#implied transnatural bc everything i write is

[jdotsodomite]

The Sacrifice

a ~deancas honeypot crack!fic~ feat. a pink sequined crop top because it’s what we deserve (read on ao3 or simply below the cut)

“Cas, I can’t let you do this.”

Sam’s eyebrows jump up, and he is instantly on high alert from where he was innocently crossing the hallway on the way back to his own bedroom. So maybe he snacks peanut butter straight from the jar as a midnight treat. That’s protein, which is healthy, right?

“Dean.”

Cas’ voice is its usual deep timbre, and he sounds as exasperated as usual, maybe even a touch more so. Sam really needs to jump into this line of fire; after all, who knows what stupid self-sacrifice Cas is cooking up this time. Is latent eye sex with Dean really worth it? Whelp. Sam really didn’t want to think about that so closely. He’s kinda wishing he had just gone to sleep after all. Peanut butter, you cruel mistress.

“No, Cas. You’re…it’s enough, what you’ve done for me. I can do this. Let me take the hit for once.”

“Are you even listening to me? I want to do this, Dean.”

Yep, that’s the familiar sound of his brother, scoffing. Sam is wondering whether it’s smarter to let this all play out, but it’s him who’s gonna have to pick Dean off the floor if anything happens to Cas. Again. And, of course, he also loves the dude. Just…not quite…like Dean does.  

“You can’t be serious. Cas, buddy…”

That’s the last straw for Sam. If he has to hear his brother call Cas “buddy” one more time…well, it’s right up there with calling him a “brother”. Is it too late for Sam to consider putting himself up for adoption?

Forgetting to set aside his jar of peanut butter, he storms the room, half-dipped spoon held aloft. “You two, I swear, if Cas is once agai-”

Two pairs of eyes meet his.

Well. Uh. Sam’s witnessed plenty an awkward silence. The whole drinking demon blood situation was….up there. This is, arguably, worse.

For some reason, this latest situation of self-sacrifice seems to involve…a whole number of… clothing items? Squinting a little, Sam steps closer, to the immediate belligerence of Dean. Okay, Sam needs to get a prescription for glasses one of these days. Reading lore isn’t easy on the eyes and someone needs to research while the two idiots do whatever it is they do.

“Cas, does your shirt say…’baby slut’?”

Sam is elegantly avoiding the fact that the shirt itself is a crop top. And pink. Also, covered in sequins. Potentially paired with stone-washed, cut off denim shorts, but Sam isn’t going to risk the squint necessary to be sure of it. Maybe this is all a very strange fever dream. Or an extremely fucked up djinn?

“Yes, it does, Sam. Now, could you explain to your brother that I am not, in fact, ‘letting myself potentially be visually violated by strange men’ for this case?”

Those. Sure were air quotes. Definitely Cas, then. Sam still wants out of this room, right now. Badly. “Uh. Well, you see, Cas. When I said we were going to go for a honeypot strategy earlier I didn’t really mean…”

Cas squints. The super squint. Worse, there’s a touch of head tilt in there. Sam is full of regrets.

“Are you insinuating I am not ‘hot enough’ for the honeypot, Sam?”

He’s really done it now. And worse, Dean has unfrozen in the other corner. “Is that what you’re saying, Sam? You don’t think Cas could do it?” He sounds genuinely offended. Whatever intricate ritual this is, Sam did NOT sign up for it.

“I was mainly joking in general, so…” Suddenly, a highly pertinent fact occurs to Sam. “Wait. Dean, are those….fishnets? And where did you leave your shirt?!”

Dean isn’t even flustered. “Well, I can’t let Mr. Baby Slut over there take point on this one now, can I?”

Sam finds himself missing the cage. Dearly. Minus all the psychological and literal torture, at least no crop tops were involved. Unlike his brother, he has no desire to see that much of Cas. “Right. So. I’m just gonna. Leave you guys to it. And pretend this never happened. Maybe bleach my eyes a little.”

More scoffing from Dean. “That’s what you get for interrupting a private conversation, Sammy.”

…yeah, Sam had that one coming.

(Probably also Dean’s smug look in the morning when he enters the kitchen, neck and collarbones littered with hickeys. And, of course, wearing the baby slut crop top.)