It's a dangerous thing when I've got time to kill.
I've been looking back through some of my oldest stories and decided to revisit little old relic called 'Ba (only the second fanfic I ever wrote). I have a lot of fondness for this little effort, but when I looked back on it, I felt that I could do so much more with it. It's also so full of Brit-isms, it's quite embarrassing when I look back on it now.
So, I've examined it, pulled it apart, put it back together, put a bit more meat on it's bones and made the brothers sound more like two Lawrence boys than two London boys, and I am happy to present the new, improved version of 'Bait' to whoever wants to read it!
B.T.W ... I've left the old story 'Bait' on my profile because some people had favourited it and in case anyone wanted to read that too!
Research is boring; the boys get distracted and discuss one of Dean's more unusual conquests.
Disclaimer: don't own, sigh ...
"So," Sam slowly closed his laptop with a sigh, "it looks like one of us will have to act as bait to draw the Succubus out before she gets her claws into some other poor sap."
Dean nodded, rolling his eyes in impatient resignation; "well, it'll have to be me then, won't it."
Sam gave him a questioning look in return.
"I mean," Dean continued; "unless she's some needy, touchy-feely, new age, hippie chick succubus who's into angsty, emo geeks and enjoys meaningful conversation before, during and after sex, you're not gonna be her type, are you?"
Sam folded his arms with a frown. "So I suppose the fact that you're a shameless man-tramp who will bang anything with oestrogen makes you her type then, does it?"
Dean glared back at Sam with a look of wounded indignation; "Sam, firstly, I am every woman on the planet's 'type', even the fugly Supernatural ones; you should know that by now," he continued, jabbing his finger into sam's sternum petulantly; "and secondly, I take exception to your comment about banging anything with oestrogen; I'm a strictly one-species guy, dude. Girl sheep have oestrogen, and I have never banged a sheep, nor do I ever intend to."
Sam shook his head in amusement; "well, there was that time in Colorado …" he offered.
"Dude, button it," Dean's voice carried a hint of menace.
"With the Shetland Pony …" Sam continued gleefully.
"Sam ... you are one syllable away from a fat lip."
Sam's grin stretched wider with every disgruntled word his brother managed to splutter in his direction.
"Anyway", Dean snapped, "that wasn't my fault; I can't be held responsible for anything that happened on that friggin' hunt; that goddamn witch cast a spell on me!"
Sam was struggling to hold it together.
"Only because you ran her cat over," he pointed out, weakly fighting the urge to bust out laughing.
"It was an accident," Dean moaned; "but typical skanky witch, the bitch wouldn't listen when I tried to explain."
"You reversed the Impala over it, dude!" Sam took great pleasure in reminding his brother.
Dean glared darkly in Sam's direction.
"I love animals Sammy," he muttered irritably; "I didn't wanna hurt the friggin' cat. I could never be cruel to any of God's little creatures."
"Well, I'm one of Gods little creatures," Sam was quick to remind Dean; "you don't mind being cruel to me."
"You don't count" Dean snorted gruffly; "pain-in-the-ass kid brothers are fair game."
He glowered as Sam still struggled to contain his mirth.
"Anyway," he snorted, "shall we get back to the matter in hand? Or are you just gonna sit there making smartass comments and giggling like a girl?"
Dean pulled his chair over to join Sam at the tatty motel table which groaned under the weight of the huge grimoire they had borrowed from Bobby's library, and together, they began to pore unenthusiastically over it's dusty pages.