let me hear your voice tonight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alexseanchai) wrote2010-05-05 11:13 am
alexseanchai) wrote2010-05-05 11:13 am
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Apparently it's traditional in commentfic memes to write random fic in response to comments that are top-level by mistake? So this comment at the meme ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ohsam's running contained this sentence: "Curse you, Sam Winchester. Stop fretting about the apocalypse and take some responsibility for RUINING MY CAREER." So. Um.
Title: I Will Be With Thee
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The apocalypse and its buildup ruined Sam Winchester's career.
Pairings: Sam/Brady, Sam/Dean
Warnings: None
Word Count: 250
Abigaíl pressed the intercom. "Mr. Brady, Mr. Winchester."
"Send him in," Eric's voice answered, and Sam opened the office door and closed it behind himself. "So, Mr. Winchester, what's the progress with the Clayton case?"
"Jack shit and the cup to drink it with. You'd think people would have a little less trouble understanding that a problem on the hospital end of the vaccine distribution is the hospital's fault, not ours, and therefore we are not liable." Sam snagged the bottle of bourbon out of Eric's desk drawer, put down two paper cups from the break room, and poured two shots. "How's things here?"
Eric took his cup, tapped it against Sam's, and drank. "Some days I swear you and I are the only people at this place who can find our asses with both hands and—Sam!"
Sam grinned, using his hands on Eric's hips to lever Eric out of the chair. "You need a break as much as I do."
Sam turns, hits his hand on something hard. The desk? A light clicks on, Dean's hand on the switch, Dean in the other bed in the crap motel room. Sam drags in a breath, another, and decides he really does need a drink. He goes over to the fridge, grabs two beers, holds one out to Dean, sits next to him and they clink bottles and drink. Dean doesn't bother asking what the nightmare was about. Sam doesn't bother going back to his own bed.
ohsam's running contained this sentence: "Curse you, Sam Winchester. Stop fretting about the apocalypse and take some responsibility for RUINING MY CAREER." So. Um.Title: I Will Be With Thee
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The apocalypse and its buildup ruined Sam Winchester's career.
Pairings: Sam/Brady, Sam/Dean
Warnings: None
Word Count: 250
Abigaíl pressed the intercom. "Mr. Brady, Mr. Winchester."
"Send him in," Eric's voice answered, and Sam opened the office door and closed it behind himself. "So, Mr. Winchester, what's the progress with the Clayton case?"
"Jack shit and the cup to drink it with. You'd think people would have a little less trouble understanding that a problem on the hospital end of the vaccine distribution is the hospital's fault, not ours, and therefore we are not liable." Sam snagged the bottle of bourbon out of Eric's desk drawer, put down two paper cups from the break room, and poured two shots. "How's things here?"
Eric took his cup, tapped it against Sam's, and drank. "Some days I swear you and I are the only people at this place who can find our asses with both hands and—Sam!"
Sam grinned, using his hands on Eric's hips to lever Eric out of the chair. "You need a break as much as I do."
Sam turns, hits his hand on something hard. The desk? A light clicks on, Dean's hand on the switch, Dean in the other bed in the crap motel room. Sam drags in a breath, another, and decides he really does need a drink. He goes over to the fridge, grabs two beers, holds one out to Dean, sits next to him and they clink bottles and drink. Dean doesn't bother asking what the nightmare was about. Sam doesn't bother going back to his own bed.