A/N: This story contains non-explicit crack/parody Wincest written by the master herself, SamLicker81 (aka Becky Rosen). I certainly do not intend any offense to Wincest shippers by the travesty that follows. I ain't right in the head.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and I'm not getting paid for this. There is a tiny bit of dialogue taken from Ep. 4.18 - The Monster at the End of This Book
Sam knew how to navigate the internet. In fact, he considered himself to be quite fluent in the separate English dialect that was spoken online. It was simple, really. The number one rule was: If you don't recognize a word or phrase, it's in your best interest to Google it before diving in. Otherwise, you may find yourself seriously regretting it.
Because, despite his crankiness when it came to new technology, Bobby was right about one thing: The internet was 50% porn, 30% pictures of cats, and 19% "What in the hell is that?" Finding that elusive 1% was the challenge.
But Sam was good at meeting that challenge, and his skills were definitely being called into action by his latest research. Which was: Who is Carver Edlund and what's the deal with his bizarrely accurate books?
That search had led him to the internet sensation known as 'fanfiction'. He already knew of its existence, but had never felt the desire to delve into it. Not until he discovered that the Supernatural books had actually inspired a fanfiction following of their own.
So, even though it probably wouldn't help him track down Carver Edlund, he still found that he was curious. The very idea of people going online and writing stories about them was so bizarre and surreal that he felt like he had to check it out.
The problem was, there would be no end to the shit he'd have to take from Dean if he got caught reading this stuff. Fanfiction was widely known to be the land of nerds and girls, two things that his brother already loved to call him. He sure as hell didn't want to give him any more ammunition.
But one glance at Dean showed that he wasn't paying any attention to what Sam was doing. He was lying across the bed, completely absorbed in reading one of the books. Sam could probably sit in front of his laptop and read fanfiction all day, and Dean would never know the difference. He was free to check it out.
The first thing he noticed was the use of several terms he was unfamiliar with. Things like 'slash', 'mpreg', and 'whump'. He followed his golden rule and looked them up, and thank God for that. The slash and the mpreg were two things he definitely did not want to read about, especially since they usually involved him and his brother being 'more than brothers'. There was even a website named MoreThanBrothers. Needless to say, he was avoiding that thing like the plague.
Therefore, he settled on the largest fanfiction site out there. There was a decent amount of Supernatural fanfiction to choose from and - most importantly - it had a 'no porn' policy.
Sam was careful. He wasn't going to run in blind and end up needing years of therapy. That was something Dean might do, but not him. Sam always did his research. It was just the Winchester's horrible luck that led him to making a disastrous oversight.
As it turned out, the word 'slash' and the character '/' pretty much mean the same thing. In hindsight he realized that should have been obvious, but at the time he just didn't make the connection. When he saw a story that advertised 'Sam/Dean' he wrongly assumed that simply meant they would both be in it.
It was all the stupid writer's fault, he decided. They shouldn't have made their title and summary sound so innocent. Of course, maybe the penname should have tipped him off. He had avoided SamDean4Evr69's stories for that very reason. But again… hindsight
The summary had just seemed so harmless.
The Werewolf Hunt by SamLicker81
A hunt doesn't end quite as expected. Sam/Dean
Nothing weird about that one, he'd decided. When did their hunts ever go as expected? Exactly never, that was when. The story just sounded like normal everyday stuff to him, so he clicked.
And at first there was nothing alarming about it. The story was a little overwritten, but there was nothing too disturbing going on.
The brothers stumbled towards their ramshackle motel room, shuddering from the cold that soaked into their bones like icy fingers of despair. Once again it was just the two of them, alone and forgotten in a cruel world.
Sam had Dean's arm slung over his shoulder in an effort to keep his injured older brother upright until they could put the cold embrace of winter behind them and seek refuge inside their latest temporary home.
The short journey from his brother's beloved classic '67 Impala to the door wasn't an easy one for Sam, because he had to bend over double due to Dean's unusually short stature. Although he had no problem supporting the featherlike weight of his slight and quaking form.
Sam let out a snort after reading the last paragraph. He'd had to support Dean's weight more times than he could count and vice versa, too bad the term 'featherlike' never popped into his mind.
The 'unusually short stature' thing was just plain hilarious. He was definitely giving Dean hell for that one. This experience had the potential to provide him with a virtual goldmine of ammunition. He had to keep reading.
"We made it, Dean," said Sam as he slammed the door shut on the howling winds and breathed a deep sigh of relief. "We made it back. I told you I'd get you out of there."
"Shoulda left me," his brother mumbled weakly. "You could've died out there, Sammy. That werewolf bastard could have ripped you to pieces!" he yelled, ending in a choked sob that ripped into Sam's heart deeper than any dagger possibly could.
Sam eased his brother's small and delicate frame down onto the mattress with great care, but the fury snapping in his amber-flecked hazel eyes belied his gentle manner.
"Why do you have to say those things?" Sam asked harshly as his gaze bore deeply into Dean's glimmering jade-colored eyes, piercing his very soul. "I've told you a thousand times. I'm never leaving you. Our bond is deeper than the deepest ocean."
"I'm supposed to take care of you, Sammy," said Dean with tears shimmering in the emerald pools of his vision. "What kind of a big brother am I? I almost got you killed."
Dean grasped Sam by the shoulders and their eyes met for another long moment. They didn't have to speak. It was as if their souls were melded together in an understanding that went far beyond mere brotherhood. The concept of time simply no longer held meaning for either of them.
Okay, this was definitely getting weird. The Dean being tiny thing was still funny, but what was up with all the references to their eyes? Did his really have amber flecks? And there was no way the two of them were that dramatic. Were they?
Nah. No way. This SamLicker81 person was the dramatic one. That was the problem.
This experiment was starting to become way less entertaining and way more uncomfortable the more he read. But against his better judgment, Sam kept going. He wasn't the type to leave things unfinished.
With fingers still numb from the cold, Sam eased their dad's old leather jacket from his brother's shoulders and began to unbutton what was left of Dean's flannel.
Once that was gone, he examined the angry red gashes marring Dean's creamy smooth flesh. As always, he was struck by what a priceless work of art his big brother was. One of the greatest wonders of creation was how such a harsh and brutal existence had forged the heartbreakingly beautiful flower that was Dean.
An extremely loud belch from across the room distracted Sam from the screen in front of him. He looked over to see his brother (the work of art himself) still stretched out on his bed reading one of Carver Edlund's books.
"That was a good one, huh Sammy?" he asked with a goofy grin. He smacked his lips together a couple of times before adding thoughtfully, "Yep. The bacon double cheeseburger is back for an encore. It's never quite as tasty the second time around."
Sam shook his head and returned his attention to the laptop screen. He should have quit reading then and there, but the interruption had thrown him. Jeez! And Dean accused him of being the gassy one.
Now where was he? Oh yeah, how could he forget that line.
…the heartbreakingly beautiful flower that was Dean.
Dean in turn stared up at the chiseled form of his little brother. Once again, time had ceased to exist within the cozy bubble of their rundown motel room. Their dilapidated surroundings didn't matter, because - yet again - reality itself had been trampled under the intensity of their locked and feverish gaze. Nothing else mattered but the two of them.
Dean was mesmerized. It was almost impossible to see anything beyond Sam's strong, broad shoulders. The truth was, he didn't want to see anything else. Sam could block out the very sun and Dean wouldn't miss it at all. Sammy was the sun. He was stunningly exquisite, like the statue of the Greek god Apollo brought to life.
Dean was amazed by the fact that he could still see Sammy's steely muscles rippling and flexing beneath all the layers of clothing he was wearing. Did Sam know that he was the towering embodiment of manhood? Did he know the burning and torrid desires Dean harbored for him in the hidden depths of his soul?
His next words confirmed that he did, they confirmed that their forbidden passions were mutual.
"Dean," said Sam in a voice pitched low and husky with a burning, long-denied need. "Dude! I want you so badly. I want to make lo-"
Sam couldn't click the 'X' on his browser window fast enough. What in the hell just happened? He was never, ever going near fanfiction EVER again. Not even if his life depended on it. Not even if Mr. Delicate Flower's life depended on it. Their lives were weird enough already.
"This is freakin' insane," Dean grumbled, echoing Sam's thoughts exactly. "How's this guy know all this stuff?"
Sam was feeling extremely self-conscious, but he tried to sound casual. "You got me."
"Everything is in here. I mean everything. From the racist truck to - to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude"
Sam cringed. Good God. That was the very last thing he needed to hear right now. He was going to be sick. How was he going to afford the therapy bills?