a 2 for 1 deal anyway, when i called him.
sam	i didnt mean it that way. just wondering why he isnt helping you instead.
Oct_LeGuin	what?
sam	what what? why isnt dean helping you?
Oct_LeGuin	srsly?
sam	you there?
sam	hello?
Oct_LeGuin	dean is in arapahoe county hospital outside of denver. two broken legs. phone 303-555-6789 rm 318.
sam	ok
sam	so where should i meet you?
Oct_LeGuin	maybe you should go to colora
sam	where do you guys want to meet?
sam	charlie
Oct_LeGuin	our hotel is the mermaid inn orlando. rm 47.
sam	give me 20 mins. Maybe five extra if I gotta knock dean out before I heal him
Oct_LeGuin	wtf! your IP is in texas
sam	see you soon charlie

New tiny ficlet: Sh$% Dean says [Sam + Dean, S9, 150 words, PG]

counteragent — Sat, 09 Nov 2013 19:10:36 GMT

Title: Sh$% Dean says
Author: counteragent
[Sam + Dean, S9, 150 words, PG]

After Tuesday’s King of Hell interrogation: “Man, with Crowley downstairs this place is kind of funkytown.”

Halfway through bi-weekly room cleaning: “Remember when we stayed at Sunrise apartments? Dad hated that place. Bugs everywhere.”

Flipping burgers: “You ever wonder what happened to Jimmy? I always wanted to give that dude one more hamburger, you know?”

On a case about a stolen cursed gemstone: “Why is possession 9/10 of the law anyway? What does that even mean?”

Watching porn in the library, despite Sam’s protest: “You ever tie a girl up, Sammy? Nah, you wouldn’t have the balls.”

Hogging the remote: “Let’s watch this cage fight. It’s for charity.” [Sam: what] “Hey, we can afford to let loose if for a good cause.”

--

Dean’s non-sequiturs are getting weirder, Sam thought.

They don't mean anything, the voice said.

They don't mean anything, Sam thought.

New ficlet: Set me as a seal [Sam + Dean, S9, 900 words, R for violence]

counteragent — Fri, 08 Nov 2013 17:48:54 GMT

Dean’s hands were steady on the gun as he advanced toward Sam’s room. His breathing was calm, his footsteps careful and quiet.

The bunker was a silent witness as Dean crept through its halls. Generations of secret knowledge had soaked into its walls until the foundations were sodden with power. Dean imagined he could feel it flowing around him as he wormed his way through its veins. Dean was a bullet heading straight toward the last true Man of Letters. The bunker merely observed; it knew not to interfere with an experiment. It was a fitting monument to a once-magnificent culture. It would make a good tomb, too. Maybe today.

Dean took a deep breath as he rounded the last turn. Clarity pervaded him, burning away his hesitation like a tumor under a laser. He’d been a coward, letting an enemy grow strong with what he drained out of his brother. Dean had set a table with 100% Sam on the menu, and handed the hungry guest of honor a napkin. Zeke might be content to bide his time a little longer, but Dean had no illusions. The instant he tried to tell Sam the truth, he’d be talking to Zeke instead. Sam couldn’t help him anymore—Dean had seen to that. This was Dean’s mess to clean up.

There was only one real option. Dean swung around the door frame, his favorite gun raised.

Only the shock of staring down the barrel of Sam’s favorite gun halted Dean from shooting on the spot. The man aiming the gun looked just like Sam.

“I should have known,” the man said.

“Sam?”

“‘Watch out for Sammy,’ huh? Doesn’t it get a bit old, Dean?” Sam. Despite everything, his eyes looked sad. Like he saw through to Dean’s weakness, to the price Dean was paying to construct a false idol out of his brother’s skin and bones, taping it together with pieces of his own soul, bargained away a bit at a time. Possession, memory wipes, collateral damage. Lies.

“Don’t you just want to stop?” Sam asked.

Dean wanted to stop. More than anything, he wanted to stop. “I have to do this, Sam.”

Sam looked at him, his gun expertly trained on Dean’s face. He wasn’t going to waste his time watching Dean bleed out on the floor, if it came to that. The bunker absorbed the endless seconds between them, filing them away. Data points for no one to read.

“No, Dean. You don’t.” Sam turned his gun around and fired straight through his own heart.

--

Sam was bleeding out on the floor. He was gasping for breath, hands automatically trying to hold his blood inside, even as it pumped in forceful gushes between his fingers.

Dean had had his knife out before Sam even finished falling. His eyes had watched Sam recoil as if in slow motion. Sam had arced away gracefully, the long length of him curving in a crescent as he fell. He wasn’t a god toppling, he was a messiah giving himself away. Dean’s hand had gripped the hilt of the knife tight and sure as he fell to his knees at Sam’s side.

Dean ripped Sam’s hands away unceremoniously. Sam was beyond any kind of earthly measure; the fact that he still had enough strength to hold his hands anywhere at all was testament to the fact that unearthly forces had been upgrading his meatsuit until it wasn’t exactly street-legal anymore. Nice to know Dean had been right about that, even if Sam had to eat a bullet to prove it. Dean cut open Sam’s shirt and hoped Sam’s souped-up chassis would be enough.

Dean placed his knife against Sam’s skin, Sam’s tattoo and bullet hole forming an unholy trinity with the point of the blade. Sam caught Dean’s wrist with his hand. Dean’s heart lightened to feel the slight strength in his grip. Sam was weak, but he was fighting. Even with Zeke’s power turned toward healing Sam’s mortal wound, Sam was going to have to fight like hell to keep Zeke submerged for the time this was going to take.

Dean’s hand itched to continue—the timing of this had to be perfect. They were playing Russian roulette with Sam’s life against an age-old being. But Sam deserved to know.

“Imma pull a ‘Cas’,” Dean said, hoping like hell Sam would know what he meant and Zeke wouldn't.

“Duh,” Sam gasped. Flecks of blood and taut lines of pain distorted his bitchy expression--clearly we had exactly the same plan you moron--but it was there. Under everything, Sam was there. Dean was unworthy of the moment.

Sam seemed to agree. “I--,” he choked, “Fucking--mad.”

“Good.” Dean’s grin was so full of love it was almost feral. An angry Sam was a Sam he knew. Most important, an angry Sam was a Sam that was gonna live through this.

Dean started to carve. The lines of the angel-banishing symbol bled with his brother’s blood, obscuring the pattern, making Dean's canvas slippery and imperfect. Good thing Dean had some expertise in close knife work.

The light of Zeke leaving Sam’s body forever blanched all the walls of the bunker an unnatural blue white. The newest Men of Letters wrote in a bright and bloody ink, and the bunker filled itself with their story.

END

Fic: Choose your own adventure [SPN, Sam/Dean, PG-13], 1K words

counteragent — Sat, 02 Nov 2013 17:12:24 GMT

YOU GUYS I CANNOT STOP WRITING VARIATIONS OF THE SAME FIC. I THINK I HAVE A PROBLEM.

Choose your own adventure [SPN, Sam/Dean, PG-13], 1K words

In retrospect, coming on to Sam for the first time in two years right after His Royal Dick Joffrey beheaded Ned Stark in front of his 14 year old daughter was an action fated to failure. Of course, in retrospect romantic karma would be the least of Dean's problems.

For the moment, Dean could only see Sansa Stark grapple for dignity as she battled grief and terror, a witness to her father’s execution and the demise of her family’s status.

“But—but, she--. He--. This is bullshit!” Real life was bad enough—give a fictional princess a break, goddamn.

“I know, right?” Sam’s eyes were shining with mirth and a fair amount of unfeigned sympathy as Dean spluttered.

“Didn’t someone read the books before they began filming this crap?! Imma hop right in there and strangle that little dick.” Seriously, there was HBO, and then there was just unnecessary viewer trauma.

“Maybe the MOL have a key to Westeros,” Sam agreed solemnly.

Apparently Sam’s sympathy only went so far. Dean decided to beat a little more into him. He tackled Sam to the bed.

Sam might have been force-fed his Wheaties lately, but you couldn’t argue with the results. He had Dean pinned in about 3 seconds. Might have had something to do with that ridiculous look on his face though. Pure nerd. Dean uncle’d, stilling beneath Sam’s weight. He wanted to take Sam in for a moment.

“But seriously, Dean, if the Oz books are real, who knows?” Sam hadn’t caught Dean's vibe yet; he was still geeking out. “Maybe more writers are really prophets, or hunter biographers, or MOL scribes. We’ve concluded more from less.” Sam’s face was alight with curiosity and, amazingly, a hint of wonder. Sam hadn’t looked like that in years, and never about hunting.

On second thought, Sam needed to stop that right now—it might kill Dean to see him so alive. Dean wasn’t allowed to believe the price had been worth it. This was real life, and nothing was that clean.

Dean rolled them, flipping their places, and in one smooth motion bent down to kiss Sam. He wasn’t sure if it was to shut Sam up or to taste a little of the hope infecting his brother.

***

Dean blinked at Sam stupidly from the corner, Sam’s heartfelt apologies filling his ears like cottonballs.

“I’m so sorry man, I had no idea I had that kind of leverage, are you OK?”

Dean’s back and tailbone hurt like a motherfucker. They’d taken his full weight; Dean’s arms and legs had flailed out uselessly in surprise as he flew off the bed.

“Talk to me here, what do you remember?”

Dean’s mouth was going before he could stop it. “I remember you throwing me across the room, jackass.”

“Well, sounds like you’re feeling better,” Sam helped Dean to his feet anyway.

“I’m sorry about that, Dean, really. I guess I just reacted on instinct.”

“Your ‘instinct’ is to chuck me like a dog toy? That’s messed up, Sammy.” Dean was just talking to talk, checking that his parts were all accounted for. Some of the creepy cabinet carvings were sure to be stamped in bruises on his back, great.

“Uh, well.” Sam quieted, looking anywhere but Dean. “I thought—it’s really weird, but—I thought you were going to. Kiss me?”

Dean’s head shot up so fast his neck cramped. Sure, it had been two years. There had been Amelia and Benny and Sam’s near-death between now and the last time they’d fooled around. But Sam’s face held a pure expression—unalloyed embarrassment. Sam was sure there was some mistake, sure that he’d made it. It was unthinkable that Dean would have kissed him. They were crazy, but that was crazy. No way would they have ever fumbled together after a life-threatening hunt, the high of success vibrating them at the same frequency. No way would they have clung to each other in the wake of Jess, or Dad, trading wetness between their faces with every desperate kiss. No way would Sam have held him down in the year his deal ticked away and pounded into him like he could stake Dean to the earth, tether Dean to his brother and keep him out of Hell.

No. That wouldn’t be healthy. And if there was something Sam was becoming, it was healthy.

Adrenaline sang through Dean’s body, screwing his muscles up tight and clenching his heart. He was a character himself now, the doomed hero of the worst kind of story--one he wrote himself.

Flip to page 46 to confront Zeke now. Turn the page to bide your time, hopelessly.

“Whatever, keep dreaming, pervert,” Dean said.

Sam laughed with relief while Dean’s head rolled in the dirt.

END

Fic: A tiger by its tail [SPN, Sam/Dean, NC-17]

counteragent — Wed, 23 Oct 2013 18:17:21 GMT

A tiger by its tail (2807 words) by counteragent
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: NC-17
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Ezekiel (Supernatural)
Warnings:Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Consent
Summary: Dean hasn't been drunk in a long time. He and Sam haven't done this in a long time, either.

Read on A03 or beneath the cut below

“Dude, you’re not drinking that. You’re still an invalid.”

Dean pronounced it “in-valid”, drawling out the syllables obnoxiously and plucking the shot glass from Sam’s hand. Hardly any of the amber whiskey sloshed over the side. He’d only had three beers.

“I’ve felt fine for months.” But Sam played along. He indulged Dean with a quirk of his mouth, gesturing back at the woman who’d ordered them the shots. The redhead sat at the end of the bar, her long legs and high breasts more than making up for a soft middle. Sam gave her a “what can I do?” look that was supposed to be charming but really looked constipated. Dean snorted in surprise as the woman hid her smile behind the curve of a wineglass. Sam’s poop-face worked. No accounting for taste.

Dean downed Sam’s shot, followed by his own. He hadn’t had much of the hard stuff lately—nothing like detox in Purgatory to scare you straight—and the burn was weirdly unfamiliar. He managed a manly hrrumph but it was nearly a cough.

Sam swung back to face Dean, his eyes hitting the empty glasses first, then rising along with his eyebrows: you sure about that? And yeah, Dean might regret it tomorrow--beer before liquor and his ass was gonna hurt from tumbling off the wagon--but there was a need forming in the back of Dean’s mind. It was a tiger pacing its cage, restless. Dean wasn’t sure if the alcohol was to pacify or rile it.

Dean gave Sam a steady stare. “You, me. Darts.”

Sam held his gaze, and for a minute Dean thought Sam was gonna dig in, apply himself to winning the latest round of Dean-so-has-feelings chicken. But Sam merely narrowed his eyes, and signaled the bartender.

“He’ll have another.” Sam gestured to Dean for the bartender’s benefit, then leaned over. His breath bent the hairs on Dean’s neck. “Just give me a few minutes, OK? And drink up.”

Sam slid off the barstool, punctuating his last words with a clap to Dean’s back. Dean should refuse on principle, but that would telegraph that Sam could raise Dean’s hackles over something as dumb as another drink. Plus there was the way that Sam’s low, quiet voice had set the alcohol alight in Dean’s veins like a fancy dessert. Dean hadn’t heard that tone for a very long time.

Of course, maybe the tone was for the girl, and Dean had just caught it a beat too early. Sam engaged her easily, trading names and indicating Dean in with a clear “he’s my brother” grimace. Dean saluted briefly, businesslike, and couldn’t help but approve when the woman barely spared him a glance. Dean would do the same, if Sam were standing that close to him.

A glass appeared in front of Dean. The tiger slowed.

They’d been pretending that neither of them knew what sex was for over a year now. Ever since Dean came back topside and realized Sam had slept soundly and warm each night in a king bed while Dean caught solo catnaps, scraping his ass on pine needles. Benny had offered, his eyes warm beneath that ridiculous hat, but Dean let him down easy every time. Dean had had his hands full but he’d carried a torch right through monster hell.

Dean let the alcohol slide down his throat, the prior shots’ anesthesia smoothing the burn. The tiger resumed. Its fur brushed along the bars of the cage as it paced.

Sam’s face was alight in a way that seemed only half faked. He had even dug his hands out of his pockets for the occasion. He rested one on the bar, long fingers bent in descending hills like a tiny mountain range. The redhead laughed, raising her chin to bare her throat and expose her cleavage. It was a good move; Sam’s gaze dipped too low for polite conversation before he snapped back to the clinical white of her smile.

They had struggled on together, him and Sam, and just when Dean’s anger had cooled enough to crust over, the trials started. Sam was Sammy again. His little brother needed his help, and no way was Dean gonna be creepy uncle in that scenario, even if Sam had been up for it.

And now, well. Zeke was eight days gone, and Sam was cured of everything but his complete ignorance of how and why he’d been healed. That Dean had bartered both of their souls a second time, just to keep Sam with him. So far, so good, right?

Dean looked down at his empty glass. Its facets cracked the room’s light into pieces. The tiger stopped pacing. It waited.

Sam had leaned in closer to the woman, turning away from Dean. It was a clear set-up for a “I know somewhere quieter” line. Dean fixed the back of Sam’s head in his sight. He was a target, a gamble. Dean would count to thirty. Just that, half a minute. If Sam didn’t turn, then Dean would ninja out of there, let Sam rediscover how great pussy was (again). If Sam did, Dean would fire—a slow smile across Sam’s bow, a warning shot that the redheads of the world had some competition.

Sam turned.

****

Sam closed his eyes and threw. The dart thudded home, bullseye.

“Bullshit,” Dean challenged. “You had to have been looking.”

Dean’s fourth whiskey was introducing itself to his fifth beer—the tiger paced on—and Dean grinned sloppily as he muscled Sam off the mark (three crushed peanuts and a cigarette stub) to take his turn. Sam chuckled as he stumbled back, giving ground with the grace of an assured victor. Dean hammed it up, throwing two at a time, spinning in a 360 before letting them fly. Both hit in the inner circle, but neither dead center.

“Best five out of seven?” Dean said.

“I’m disarming you,” Sam said, cupping Dean’s elbow with a hand and guiding him toward the door. It was a move straight out of 2007, when Sam was picking Dean up from bender after bender while his deal ticked down. The year Sam found Dean’s bucket list and decided that “fuck a guy” meant “fuck my brother” and Dean was unexpectedly on board with that edit.

It was ridiculous; Dean was the kind of guy—exactly the kind of guy—who could wield a samurai sword straight-up plastered. He didn’t need an escort. But there was time enough to set Sam straight later. Call it nostalgia, but Dean wanted to enjoy the moment.

Dean shrugged off Sam’s help, as expected, and Sam replaced his hand immediately, also as expected. He upped the ante with a hand at the small of Dean’s back, too.

“Handsy,” Dean muttered, trying for censure but sounding slightly appreciative.

The bar was walking distance to the motel, but it might have seemed far in the sparkling cold of the late fall night. If Dean had been sober. But the alcohol was as good as a magic spell against the chill, especially with Sam there to shove and hustle against.

“You’re staggering, man.”

“I’m trying to trip you up.”

“Nice. Well, it’s not gonna work. You know that right?”

“I never quit, Sammy.”

“Uh huh.” Sam managed to sound deeply unimpressed, almost bored, while spinning Dean around and shoving him up against the Impala. Dean’s head thunked back in surprise, dinging off the frame almost hard enough to hurt. Dean’s brain sloshed around.

“Ow, bitch.”

“Shit, sorry,” Sam laughed, and kissed him. “Sorry, sorry,” Sam continued, nuzzling Dean’s neck, rooting through the layers of collars to nip and kiss. It felt so good, Sam’s chilly nose warming by the second and Sam shaping words just for him.

Sam’s hands were on Dean’s belt buckle before Dean remembered the tiger in the shadows.

“Sam,” Dean breathed, and then he hissed when Sam opened his fly and worked his pants down a little, baring his dick and a stripe above his ass to the cold. The icy burn of the Impala focused Dean’s hazy brain for a second.

“Sam, we gotta,” Dean’s dick put up a good fight, urging Dean to shut the fuck up, “talk about something.”

“OK, after.”

And then Sam’s warm mouth was on him, his long fingers gripping the shaft of his dick and cupping his balls. The contrast to the fall air was shocking; the wetness from Sam’s mouth became pain as the cold air hit it, only for the spot to be soothed again by Sam’s tongue and lips seconds later. The push-pull was distorted by the alcohol, amplifying until it was a rushing tide in his mind, Sam’s waves stroking a thirsty beach. It washed him clean of footprints, shoved the flotsam of his mistakes away, creating a clean layer of sand. Dean soaked Sam in, letting him fill the space between grains.

Dean came, and Sam drank him down. The snarl of the tiger was lost in the sound of the sea.

Dean was still spread eagled on the beach, basking in the sun, when Sam dragged him off the Impala and propelled him forward. He covered his junk by instinct, saying “hey!” even though it was only a few steps to the door.

Dean managed to tuck himself back in while Sam keyed the door. The bastard actually had the nerve to stop and fix Dean with a stare. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, his voice dark and his eyes locked on Dean’s pants.

And then the door was swinging open and they were both crowding in and Sam was immediately backing Dean toward the bed. The back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and he went down in an ungraceful foooph. Sam was falling with him, landing neatly over Dean, holding himself up on long arms before dipping down to fill Dean’s mouth with his kiss.

“Do,” kiss, “you,” kiss, “not want to?” Deeper kiss, like Sam was hellbent on stealing Dean’s soul through his mouth. To Sam the question seemed rhetorical; he got busy shoving Dean’s still-open pants and boxers down to his ankles and then kicking them off with his feet.

And maybe it was. Dean did want to. His dick might be spent, too satisfied and too drunk to respond. But his heart was swollen with feeling for this moment, creaking against his marked ribs and pushing on the inside of the ink he shared with his brother. It was a sweet rot. Beneath the layers of decay between them, there was that something beautiful and shining that anchored them together. Tonight they could carve it out again, pushing away bone and sinew and layers of Dean’s treachery and hold it up to the light. If Dean just could keep his mouth shut.

Dean’s mouth opened. The tiger’s claws pealed like bells as it scratched against the bars of the cage. It would be let out. Dean would tell Sam now. Sam would know who he was offering himself to. That Dean was and had always been a false idol despite the sacrifices he demanded. The tiger roared in triumph, and Dean felt it in his bones.

Sam was unzipping his own pants, a little smile playing on his face like he couldn’t believe he was getting this lucky. He stopped for a beat to catch Dean’s eyes on him. Slowly, he smiled. The expression beamed pure, besotted. The room seemed brighter and Dean didn't want to dim it, ever.

Dean closed his mouth and spread his knees instead.

****

Dean woke in a blind panic, riding shotgun in the Impala. He felt terrific, no trace of hangover. That could only mean:

“Zeke?” Dean said to the man driving the car. He kept his voice neutral. He had to be careful.

The man’s eyes slid over to him and Dean’s heart stuttered at the complete lack of expression.

“What do you remember?” the man asked.

Dean remembered Sam. He remembered Sam holding his fingers steepled together at the end of the bed, Dean asking Sam "are you praying?" and Sam laughing loud, his hair flopping around just like it always did.

"I'm warming them," Sam said, before pushing his fingers inside Dean.

He remembered Sam filling him up slow, going easy at first despite his obvious need. Dean relaxed into the alcohol; it was a slick buffer against the nerves that might have tangled the moment.

Dean remembered slurring, “You planned this,” and Sam saying, “Yup,” before letting out a long groan of pleasure.

“OK,” Dean had rejoined, because damn, it really had been. Sam was thrusting in smooth, pulling back and then doing it again, bending Dean how he wanted him. The drag of Sam inside him gave Dean hope that he could be hollowed out, refilled with a purer history. Sam was biting his lip and staring at Dean’s open mouth, eyes glossy with affection and pleasure. Sam was so glorious like this, unshackled, larger than life. The shadows on the wall behind him outlined the stature of his tan, broad shoulders. Dean heard their breathing synch up and he gave himself utterly.

Sam came saying, “God.”

Dean remembered the feeling as Sam blinked at him through the afterglow, still inside Dean, their bodies joined. He remembered feeling cherished.

Dean remembered Sam saying, “Thank you, brother.”

And then Dean remembered shoving and pushing and fighting like a caged wild animal until Ezekiel subdued him with a touch.

Now Dean was sitting in a moving vehicle under someone else’s command. He settled on, “Not much.”

The man spared him a brief glance, then swung his eyes back to the road.

“Oh, right.” A bitter note crept into the last word, and for a short moment Dean began to hope. Not for himself, but for Sam.

“Let me tell you what I remember. I remember losing time, for months. Months. So little of what you said added up that I started to think maybe we were both permanently concussed. I remember coming to with the blood of vessels on my hands eight times—eight times, Dean—but not remembering how it got there.”

The pain in Sam’s voice broke Dean’s silence, “Sam—“

Sam slammed on the brakes and swung them onto the shoulder of the road. He faced Dean head on. “No, Dean! Let me tell you what I remember! I remember thinking maybe I was drugged. Maybe someone was feeding me demon blood to keep me at fighting weight and then slipping me mickey after mickey to forget. My list of suspects was short: the King of Hell and my own brother.

“I remember,” Sam’s voice caught, “I remember thinking I was back in the Cage. And that Lucifer had finally figured out the perfect torture.”

Sam’s face was streaming with tears now, rolling down the statue-perfect planes of his face like rain over granite. It was different than his earthy, snotty cry and Dean’s heart didn’t know which reason it should break first. Dean stared, waiting for Zeke’s eyes to flash blue-white, or for Sam to throw Dean out of his life forever.

Sam wiped the tears away, steadied his voice. Excruciatingly, he looked Dean in the eyes, dead center, nowhere to hide. “I remember feeling great for the last week. Thinking maybe it had all been paranoia, that certainly it had nothing to do with you. You and I were…good.”

Sam’s gaze skewered Dean, silenced him. Finally, Sam huffed and gave an I’m so stupid head shake.

“I just wanted us to be OK so bad. I thought maybe, get you a little happy, maybe we could break the ice and I could get some answers. And maybe, you know. We could be...well, anyway. When your buddy 'Zeke' realized you might finally tell me, he took over. But this time I noticed before he could wipe me clean. I guess he was. Distracted.”

A swell of black humor choked Dean. “You kicked him out while he was too busy angel sexing me?”

Sam coughed. “Pretty much.” He squared his shoulders and turned back toward the wheel, reaching over to throw the Impala back into gear. “We gotta keep moving now. He knows where we live.”

Sam’s tone was cold again, removed. Either he was just still monumentally and righteously pissed off, or. Or.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? That Zeke is really out of there?”

Sam didn’t even spare Dean a glance. The landscape whirred by, too fast to get any bearing. The road stretched out in front of them, an endless repetition of exit-here-for-unsolvable-problems, exit-there-for-horrible-betrayals.

“I guess you don’t.”

Next exit, 50 miles.

Season 9 Comment Fanwork Meme

counteragent — Thu, 10 Oct 2013 14:03:34 GMT

Welcome to the SPN S9 Comment Fanwork Meme!
Prompt and fill with fanworks (fic! art! vids! picspams! etc!) related to season 9 of SPN.

Rules:

1. Prompts and fills must be SPN Season 9 relevant. "Sam and Dean from 1990 are transported to Season 9" is OK, "Sam and Dean from 1990 go on a hunt in 1990" is not. All characters, pairings, ratings welcome.

2. Not Allowed: please no bashing, no extreme underage (<14), and no depictions of real/current minors.

3. Please use the subject line for pairing and any kinks when prompting, prompt as many times as you want, one prompt per comment. When filling please put Filled in the subject line along with a title for your fill.

4. Prompts can be filled multiple times and should you feel inspired to art please do! (though if it is NSFW please post/link to your own journal rather than posting directly).

If you wish to promote then please feel free to use the code below:

Fills
1. When Sam find out what Dean did he says: "Good call man. Thanks. I wasn't in a fit state to make a life and death decision". by claudiapriscus [gen, Sam & Dean, G]

2. A guest amid ruins by counteragent [gen, Sam & Dean, Ezekiel, G] For the prompt: Ezekiel gets to work fixing Sam and discovers just how much is wrong with him.
**ETA: NOW WITH ART FILL by scarletscarlet [demon!child!Sam] **
3. Angel Wars by thursdaysisters [Samzekiel/Dean, PG]
4. Firebird by thursdaysisters [Dean/Abaddon, M for gore] Prompt: Abaddon/Dean, general badness, Sam watching
5. diamond and a tether by indiachick [Sam & Dean & Ezekiel, PG] Prompt: [Dean] knows for certain that what's in the passenger seat isn't just Sam, and Dean has no-one to blame but himself. And no-one to tell.
6. Call of Duty by thursdaysisters [Samzekiel/Castiel, PG] Prompt: Ezekiel has always carried a bit of a torch for Castiel, and now is the perfect opportunity to act on it without consequences.
7. Not for a year by counteragent [Sam?zekiel/Dean, M for sex] Prompt: manipulation/mistaken identity
8. Ezekiel/Dean, manipulation/mistaken identity by thursdaysisters [Ezekiel/Dean, M for sex] Part One Part Two
9. Two for the Price of One by balder12 [Sam/Kevin, NC-17] Prompt: Kevin can see that something's different about Sam (maybe he can see the energy?), but no one's telling him anything, as usual.
10.Shadow by milly_gal [Sam/Dean, PG] Prompt: Dean can't tell Sam why he doesn't want to have sex.
11. A tiger by its tail by counteragent [Sam/Dean, M for sex and dub-con elements] Prompt: manipulation/mistaken identity

Fic: Catharsis [SPN, Gen]

counteragent — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 13:08:42 GMT

Catharsis (6758 words) by counteragent
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Summary: Sam finishes the trials, trapping Sam and Dean on an alternate plane where they must fight a battle that will change them forever.
A/N: This is my Season 8 Fix-it fic, which is a good encapuslation of the story's strengths and flaws. Written for spn_summergen 2013. Constructive crit is very welcome!

On AO3 | On LJ

psst

counteragent — Tue, 17 Sep 2013 04:27:01 GMT

Just a quick note to say that I fixed up the end of my Doomsday Prepper AU fic just now. In case you were wondering about whether or not Dean was truly into it or what the fate of the three Winchesters would be, like my original readers were. I had thought it was obvious but actually it totally wasn't. 24 hr fic challenges r hard u guyz, heh.

Preparing for the worst, hoping for the best [Sam/Dean, NC-17]

counteragent — Mon, 16 Sep 2013 09:08:43 GMT

Originally posted by counteragent at Preparing for the worst, hoping for the best [Sam/Dean, NC-17]

Title: Preparing for the worst, hoping for the best
Author: counteragent
Rating and Genre: NC-17, Wincest
Characters/Pairing:: Sam/Dean
Word Count: 2522
Warnings/Spoilers: Sam is 17
Author's Note: Written for the 2013 salt_burn_porn challenge for the prompt keep the lights on.

Summary: Jerking off loudly to mess with Dean had lost its appeal a week and a half ago.

I tag jackles67 with made me do it

New fic: Game Beloved [SPN RPF, Jared/Jensen & JDM/Jared, NC-17]

counteragent — Wed, 26 Jun 2013 22:18:59 GMT

If medievally-ish concubine-y porn with D/s overtones and the kinds of sexual implausibilities you've come to know and love from fanfic is Your Kind of Thing, well this fic I just wrote might be for you.

Isolation Chamber [SPN, AAFSam/Dean, NC-17]

counteragent — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 22:14:25 GMT

Isolation Chamber
Author: counteragent
Pairing: Always-A-Female-Sam/Dean
Word count: 2070
Rating: Adult/NC-17
Warning: Consensual sibling incest
Many thanks to keerawa for the beta (I made many last minute changes; any remaining mistakes are of course mine).
Written for salt_burn_porn for the prompt “open and shut”
Summary: With a flick of the light switch, Dean shut the book of their life story and opened another, full of the scenes that didn’t fit. (Set in S3)
Read below or at AO3

The bathroom door opened and shut. Sam was rinsing out the last of her conditioner, eyes closed under the still-hot spray. She was just about to yell at Dean to take his dump in the lobby bathroom—just because he can pick locks doesn’t mean he should—when the lights went out. Instantly Sam’s adrenaline spiked and her eyes flew open. A wasted reflex; the windowless room was as dark as a tomb. Faulty electricity unusually meant “mortal danger” to a Winchester, but Sam’s body rocketed toward arousal before her brain could supply the reason, a conditioned response to sudden darkness in the presence of her brother.

With a flick of the light switch, Dean had shut the book of their life story and opened another, full of the scenes that didn’t fit.

He pushed aside the plastic curtain that hung like a narrow door to the cavelike tiled shower stall. Dean moved slowly. Sam didn’t know if it was to avoid falling or to give her time to call him out, shut the book and shove it back on the shelf. The water was hot on her neck and shoulders as she faced him, little spikes of pressure that turned to rivulets of warmth down her back and legs. She tried and failed to hear his breathing over the white noise of the water. No way to read his mood, no way to sense him at all beyond the smell of his sweat and hair gel. Sam breathed it in as he waited for her.

Sam felt heat growing in her gut, between her legs. This was more real than anything they’d done so far. It was dark like always, but this time they were facing each other, standing, with not even the blur of alcohol or the dubious barriers of blankets and clothing to dilute the experience. It was one thing to have your brother spooned at your back for warmth on a hunt, to hear him breathe “shut your eyes” before you felt his hand drift lower and lower until it brushed over your clit through your underwear. It was one thing to bear down into it until you came as silent as you could, and then to press backward until his dick was grinding against your ass. It was one thing to do it more than once, twice, three times as the months sped by, as Dean’s last year drained away. They never spoke of it before, during or after. It was a thing that could be locked easily away as not-real, or at worst real but not worthy of Winchester conversation.

This was something else.

And then, shockingly, Dean wasn’t waiting. Sam flinched in surprise as his fingers gripped her hips. Sam’s eyes had adjusted enough now to see the vague dark shape of his form compress as he knelt. His hands stayed on her, grounding them both and maintaining an even distance. When he was settled, Dean’s thumbs brushed over the shape of her hipbones as if he were scouting an unmarked location from known landmarks. Sam stayed utterly still; imagined she could hear the painful rush of her blood over the din of water. His hands could go anywhere if she couldn’t meet his eyes. It was terrifying, the permission darkness granted.

Sam still hadn’t touched him when she felt it—the hot softness of Dean’s tongue on her sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her anticipation turned it into a shock, something impossible. Sam’s body flushed with heat then plunged back into icy adrenaline. It wasn’t a kiss, it was nothing that familiar. It was brazen and alien, and Sam’s mind filled with a roaring blankness.Dean’s tongue swiped up to the crease of her thigh, then up further to the soft skin of her belly.
The water ran over her back, alternately forgotten and freshly remembered as sensations surged through her. There was no contact from Dean beyond his persistent tongue and careful hands. All other sense cues were distorted and degraded by the darkness and the water. Sam felt both arrested and displaced, her body alight with touch but cut off from normal sensation. The situation was a bent mirror of reality, beautiful and warped.

Dean shifted his grip to pull her closer, and finally his lips met her skin right beneath her belly button. He skipped right past the point of pressure that accompanies something polite like “kiss”, mouthing his way down toward her cunt. His chin, lips and nose pressed against her, and she felt his hot breath through the curls of her hair.

Suddenly, Sam was gripping his head, completing the circuit between them with a low groan. As if a spell had been broken, Dean stood up, his head grazing her chin. His mouth found hers unerringly, and Sam figured she could have done the same. They spend so much time so close, their lives depended on knowing the space between them.

The kiss was deep at once; Dean’s tongue seeking hers, his hands guiding them together. Dean tasted like the chalky water of cheap motels everywhere. The inside of his mouth was hot and saliva-wet, a shifting tactile landscape both intimately familiar and totally strange. It was their first kiss, it was their hundredth—Sam had spent the last year imagining this moment, sometimes touching her own wetness and tasting it off her fingers, imagining her scent on his lips. Released from her strange stasis, Sam gave as good as she got, trading her tongue for his, back and forth. Their lips were washed almost painfully clean by the spray around them. They would split and bleed soon.

Sam’s hands stroked down, tracing the clean lines of Dean’s back, fitting her fingers into the crevasse of his spine and massaging outward. And then she was cupping his ass, feeling the muscles shifting through smooth skin. It was perfect, and Sam slid her fingers into his crease, her hands hungry to explore what her eyes had never seen. Dean moaned, his first sound. He broke the kiss and shifted his hips forward. His stiff dick rode up her stomach, another point of heat on her skin.

Sam reached for it. His dick was heavy in her hand, straight and symmetrical. She was sure it would be beautiful in the light. Dean always was. She slid her grip up and down, careful not to chafe along his shower-clean skin. Dean’s nose touched her forehead, and she felt the heavy breaths she couldn’t hear. Sam felt a momentary swell of power as she contemplated her options.

Dean upped the ante first; he shifted his hips away and brought his hands around to cup her breasts. His hands turned tender. The steady heat of his palms as he pushed her breasts up to nuzzle between them was an unsettling comfort—a soothing touch misplaced from post-hunt first aid. Then his thumb was roughly flicking one nipple while his tongue gently lapped the other and Sam gasped at the contrast. Goddamn. If this were a fight, Sam would be losing. She was just about to reach for Dean’s dick again when he reached a hand down to push two fingers into her cunt. She was slick and ready despite the water’s best attempts to wash her clean.

Dean groaned, low and short. He lifted his lips to her face again, then dropped kisses in a trail down her neck. She fought a shudder at the near-ticklish feeling, a delicate counterpoint to the slow blunt thrusts of his fingers inside her. His face met her breasts again, he rubbed his cheek against their curves like an animal marking territory. It would have been funny if anything about this was funny. He slipped his fingers out of her despite her quiet sound of disappointment and traced them across her thigh to once again steady her hip. Slowly, deliberately, Sam backed up until her shoulders pressed against the cool tile in the corner of the shower. She lifted her leg, seeking with her toes to find the tiled ledge to her left. It was knee height, sturdy, part of the wall. Dean followed her, brushing her rearranged form with his fingertips, making sure. She placed her hand on his shoulder, bracing herself.

There was a breathless moment, when the water cooled a degree or two and Sam thought, this is where we stop. This is the cliff edge and we can see it, even in the darkness. This is where we crash to earth, because we are too heavy to fly.

And then Dean entered her—her other hand dropped down to guide him—and Sam’s world narrowed to a single point. He met with the tightness of a year of abstinence. He grunted and pushed inside in three short thrusts, dragging despite her wetness. It was hard enough going to generate sparks of pain along with a flood of pleasure. Hard enough to remind her that the camouflage of a dark motel bathroom was thin cover indeed.

Dean shifted, changing the angle, and Sam forgot to think anything at all. Her nails dug into his shoulder as he bottomed out. He snugged them together and held her there, stilling for a moment to lift a hand to the curtain of her hair.

"Imma need you to come for me, Sammy."

Sam’s response was simply to nip at his neck, his earlobe, and hook her lifted leg around the small of his back. Her shoulders were wedged in the corner, and his hands steadied her ass and back as she shifted more of her weight off her standing leg. Dean started to move, hips rocking his dick in and out in a steady rhythm. His mouth was on hers, kissing hard, then sliding restlessly to her neck and then back again as he tried to take her all in at once. The grip of his hands was almost painfully tight; one false move would tumble them like a house of cards.

Her clit was bumping his stomach on every stroke, and Dean was deep inside her, finding that spot she usually needed a vibrator to reach. Sam groaned as her nerve endings lit up and her cognition began to shut down. He was driving her through the clammy walls of this nowhere motel and it was so dark and so good that Sam was certain she knew now how Jake felt opening Hell’s gate. She groaned and clutched at his back, his ass, digging her nails in like the traction might slow her descent.

“That’s good, Sam. Real good.” Dean’s voice was trashed with desire, but incongruously her mind showed her his brightest smile. Then he thumbed both her nipples and it was only DeanDeanDeanDean. She came with a shout, orgasm pulsing through her and stealing her breath. The heavy steam-filled air soaked her lungs, and a stain of irrational panic (I’m drowning) twisted like an oil spill through the waves of pleasure.

Dean rocked her through the aftershocks, then stopped abruptly, his cock still hard and heavy inside her. He was breathing raggedly, nearly shuddering as he brought himself under control. She wanted to hold him up as much as she wanted to push him away.

“I have to…” Dean started, and pulled out with a gentle kiss. He stayed close for a moment, and he must have been holding his cock against his own stomach because the only point of contact was the tip of his nose against hers. She knew he was waiting, but Sam couldn’t bring herself to sanction the moment with words. Things people said in moments like this tended to stick forever. If she couldn’t save him, well. She’d follow him down of course. But if she didn’t find him right away Sam didn’t want to leave him with the wrong words, stuck on repeat in Hell. She slid her fingers along his jaw as he started to turn, and hoped it was blessing enough.

Sam stayed in the shower. The water, now cold, fell on her shoulders like rain. The bathroom door opened and shut.

Fic: The Family Business [SPN, R]

counteragent — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 19:00:03 GMT

Title: The Family Business
Author: counteragent
Recipient: mandraco
Characters: RoboSam, Sammy, Grandpa Samuel, and Dean
Rating: PG-13/R for Show levels of violence
Word count: 4,100
Warnings: No additional warnings apply
A/N: This is set very early in the sixth season of SPN, around the timeframe of “The Third Man.” The original prompt follows the story. Many thanks to harrigan and rheanna27 for the crucial betas!
Summary: Sam considered this Dean. He was 17, maybe 18. Old enough to contribute to the hunt, young enough to take Sam’s lead. In short, an asset.

Link goes to the original spn_summergen post. Thanks to everyone who made this year's summergen so awesome!

"Sam, watch out!"

Fic: Chaperone [Sam/OFC, Dean. NC-17]

counteragent — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 21:00:36 GMT

So I was rewatching "Repo Man" (as you do), and one line really stuck out for me.
Sam is watching the super-cute librarian sashay by while pushing a cart of books. She gives him a flirty smile. Lucifer croons over Sam's shoulder something like "We just don't read anymore, do we?" And I was like D: Sam isn't getting laid anymore because of the hell trauma D:

Which actually may or may not have had anything to do with what the line meant.

BUT I WROTE THIS FIC ANYWAY. :)

Chaperone
NC-17. Sam/OFC, Dean. (Mention of past Dean/OFC)
Word count: 1,850
Warnings: Explicit heterosexual intercourse. Multiplication tables. Very oblique mention of past abuse in Hell.
Summary: Dean was here to make sure. He was damn well going to make sure.

This was not in any way right.

Dean shifted his stance inside the dark closet. His thoughts were like crickets that wouldn’t freakin’ shut up—not right—not right— not right—not right—not right. Dean’d shoot them if he could.

The motel room door opened and clicked shut again. Dean heard it like the sound of a safety flicking off before a shot. He was committed, now, no matter how deadly this might all end up.

Through the closed door, Dean heard Sam ask, “So, Jenny…would you like a drink?

“You’ve already bought me three. I wouldn’t want to be greedy.” The woman—Jenny’s—voice was rich and warm, not at all girlish. Dean could hear the smile in it as she continued.

“OK, maybe I’ll be just a little greedy.” There was the sound of a coat zipper and a rustle of fabric.

“Is that right?” Sam’s voice was bemused enough that Dean figured it was probably Sam getting relieved of his top. Dean spared a small smirk, because leave it to Sammy to be surprised by a sure thing when it was staring him in the face.

Sam must have figured it out quick, though, because Jenny let out a small surprised “oh!” and the bed creaked as it took on sudden weight. Dean’s hand came up to the door handle and stilled, poised. That sound could mean a lot of things.

“Hey there, tiger,” Jenny said. Dean dropped his hand slowly.

“Hey, yourself,” Sam said, and Dean hoped that Sam wasn’t counting on dirty talk to see him through this because that was not an opening line worthy of a Winchester.

“Mmm, these are nice,” Jenny said, and Dean’s mind supplied muscles? before he reminded it to shut the hell up.

Then there were the wet sounds of kissing—Sam was letting his moves do the talking, good choice—interspersed with small moans and mmm-hmms. Dean thanked God (by rote—because clearly if there were a god, Dean would have been allowed to die long before this moment) that the sounds were coming from the chick or Dean’d be duty-bound to catalog them for blackmail later. As it was, he could focus on…his multiplication tables. Perfect for fighting off supernatural mind control and death by embarrassment.

Dean was only somewhere in the fours—either Sammy moved fast or Dean was a bit rusty with the third grade math—when the timbre of the Mmms and Oh yeahs (still all Jenny, Dean noted) grew more frantic.

“Clothes, off. Now,” she said. Dean had never been happier to hear a woman get bossy. If she was asking for it, he knew she wanted what she was getting.

“Oh, I think you first,” Sam said, and god dammit. Sam’s sex-voice was at least half his “bad cop” voice. Interviewing witnesses was never going to be the same again.

Dean silently leaned his forehead against the door. God, this was so fucked. This was just…5X4 is 20, 5X5 is 25, 5X6 is 30…

Sam groaned for the first time, a needy low sound. Dean gritted his teeth and ran through his Sam inventory. Pain, no. Vision, no. Dean’s bad fart joke, no. Shower jack-off session heard through cheap motel walls—maybe.

The ripping of a condom wrapper settled it. Jack-off session. Goddamn, the fives were definitely too easy for this part. 7X6 is 42, 7X7 is 49, 7X8 is 56…

“Oh, god, you’re big, unh.”

1345 X 28! 563 X 329! 63 X 15349723!

Dean gave up around the time the headboard started thumping. He made his bed, now he was gonna just have to listen to his brother fuck someone in it. Dean was here to make sure. He was damn well going to make sure.

There was a lull in the rhythm, and Dean was just about the check his watch in the gloom because, what had that been, like two minutes? Apparently Sam’s stamina was for shit after two years. Dean didn’t blame him—two years—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give him crap about it. Sounded like Sam’d even left the lady hanging; not cool, little bro.

Then he heard it. Jenny said, “What are you doing?” and maybe her voice sounded strained. Dean cocked his head and squinted, as if that would help see through plywood. There was a chorus of bed creaks as Sam said, “Just let me—“ And then Jenny groaned out a low “Noooo…”

Dean opened the door.

Just a crack, because Jenny’s moan had sounded more whiny than angry, her question more distracted than scared. But Dean had to know for sure.

It looked like a porno spread. Jenny lay on her back, her head nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. Sam was on top, thrusting like a champ, arms bearing his weight as his movements inched Jenny further off the bed. Dean cased the situation automatically, the same way he knew every exit in a bar or likely paths out of a forest. To his horror, his eyes—which had been dutifully scanning Sam’s body for injuries—were now on a runaway path toward a very unwanted dick sighting.

Jenny. He was checking on Jenny. Sam had managed to get her head entirely off the bed now. Her hair cascaded down to the floor in a rhythmically shifting curtain. Her breasts were on perfect display, high and full, her nipples peaked and flushed with pink. She might have been complaining about shifting positions before, but now she was enjoying the blood rush. Her teeth were bared in a feral grin, her eyes closed in pleasure. Dean watched as she dropped her arms over her head, curving them inward as they reached the ground. Her hands fell in a strangely graceful position, and Dean was viscerally reminded of the time he fucked Tucker High’s lead ballerina, Kristee something, in the darkness of the costume closet.

Kristee's slick ponytail had been so thick his hand barely fit around it. He’d made good use of it, pulled her head back nice and slow, watching her swallow carefully as he sank, slowly, into the heat between her thighs. Dean’s dick—the fucker—gave a reflexive twitch at the memory, and that was totally messed up, because Dean could have a daughter Kristee’s age now, not to mention Sam--.

Dean closed the door. Jenny was fine. Sam was fine.

Dean focused on the closet door hinge, forced himself to take soft and regular breaths. He could do this. He’d waded through hip-deep snow with three cracked ribs while shouldering Dad’s weight back in ‘93. He’d held a tourniquet steady on Sam’s left leg when the kid was sixteen, just right, just perfect, and Sam had walked away from the hospital two weeks later. He’d put a bullet into the Yellow Eyed son of a bitch that had plagued his family for two generations. He’d learned to breathe while swimming in bourbon and denial after Hell. He’d been Death incarnate.

This was a job. No choice but to man up, get ‘er done.

Turned out Sam’s shout of release was somewhere between I-just-got-shot and I-can’t-believe-you-fell-for-my-shitty-poker-bluff-Dean. Dean added it to his crap I’d pay money to forget list and continued to stand guard in the dark.

*****

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed when Sam got back from taking Jenny home. His elbows were on his knees and his eyes on the carpet. It had been long enough that Dean could pretend he’d come in naturally, like he’d been anywhere but right there the whole damn time.

Sam grunted hello. Dean didn’t look up. Sam started getting ready for bed. Dean could hear all the familiar sounds, the water, the toilet, the duffle opening and closing. They sounded the same as always. The carpet had a stain in the upper right corner of his vision.

Sam got into bed and turned off the light. Dean sat up, swung his booted feet up on the bedspread, then lay down slowly like the end of a sit-up. His jeans were still on and his eyes were still open.

“Hey.” Sam pitched his voice soft, like they were camping and Dad was in the next tent.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh. I know that…Thanks.”

What was Dean ever going to say but, “Sure, Sammy.”

“I think I’m good now. I…He wasn’t there tonight. I thought maybe this would be the one thing he still had, you know? The last thing. That’s why I asked you to—to make sure no one got hurt.”

Dean could hear the traffic on the highway nearby. I-80, stretching out ‘til the end of the world. At least as far as Dean would ever want to go. Sam was quiet, and Dean let out a long, low breath of relief. Prayed the kid didn’t open his mouth again. Time to shove this whole night into an unmarked grave and forget they were ever here.

“So, it’s final now. You saved me from Hell. You did what I couldn’t do for you.”

Dean couldn’t help but glance over at that because shit. Sam’s profile was blue in the fluorescent light from the motel corridor outside. His blinks were suspiciously deliberate, his eyes trained on the ceiling. Dean figured with light they’d look wet.

Sam was still under Dean’s scrutiny. Dean could almost see the seams where Sam had sewn his soul back together, piece by piece, squeezing out Lucifer and a lifetime of torture like pus from a closing wound. Sam had faked it ‘til he made it, standing on a bedrock of stubbornness that went right down to his core.

Dean rolled onto his side, and waited until Sam looked him in the eye. “Sam. You saved yourself.”

Sam’s smile flickered in and out, like a lighter not catching.

“So I guess you cry after sex, then.” Because screw Sam for making the aftermath the most awkward part of the evening.

“Dean.”

“By the way, the video should be done uploading about now. Bet it hits top 40 on You Tube.”

“Dean.”

Dean smiled a little. The jokes were pretty weak but there’d be time to refine his game tomorrow. There'd be time for lots of things tomorrow. Biscuits and gravy and Sam doing laundry for eternity to pay him back. Coffee and a good old-fashioned monster hunt. Sam smiling open and Lucifer-free, with his arm out the window of Dean’s baby and the sun glinting off the hood.

Dean turned over and went to sleep.

Four Times Dean Skipped the Speech and One Time Sam Didn't [SPN, Gen]

counteragent — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 23:52:54 GMT

Title: Four Times Dean Skipped The Speech And One Time Sam Didn't
Author: counteragent
Rating, Wordcount: PG-13 for language, 3,600 words
Warnings: Warning for character deaths (not depicted in story, but referenced).
Author's Notes: This is a revised (and, I hope, improved) version of my spn_summergen story.
BIG THANKS to rheanna27 for the beta an briarwood for modding such a lovely comm.
This goes AU in late S6, before Mommy Dearest. Full prompt follows the story.
Summary: Dean guessed she’d be a whiskey man, like him. Funny he might never know.

August 18th, 2031 (Sam is 19)

Dean stood when Sam came into the room.

“Dad, I told you, I’ve got it. Relax.” Dean watched Sam’s arms tighten around the stack of boxes. They obscured her view, leaving her to navigate by stubbornness alone.

“Pissy isn’t your best look.”

“Whatever,” Sam grunted, trying to scratch her nose on the side of a box and open the door at the same time. She flapped her hand blindly at the latch, kicked the glass door open with her foot, and shuffled through while it swung closed. It slammed.

Dean went to get some lemonade. He used a whole tray of ice filling the huge matching Cubs 2020 souvenir cups, automatically put it back empty like Sam hated. Felt stupid when he remembered plotting to irritate Sam tomorrow was a waste of time today.

Dean was refilling the tray when Sam came back, wiping her sweaty hands on her cut-offs.

“That was the last of ‘em. Oh, thanks.” Dean raised his cup and Sam followed suit.

The lemonade was the best kind of concentrate, with real flecks of lemon floating at the top. Sharp but not bitter. Sammy had loved frothy drinks; Samantha’s favorite drinks had edges. Dean guessed she’d be a whiskey man, like him. Funny he might never know. Hard liquor wasn’t exactly on the menu at the family gatherings Dean figured for their future.

Dad had drunk Dean under the table twice by the time he was sixteen—once he’d insisted on target practice after. John, steady despite a blood alcohol level of oh hell no had explained: some of the most common spells made you high as a kite, most everything could be slowed by a bullet. Dean translated: Might save Sammy’s life, knowing how to shoot drunk. Dean’d been mostly drunk for the final four years of his brother’s life, and damn if Dean didn’t save his ass twice a week. Point to John.

Dean looked over at Sam, knocking the heel of her right foot to the toe of her left. Her feet were sockless in her knock-off Chucks. Her slim ankles made him nervous. They looked snappable, capped by too-big feet. Dean knew they got the job done; he was gonna have to let his weird shit go.

Sam was quiet but settled, no mopey aura. Time for the speech. “Changed the controller in your stupid car.”

“I saw.” The dimple in Sam’s left cheek flexed with her not-quite smile. “I dated the venison in the freezer. E coli would be a dumb way to go.”

“I can think of worse.”

Sam rotated until their shoulders touched. She was tall enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

Dean said, “The other kids won’t know what hit them.” It was true. Dean would kill a kitten before he’d revive the Terminator nickname for any Winchester, but Sam was scary in a classroom. Dean had seen Sammy in school enough times to know he had been silently competent, unobtrusive by nature, Dad’s orders or both. Dean only saw Samantha’s school-self in reflection over family dinner, but the afterglow was strong enough Dean could imagine how Samantha devoured her teachers and classmates.

“Consider it a promise.”

A slight breeze shifted the kitchen curtains, warm air moving through hot, no relief. Christmas was so far away it seemed imaginary. There’d be no in-between visits. Boston was 900 bucks each way at best, and that was in hybrid-jet lowered prices. Using the Impala wasn’t worth thinking about, gas-wise, even if she were running as smooth as she used to. Sam would be driving out to college alone; a return trip for Dean a sentimental waste.

Dean drank deeply. The cheap plastic flexed in his hand, tears of condensation running down the sides.

--

August 18th 2015 (Sam is 2 ½)

Sunrise was a good daycare. Their snacks were bought in bulk and their books were second-hand but their head teacher had more degrees than a thermometer. Twice a day the kids sat criss-cross-applesauce and sang their hearts out about three little monkeys. Twice a week Sam came home with a new finger-paint masterpiece or toilet-roll-and-toothpick invention.

Sunrise cost a good third of Dean’s take-home pay, slightly more than the rent. Dean worked most nights after Sam went to bed, getting ahead on any paperwork so he could make sales all day uninterrupted. Good thing he liked ramen.

Sunrise was also closed. Motherfucker. Dean shook the doors again, rattling the cheery rainbow sign above them. The little chairs were empty, their primary colors turned shades of gray in the dark room. It made no sense. He was only 15 minutes late. He would have called but the solar panel on his phone was fucked and the Impala didn’t have the right jack.

This was bad. This was a demon possessing someone on Sam’s “safe” list. This was a shapeshifter holding Sam’s hand and smiling while she called it “Dad”. This was a ghoul pretending to be a Sunrise teacher, biding her time until today. This was the day that being a Winchester caught up to Sam.

Shouting would just reveal Dean’s location. If the thing that had his daughter was close, surprise better be on his side. Dean drew his gun.
Dean stalked halfway around the perimeter of the building before he saw them.

I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham!

"That is excellent, Samantha.” Castiel’s voice was warm despite his stilted cadence. Dean’s gun found its way to his shoulder holster. As far as he knew, Sam had never seen it, and as far as he intended, she never would.

“Daddy!” Sam said, jumping up with a dimple-flanked smile. “I was readin’ to Uncle Cas!” She threw herself forward, arms outstretched, with no obvious plan to arrest her fall. Dean caught her obligingly and swung her up above his head. She was real, dense enough to block out the setting sun. Thirty pounds of bone and muscle and brains. Her shadow shielded Dean’s eyes.

“Well hello,” Dean said.

Sam chortled, then bicycled her legs in midair like Wily Coyote, squirming to get down.

“I think she may have been reciting previously encoded passages by rote. Nonetheless it is advanced for a child of her age.” Castiel stood beside Dean as Sam ran off and pitched herself happily into the sand pit, cackling as she came down on her knees.

“I go boom!”

Dean turned to Castiel. “She must have read it here. We don’t have it at home.” It had been Sammy’s favorite. He cleared his throat. “So, what was it? Did it get away?” Better get it over with. See if the three-way truce Sam had negotiated with Crowley, Cas and the Mother had buckled after all.

“Angel. And no, he did not escape. There are still a few pockets of resistance, even now after Raphael’s fall. There will soon be one fewer.”

Dean thought about what it all meant. For the first time since Lucifer, there was one angel powerful enough to be the hegemon of Heaven. There was nothing to stop Cas from using his weapon arsenal to enslave the entire planet. The fate of the world balanced on a slim fulcrum.

“Think I’ll need to switch daycares?”

“No. An example will be made.” Angels knew how to exact justice—what they lacked in creativity they made up for in persistence. Dean had seen Cas work near the end of the war, his technique was solid.

“Huh.” At least he wouldn’t have to train another staff to always greet him by his full name (Mr. Christonopolos), or break in for more late night supernatural rug-detailing (pentagrams and salt lines).

“There is only one rule in heaven: do not interfere on earth.”

Dean figured “do not challenge Castiel” made two rules, and two and a half years ago Dean would have helped himself to a righteous tirade. Tonight Dean had estimated taxes waiting, and salmon he got on sale that wouldn’t last. Sam needed more omega-3 in her diet. Dean had other fish to fry.

Samantha chucked handfuls of sand into the air, laughed as the grains scattered and glittered in the slanting sun. It was going to be hell to get out of her hair. But Dean had scrubbed graveyard dirt out of Sammy’s hair after the shoulder injury of ’97 and three times since then thanks to broken ribs. Once left side, twice right. Dean’d scrubbed his demon blood, drool and bile off of the panic room floor on two separate occasions. There were different kinds of filthy.

Dean clapped Cas on the back and went to go play.

--

August 18th, 2012 (Samantha is 6 months old, Sam is 29, Dean is 33)

“Oh my God.” Sam sat back in his chair, blank-faced with shock. He looked like he’d taken a bat to the side of his head; completely gobsmacked.

That tone in Sam’s voice pissed Dean off. It was usually followed by some kind of T-1000 revelation. Dean’s fucking favorite. It wasn’t enough that each new bit of RoboSam history they dredged up reconfirmed that Winchester suffering could occur on two planes of existence at once. No. It also had to trigger some serious caring and sharing time. Perfectly understandable that Dean’s initial “what?” was less than agreeable.

“What, Sam?” Dean prompted again. Sam was going to explore every angle even if it dominoed an irreversible brain fart in Sam’s mind. Relentless asshole. The only way Dean could help was to get him talking.

“I…have a daughter.” Sam’s gaze remained fixed on his computer screen, the only source of light in the motel room other than Dean’s pay-per-view.

“What?” OK, so Dean wasn’t helping yet, sue him. That was enough of a bombshell to send his brain offline for a minute.

Sam flipped the computer around, an email open in Sam’s Agent Roark account. “This woman says she met me—“

“RoboSam.” Dean’s response was automatic, still on autoplay.

“Met me last May. She had a baby in February. I’ll wait while you do the math.”

Dean scowled, but counted anyway. It was a welcome distraction from what this was all going to mean.

Sam continued. “She’s married, and she just came clean to her husband. They are still talking it through but she’s pretty sure he’s going to want to give it up. She thought I had a right to know. In case—in case I wanted it. Her, in case I wanted her.”

And there it was. The djinn promise, the succubus ruse, the taunt of every demon. Family: the famed Winchester weak spot.

Dean thought of Lisa, how she’d put up with his crap for so long, only to have him disappear as soon as the hunt called. Of Ben, who thought a rock-salt shotgun was cool and the man who wielded it cooler. Hunting warped people into bloody origami versions of themselves. On the outside they were sharp, precise. But the unnatural contortions required to make the correct hunter shape weakened the fabric—no other form could be achieved.

Hunting was an all or nothing proposition.

“Sam.”

“I know, alright? Best way to help the kid would be to delete the email.”

Dean looked at Sam, sitting in the ashes of any life he might have once wanted. His broad shoulders were thinning out a little, now that Sam had rediscovered salad and matched his workouts to Dean’s. The light from the computer screen was weak. Dean resisted the impulse to turn on the overhead; more light wouldn’t change the fact that Sam had been salted and burned before he’d even died the first time.

“Babies usually go to good homes,” Sam said. He was trying for hopeful, but it was flat, an admission of defeat. Dean hated RoboSam, but some days he envied him. Need never kicked him in the gut like this.

Dean cleared his throat. “We can keep tabs on her.”

“No,” Sam said. He closed the laptop and stood up abruptly. The feeble light from the TV threw half of his face into flickering shadow. His eyes were dull. “It’s best this way.”

And damn but Dean wanted to reverse his position, retreat and regroup. He wanted to declare they were giving it all up; someone else could save the fucking world for a change. Or that they were going to go kick some demigod ass, that they’d have RoboSam’s by-blows rescued by New Year’s. That they’d turn them into the kids they never were and spend the rest of their lives as Dad and Uncle Dean. Christ, when it came down to it, Dean just wanted Sam to friggin’ smile. Surely he’d have to smile at his own daughter.

“I need a drink,” Dean said.

“Yeah, alright.”

Dean kept his hand on Sam’s shoulder on the way to the car. It wasn’t every night that you gained and lost your fatherhood.

The night was cool for August, and with no moon it was inky and deep. When they reached the car Sam paused. He left a small huff in the air, and Dean knew Sam thought that was the end of it. It probably was. Hunting was not a family business.

Finally Sam turned and Dean’s hand slid off. His fingers lost contact one by one, point by point.

--

August 18th, 2029 (Sam is 17)

Samantha slammed through the front door and marched straight up the stairs.

Dean was still for a moment, glass raised in fake nonchalance as he tried to look like he wasn’t waiting for her return. No surprise that Sam had wanted to drive herself to the clinic; frankly Dean was surprised that she’d even told him where she was going. Sam still hadn’t come down an hour later. Dean went up and knocked.

“What.”

“I’m going for a run. Thought you might wanna come.”

“No.”

“OK.”

Dean hadn’t thought it would work. He walked slowly down the hall, his tennis shoes white against the brown carpet. Dean Winchester in athletic shoes. He was an imposter in his own house. Sammy was the one who liked tennis shoes, growing up; he was always on about correct posture or some shit, even when he was like seven. It was totally annoying and Dean always made sure he had ‘em, even if they were third hand.

“Wait.”

“OK.” Dean didn’t turn as she brushed past him into the bathroom. He heard water running, and then she was by his side, face blotchy but dry.

“Let’s do this,” Sam said. She launched herself down the stairs and out the door. Dean followed.

They lived in a relatively new part of town. It wasn’t the nicest part—the houses were cheap and small, built on throwaway land. The commute was hell but the school district was good. They abutted farmland and fields that had never seen anything but native grass and foxes. America was still big enough.

Sam and Dean ran on the shoulder of the highway; they lived too far out for sidewalks or bike paths. They both took easily to the open road, jogging at Dean’s most comfortable pace. Sam could run faster now, but she matched his stride.

About halfway to their usual turning-back point, Sam started to breathe heavy in a way that sounded suspiciously like someone trying not to cry. Dean didn’t think about it, he just reached over and smacked her upside the head.

Her retaliation was immediate. She whirled around, throwing a wide, shaky punch. Dean blocked it and countered with a jab. He couldn’t do any of the fancy stuff anymore, but a few close-in punches weren’t gonna kill him. Sam had found her footing by then, and her eyes narrowed dangerously when he pulled his jab in at the last second. It was on.

They sparred and scuffled, mixing good form with dirty pool in grand Winchester tradition. Samantha usually fought like a girl, which was just like he taught her. Leverage, speed and cunning more than power, although she had plenty of that for her weight. Kicks and dodges, mostly. But today they kept it close. The whole point with Samantha—and Sammy, of course—had always been the dance.

Dean clipped the side of Sam’s face, got a gut punch in return. He staggered back, hamming it up a little for the cameras, playing the old man card. In truth it wasn’t as much of a ruse as it once was, not that Dean would cop to it. Sam fell for it (like always) and dropped her guard long enough for him to execute an elegant headlock-noogie combo.

“Ahhh, Dad! Leggo!” Sam twisted until they were both off balance. The world tilted, sky blue and field green canting together as they fell to the ground. They hit hard on packed dirt only lightly cushioned by grass. Sam and Dean lay side by side, breathing hard. The minutes passed.

The sky was a cloudless, Midwestern blue. The bugs were loud even at midday. Dean thought about taking Samantha’s tae kwon do tournaments, science fairs, driving mishaps, tops-he-made-her-change, and straight-fucking-As up with him when he went. Sammy was gonna love that shit.

“He wasn’t on the pill like he said he was.”

Dean snapped back to the present in time to raise an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything, Sam.”

“Yeah, but I can hear you thinking from here.”

“First time for everything.”

“What, you thinking?” Sam huffed. “Well, I won’t make you strain yourself. I’ll tell you straight out that you were right about him.”

“Wait. I think my teenager just told me I was right about something. I’m in too much shock to tell for sure, though.”

“Hey, I’m in pain here!” Sam protested. She didn’t sound like she was going to cry. The twinge in his knee and the ache in his back were nothing at all.

“Look, Sam, I know it sucks to find out that your boyfriend is a douchebag—which as I’ve taught you is also another word for ‘male human teenager,’ but. You got the medicine the next morning. No mini-douchebags in your immediate future. Chalk it up to experience.”

“It’s not that.” Sam sat up, curling in on herself. “You just shouldn’t fuck around with this stuff. It’s kind of evil to bring a baby in this world if you don’t want it.”

Dean heard Sam’s like someone did with me as if she’d shouted it. Sam rested her head on her folded knees, arms shielding her ears.

“It was for a few hours, at most, and it probably didn’t even happen that way, Sam.” Dean knew how to use the internet; he’d looked up the morning after pill while Sam was at the clinic.

“Besides.” Dean’s hand found Sam’s arm. She turned, mouth set and eyes downcast. He waited until she finally looked him in the eyes. He needed her to hear him. “You turned out OK. Weird nose, but, you know, OK.”

If Sam’s laugh had a sad edge to it, Dean still counted it as a win.

--

August 18th, 2041 (Sam is 29)

This is Dean. Leave a message.

Hi, Dad! Alright, I know you hate this kind of thing, but suck it up.

Ever since Mary was born I’ve. Look. Noah’s been great—his whole face lights up when he sees the baby. And that’s even after he’s had to change a literal shit-ton of diapers.

And it hit me today, Dad, that’s the way you always looked at me, like I was…I don’t know. The best thing. Even when I was a grade-A teenage bitch. And I F-ed up your car that one –OK, two—times. And I could outshoot you at the range. (Loser.)

So yeah. I never thought much about all the shit you must have gone through, being a single parent. Especially when the money was tight. I’ve been a new parent for—you know—two months and I am already so sleep deprived the only thing keeping me from jumping out the window is that I’m too tired to find it. Do zombies ever get promoted? ‘Cause that’s what I’m gonna be after this.

OK, uh. I know Bobby’s just keeping this charged up at his house for some bizarre reason. Probably because he’s older than dirt. Maybe because you asked him to. Truth is I don’t get you sometimes and now I’m never gonna. I’m never gonna learn more about how it was for you, now that I have something to compare it to.

And that—that makes me sad. And frankly kind of pissed off. But I like to think I knew what was most important about you.

I love you, Dad.

--

Original prompt: Future!fic or divergent at some point, possibly post-5.22. Sam is Dead For Real. Dean is appropriately Settled Down, possibly with an OFC, OMC, or Lisa/any other canon love interest, with Ben or OC kids that aren't Dean's if appropriate. Dean is getting a new baby (biological or adopted according to circumstances). He names the new kid Samuel/Samantha as appropriate. Naturally, Dean has troubles-- simple grief for Sam first and foremost. He thinks about the similarities and differences between his kid and his brother. Not to mention the difficulties of being a father. If applicable, consider the relationship between New Kid and any siblings s/he may have. And please include a bit of nickname drama.

PS: I think this was my first story over 1,500 words!

New Vid: Coin Operated Boy [Meta, Fandom, SPN]

counteragent — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:50:16 GMT

Title: Coin Operated Boy
Vidder: counteragent
Song: by The Dresden Dolls
Fandom(s): Fandom. Supernatural.
Download: 37 mb wmv (sendspace direct link, no ads)
Stream: at Vimeo (or embedded under cut) Password: sammycakes
Beta by danegen , more acknowledgments under cut

Summary: I* want a coin operated boy**
*Part 1: Dean. Part 2: Dean & Fandom. Part 3: Dean & OFC
**ensouled Sam

Feedback of all sorts is eagerly welcomed. Anonymous commenting is enabled.

S6 SPN Primer for those that don't watch SPN: Sam lost his soul this season and is hot but robotic (and arguably not the same character). Dean (and others) really want ensouled Sam back.

Vidder's acknowledgments
A MILLION THANK YOUs TO:
- danegen for the crucial beta
- hollywoodgrrl for the movie-making consultation, contacts, and encouragement
- My fantastic production designer, drvsilla
- deirdre_c for the song inspiration and encouragement even though she did not know my plans. She is awesome with awesomesauce on top and a side of awesome.
- My fabulous cinematographer, L-----. I'm so glad we're friends!!!
- My wonderful star, E----. Thanks for signing on to the crazycakes!
- All the terrific people in fandom who make such wonderful observations, art, fic, and vids
- The cast and crew of Supernatural. Yeah, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really am thankful for all they do. Making TV is flipping hard!

Embedded Video (password sammycakes)

Untitled from counteragent on Vimeo.

Vidder's notes
I had a rough autumn in 2010. I made this vid to avoid going crazy. It was sort of an epic challenge for me (dark humor, mixed POV, lighting and shooting original footage, hiring an actress, open canon, 4+ minute song), but I needed an artistic challenge to keep me from freaking out about the rest of my life.

Bibliography of fanworks used

The clips from the three vids below are used to show how smitten the boys are and how smitten we are with them being smitten
1. Little Lion Man by killabeez . (F-locked, hence no link) Holy cow I love this vid. It has rendered my incapable of listening to that song in public places.
2. Why by el1ie . The beginning of this vid is so tender it just really messes me up in the best way possible. I'm glad I found this vidder this year!
3. The Wild Son by giandujakiss . I'm such a fan of her work. This portrait of Sam is really moving and makes me tear up.

I didn't cite the polls in the section about us wondering about Sam, but the picspam below is gorgeous and worth a look!
4. The Enigma which is post-hell!Sam... picspam by zimshan

The clips from the vids below were used to show fans' emotional reactions to the storylines that split Sam and Dean up emotionally
5. numb by counteragent . This is probably the most emotional vid I've ever made. I really put my pain into it.
6. Kill A Man by zimshan . This vid is brilliant meta and very well crafted. Take a look if you haven't yet!

This clip from the vid below was used to show the lighthearted side of our (and the show's) manipulation of Sam and Dean. It's important to note that the OFC is watching the vid here, so that is what she's thinking about the vid. I'm not claiming anything about the vidders' original intent in this section (as opposed to Part 2, where I'm using the vids as fandom's POV)
7. Channel Surfing by maichan and ash48 . These ladies are beyond brilliant. This is like 2000% percent better than the epidsode it mirrors IMO.

Also shown:
- How the Winchesters got their groove back, comment fic meme. This is one of my favorite fix-it memes. I thought all the stories were exceptionally good.

New Vid: Numb [SPN, Sam study]

counteragent — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 11:11:46 GMT

Title: numb
Song: Numb by U2
Vidder: counteragent
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Sam always bet everything he had. He lost. (Sam character study, S6 focus)
Download: 16mb wmv from my vid website
Streaming here at Vimeo (password samifer) or embedded below

Password: samifer

Untitled from counteragent on Vimeo.

Vidder's Notes:

- I was hoping to rescue Sam in this vid. But the more I worked on it, the more I realized he was going to lose. Then 6X05 happened, and for a moment I WANTED him to lose. I'm back to wanting him to win, but this vid stands as my statement that I'm just not sure it's possible.
- The sex section was partly inspired by deirdre_c 's adorable (and hot) Sex-O-Matic Venus Freak, which is about as far from this as possible in tone and intent but there it is. I tried to match the two biting (RAWR) clips exactly.

New Vid: Everybody Knows [Alias, Jack POV]

counteragent — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 13:05:49 GMT

Title: Everybody Knows
Vidder: counteragent
Music: Everybody Knows by Leonard Cohen as sung by Rufus Wainwright
Download via sendspace: 49.5 MB wmv
Streaming: at Vimeo (password = jack) or embedded under the cut
Summary: Jack

Notes:
- Made for the incomparable yahtzee63 , who is the world's #1 Jack fan and my dear friend. She gave me the song prompt and suggested the Jack POV. {{{Yahtz}}}
- Spoilers for all episodes of Alias.
- Feedback is adored

The password is jack

Untitled from counteragent on Vimeo.

Club Vivid 2009 vidlet: Big Girl, You Are Beautiful

counteragent — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 11:37:46 GMT

Title: Big Girl, You Are Beautiful
Vidder: counteragent
Fandom: Fantasia (the old one)
Music: Big Girl, You Are Beautiful by MIKA (go buy it!)
Time: 2:13
Download: 48.6 MB .wmv from sendspace
Streaming at Vimeo (or embedded below). Password: biggirl
Summary: Big girl, you are beautiful, aka the Epic Love Story of Alligator and Hippo. With bonus pregnant counteragent dancing. Hee.

Notes: This is not my epic Club Vivid vid. (That was last year's multi Ladies Night.) This is a little vidlet idea that I first had on the way to VVC last year. It just so happened that when I finally vidded it, I was 8 months pregnant and could REALLY stand to hear its message.

Embedded Video: password biggirl

Untitled from counteragent on Vimeo.

Yay for CLUB VIVID!!!