Title: The
Wichita Witch
Rating: R (language, smut content, freaky
weirdness, etc)
Warnings: None at the moment, other than
utter silliness.
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: I
don't own any of the Supernatural franchise, I just wish I did. I'm
not making any money from this story, just lots of dirty washing.
Summary: Oh heck, it's just for smutty fun, and not
meant to be taken seriously. Oh, and technically some things might
not be accurate, but if I needed a dead character for my story – I
resurrect them, but only cause I have that fictional power.
Pairing:
Sam/OFC (Rachel) at times, Dean/OFC (Tareena/Rina(montecarlogurl87))
at others, with a little John/OFC (Amy(Aimsame)) added in for good
measure.
Spoilers: None, as you guys are way in front of
me already.
Feedback: as long as it's adoring praise,
yes please…if you just want to diss my ass, don't bother.
Seriously though, no nits or shreds for this fic – it's just a
silly bit of fun for some lovely friends
Written: 2008
Author's Notes: It's something spurned in my head from a marathon season one and season two DVD session – how numb can your butt go before you need medical help? The gag reel finally did it though, that for me was kinda a highlight. We won't even mention the hours of pure YouTubey fun, watching the goofy SN fanvids – you gotta check out the drinking game vids (that's an order not a request LOL). Oh, and it's not been beta'd.
Chapter 1:-
Dean checked the road sign. Route 66. Corny but true. They were on a hunt, as always. But this one was different, somewhat sketchy, and turning out to be an awful lot clichéd as of this moment. They'd been picking up messages via the laptop about a witch practicing some sort of hoodoo magic in Wichita, Kansas (well, we've already established this is not a serious story) and Sam had been straining at the bit over this one.
"Look, before you start again, this could be a potentially serious case," Sam mumbled, leafing through their Dad's notebook. "Dad made notes about the Wichita witch, so if he thought there was something going on, well, that's good enough for me." He wasn't about to mention Rachel, especially after all the teasing he'd gotten the first time he'd mentioned her
"I never said a word, Sammy," Dean threw him a sideways look. "Don't go getting all defensive on me."
"Dude, you haven't said one damn word about any of it so how'm I supposed to know what you think." Sam shut the notebook with an audible snap.
"Are you asking me what I think, college boy?"
"Yes, I'm asking you what you think. What do you think?"
"Jeez, Sammy. Why can't you just say what you think, instead of just expecting me to guess?"
"Why do you have to moan all the time?" Sam stared out of his rain-streaked window, almost in a brooding sort of way.
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
And the Winchester world was right again.
Well, until lightening forked the sky and thunder boomed out of the darkness.
"Ok, that's it. We are stopping at the first motel we get to," Dean growled. "One more night ain't gonna make that much difference to the Wichita witch."
"Whatever, dude." Sam liked storms; he always felt they suited his nature. Moody. Melancholy. Morose.
'The Last Chance' loomed up in front of them. The bright gaudy lights of the motel cut through even the thickest of the rain. Without another word, Dan turned into the small parking lot, glancing at Sam's shaking head.
It appeared that the motel was aptly named just from the outside and Sam couldn't help but wonder just how bad the inside was. He was about to walk into a time warp.
"Dude, chalet 25," Dean danged the room key from his index finger, eyebrow arched. "This remind you of The Bates Motel, or is it just me?"
The keychain was at least three times bigger than the key itself, and shaped like a naked pin-up girl. Dean waggled it again and winked. Sam just groaned. They'd stayed in so many shitty motels than it was just run of the mill now.
Sam snatched the key from Dean's finger, taking great delight in twisting it just slightly – enough to make Dean wince. Grabbing his bag, and laptop, Sam headed off towards chalet 25. The place did kinda resemble the old Bates place from the original film.
On opening the door, both boys winced. The décor was circa 1972, and looked a group of frat boys had partied – and puked – in the room.
"Sweet," Dean muttered as he chose his bed. Blue nylon bed sheets and a brown velveteen head board. With Magic Fingers bed relaxation system. Classy. He looked longingly at it as though it were his favorite woman – or ride. He caressed the quarters that bulged in his jeans pocket lovingly.
Sam got the floral paisley bed with the green cord headboard. He rolled his eyes, dumped his bag and carefully placed his laptop of the small table by the window.
"Sam." Dean lay back on his bed. "Sammy!"
"Yeah?"
"You wanna go find us something to eat, Sammy?"
"Do I have a choice?" Sam rolled his eyes. "I really want to check out the site, see if there's been any updates."
"Well, Dude, you can do that just as well with food," he said, nodding and raising his eyebrows.
"Ok, ok, ok. I'm going. Keys…" he held out his hand for the Impala keys.
"Dude, what the f…" Dean scowled.
"You want food? I'm driving. I'm not getting wet just because you want food, so give me the keys."
"Sammy, you get a scratch on that baby and you'd better just hope that I don't catch you," Dean reluctantly handed over the Impala's keys.
Dean took his leather jacket off, dropping it on the floor – its ok cause Sam'll pick it up later – and found the remote for the TV. Lying back on the bed, he popped a quarter in the Magic Fingers box and let the vibrations relax him. Flicking through the TV channels, he was delighted to find a cheesy porn channel and they were showing some lame 80's film with big hair and shiny lycra. He shuddered involuntarily but carried on watching.
He was a little distracted lately by thoughts of Sammy. His interest in this Wichita witch was almost obsessive. His glance strayed slyly to the laptop sitting quietly on the table, and then back to the badly acted porn. But then the laptop drew his eye again and he reluctantly eased off the vibrating bed and ran his fingers across the silkily seductive cover of the computer.
Plugging it in to the mains, Dean switched it on and sat down to explore. Damn it, Sammy had the damn thing passworded. All because of the Busty Asian Babes fiasco. Switching it back off, he quickly put everything back and jumped onto the still-vibrating bed just as it stopped vibrating.
Popping another quarter in the slot machine, he lay back and concentrated on the porn film. He desperately needed to get laid soon, even Sammy was starting to look good.
"Ew!" A nasty taste filled Dean's mouth at the thought of screwing his brother. He hoped Sammy remembered beer.
Sam quickly found a 7-11 and pulled into the lot out front. Inside he grabbed a basket and chucked in chips and dips, ready made big boys, candy bars and a couple of six packs. He quickly paid for them and headed back to the lousy motel.
This was not a night to be out like this, he fumed quietly as he drove back. Since he'd passworded the laptop, he didn't have to worry about Dean surfing the porn sites again. Damn him, sometimes Sam wished he could be more like Dean, laidback and flirting all the time. And tonight? Tonight, he had just wanted to hop back onto the computer and 'chat' with Rachel.
Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.
He parked the Impala outside chalet 25, grabbed the bag of groceries and ran for the door. Stopping dead in the doorway, he was confronted by the sight of a vibrating Dean with his hand inside the open fly of his jeans.
"Awkward," he mumbled as Dean quickly fastened his pants and snapped off the movie all in one go.
"Coulda been more awkward if you'd been another ten minutes," Dean smirked. "Whatcha got there?"
"You can just go wash your hands before you come near me," Sam chuckled. A swift glance revealed his beloved laptop was where he had left it. He lowered the bag of food onto his bed and took his wet coat off, and picked up Dean's, hanging them both on the coat rack inside the door.
Popping open a beer and picking the best pre-packed big boy (steak and horseradish), Sam sat at the small table and plugged in the computer and switched it on. His email winked letting him know he had messages.
They were mostly bulletins from the Hellhound website, but there were a couple from Rachel. And those were the ones he was more interested in right now. But he wasn't about to open them with Dean lurking around.
Dean came out of the bathroom and sat on the bed, rummaging through the bag for food and smiling triumphant when he found chips and dip. Cracking open a beer, he swallowed half the beer in one go. The TV flipped on and Dean channel-hopped until he found some old mullet rock show.
"Anything good?" Dean asked, tipping his beer at the computer.
"A couple of new updates on the Hellhound site, but nothing much. Apart from the Wichita witch, everything seems to be fairly quiet lately."
"Anything from that Rachel-chick?" Dean gave his familiar little smirk another outing.
Sam sighed. Could he have no secrets from his brother? "As it happens, she has sent me an update." He opened the first email, and quickly scanned its contents. "Just saying they still need us there. Hinky things still happening. Strange symbols have been appearing carved into trees, animals disappearing. Normal kind of stuff associated with witches."
"Ahhh," Dean nodded, finishing off the bottle of beer. Paper rustled as he found his large ready made sandwich and hastily unwrapped it, eating as if his throat had been cut.
Sam opened up her second email and stared intently at the screen.
Sam, come quickly. They know I'm onto them. I think I'm in danger. I need you. Rachel.
"Dude, we have to go now. Rachel's in danger." Sam jumped up; snapping shut the laptop and stuffing it into his bag, he grabbed his duffle bag and stood in the doorway.
"Dude, I'm eating. And it's like shit out there tonight." Dean scowled.
"Dude, now!"
