Now the devil’s in a rush And this duct tape makes you hush Hey there Sedona let me cut you a deal I’m a little hungover and I have to steal your soul – Sedona – Houndmouth
The first thing Ketch noticed upon waking was just how stiff his muscles were. Sure, he’d been a little more physical than usual the night before, but he could barely move his legs and his arms… he didn’t think he’d been that rough on his body.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the voice of the previous night’s bed mate call out from the in-suite bathroom.
Ketch attempted to roll over, to lift himself off the mattress, but was unable. All at once the sensation of thick, coarse rope around his wrists, the tape plastered to his lip, and sticky, dried sweat came to the forefront of his awareness. Well, that explained the stiffness, then.
Dean, the man he’d shared the night with, came out of the bathroom, straight razor in his hand. He was wearing the same thing he had been before, a blood red shirt over a dark t-shirt and jeans and a wicked smile that promised all manner of new troubles.
“Sorry about the restraints but I can’t exactly let a Man of Letters out of my sight now, can I?” Dean’s eyes flashed black as he spoke, beating the flat back of the razor against his palm.
Ketch glared at him. That’s the punishment for forgoing proper demon checks with his dalliances then.
“Now, I’m a little short on time, and as much as I’d like to drag this out a little more I can’t afford it. So, here’s the deal; you tell me what I want to know and I slit your throat. You waste my time and I make sure you never walk again and dump your ass in the middle of the desert for the buzzards to deal with. Capisce?
Ketch rolled his eyes and mumbled behind the tape.
Dean huffed in response. “You know, all you gotta do is shake your head.”
Ketch let out an indignant puff of air and nodded. Only then did Dean rip the tape off his mouth, taking a good portion of the skin on his lips with it.
“You bastard,” Ketch muttered, sucking his bloodied bottom lip into his mouth.
“I’ve been called worse,” Dean said, pressing his thumb to the edge of the blade. “Now,” he said, “I know you know where the American base for the Men of Letters is. You’re going to tell me.”
“Lebanon, Kansas,” Ketch said.
“Okay well if you’re…. wait, what?” Dean froze mid-gesture to stare down at Ketch. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said.
“You got a death wish or something man? ‘Cause I gotta say, you’re killin’ my murder high here.”
“If you kill me, I’ll just come back. It’s an inconvenience, at best.”
“You’re not a witch.”
“No, but I happen to know a very powerful on. Have known a very powerful one since the 18th century.”
Ketch smirks as Dean’s eyebrow raises. “Well then I’ll kill them, too.”
“I doubt your King would be too pleased with that,” Ketch said.
Dean’s expression grew tight as his gaze skimmed up and down Ketch’s nearly naked body, spread out like a starfish on the bed.
“You have your location. You can kill me now if you want, though I’d ask you to hurry if you’re going to. I have a schedule to keep, too.”
Dean shrugged, raising the razor to Ketch’s throat.
“Or,” Ketch said, “I can tell you the easiest ways to counteract the magic that makes the bunker impenetrable to demons. And where they keep their best artifacts.”
Dean’s hand stills, and with one swift movement, he moves the razor away from Ketch’s throat and slashes through the rope that binds his right wrist to the headboard.
SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 10 | rosemoonweaver vs. @purgatoan Prompt: snow squall Ship: Dean/Ketch Word Count: 2,983 Tags/Warnings: magic, canon divergent, canon verse, blowjobs, mild sexual content, enemies to lovers, sharing body heat, past child abuse, background Sam Winchester/Mick Davies Summary: Dean and Ketch don’t really get a long. It’s not that he doesn’t like Ketch, he just gets on Dean’s nerves. Getting stuck in a snowglobe together is sure to help matters. AO3 Link
“A witch with a hobby shop. Cute,” Dean said, checking the doorway. It was dark inside, and eerily quiet, but the witch had to be in here somewhere.
Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to him to draw the short straw and get stuck with Ketch of all people. Ever since he and Mick wound up breaking from the Men of Letters they’d been hanging around Dean and Sam like lost puppies. That was great for Sam, having someone to geek out with and discuss different and more ethical methods of monster fighting but that meant Dean got stuck with Ketch most of the time. It wasn’t that Dean hated him, it was just, well, he rubbed Dean the wrong way. He was quiet most of the time but then he’d say something a little too biting and close to home and Dean was stomping out of the room. He wasn’t sure how, but the bastard was great at digging down deep and finding shit. And he was hot and kinda smug about it, and that pissed Dean off a little, too.
Dean walked around the corner, waving Ketch along with him. They walked slowly, so their footfalls wouldn’t cause the floorboards to squeal beneath their feet. The witch had to be around here somewhere, they’d seen her run it. Dean and Ketch took the backdoor while Sam and Mick took the front.
There was a clatter to the left, followed by Sam’s distinctive shout. Dean sprinted off towards the noise, Ketch following close on his heels. They found themselves in the front room, the witch standing in front of the cash register with Sam and Mick pinned to the wall across from her, both hands raised in the air.
“Sam!” Dean shouted.
The witch swung her head around and dropped a hand, causing Mick to fall to the floor. Two things happened at once then, Dean and Ketch fired their guns and the room flashed purple.
Now the devil’s in a rush And this duct tape makes you hush Hey there Sedona let me cut you a deal I’m a little hungover and I have to steal your soul – Sedona – Houndmouth
The first thing Ketch noticed upon waking was just how stiff his muscles were. Sure, he’d been a little more physical than usual the night before, but he could barely move his legs and his arms… he didn’t think he’d been that rough on his body.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the voice of the previous night’s bed mate call out from the in-suite bathroom.
Ketch attempted to roll over, to lift himself off the mattress, but was unable. All at once the sensation of thick, coarse rope around his wrists, the tape plastered to his lip, and sticky, dried sweat came to the forefront of his awareness. Well, that explained the stiffness, then.
Dean, the man he’d shared the night with, came out of the bathroom, straight razor in his hand. He was wearing the same thing he had been before, a blood red shirt over a dark t-shirt and jeans and a wicked smile that promised all manner of new troubles.
“Sorry about the restraints but I can’t exactly let a Man of Letters out of my sight now, can I?” Dean’s eyes flashed black as he spoke, beating the flat back of the razor against his palm.
Ketch glared at him. That’s the punishment for forgoing proper demon checks with his dalliances then.
“Now, I’m a little short on time, and as much as I’d like to drag this out a little more I can’t afford it. So, here’s the deal; you tell me what I want to know and I slit your throat. You waste my time and I make sure you never walk again and dump your ass in the middle of the desert for the buzzards to deal with. Capisce?
Ketch rolled his eyes and mumbled behind the tape.
Dean huffed in response. “You know, all you gotta do is shake your head.”
Ketch let out an indignant puff of air and nodded. Only then did Dean rip the tape off his mouth, taking a good portion of the skin on his lips with it.
“You bastard,” Ketch muttered, sucking his bloodied bottom lip into his mouth.
“I’ve been called worse,” Dean said, pressing his thumb to the edge of the blade. “Now,” he said, “I know you know where the American base for the Men of Letters is. You’re going to tell me.”
“Lebanon, Kansas,” Ketch said.
“Okay well if you’re…. wait, what?” Dean froze mid-gesture to stare down at Ketch. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said.
“You got a death wish or something man? ‘Cause I gotta say, you’re killin’ my murder high here.”
“If you kill me, I’ll just come back. It’s an inconvenience, at best.”
“You’re not a witch.”
“No, but I happen to know a very powerful on. Have known a very powerful one since the 18th century.”
Ketch smirks as Dean’s eyebrow raises. “Well then I’ll kill them, too.”
“I doubt your King would be too pleased with that,” Ketch said.
Dean’s expression grew tight as his gaze skimmed up and down Ketch’s nearly naked body, spread out like a starfish on the bed.
“You have your location. You can kill me now if you want, though I’d ask you to hurry if you’re going to. I have a schedule to keep, too.”
Dean shrugged, raising the razor to Ketch’s throat.
“Or,” Ketch said, “I can tell you the easiest ways to counteract the magic that makes the bunker impenetrable to demons. And where they keep their best artifacts.”
Dean’s hand stills, and with one swift movement, he moves the razor away from Ketch’s throat and slashes through the rope that binds his right wrist to the headboard.
“My god, can you stop that?” Ketch hissed as his mother left the room to prepare some tea.
“It’s not my fault I stress eat. I wouldn’t be chain eating these fucking toffees if you’d let me bring some gum!” Dean hissed back as he stuffed yet another butterscotch toffee in his mouth and tried to shove the wrapper in his his pocket which was now overflowing with them.
“If you stop stuffing your face with sweets I’ll give you something even better to occupy your mouth when we get home.”
Dean didn’t eat another butterscotch the whole afternoon.
(
Send me a pairing and a prompt and I shall write you a three sentence or more fic.)
“It’s over, Ketch,” Dean shouted as the dust settled over what was left of the broken street between the two enemies.
“You say that every time,” Ketch said back, “yet every time you fail to do anything about it,” he strode forward, casting lightning out and away from his body in great, wing-like arches.
They both knew why he wouldn’t end it – after everything they’d been through, what they’d been to each other – but as Dean pulled back and gathered his remaining strength he knew he couldn’t stall the inevitable forever.
SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 10 | rosemoonweaver vs. @purgatoan Prompt: snow squall Ship: Dean/Ketch Word Count: 2,983 Tags/Warnings: magic, canon divergent, canon verse, blowjobs, mild sexual content, enemies to lovers, sharing body heat, past child abuse, background Sam Winchester/Mick Davies Summary: Dean and Ketch don’t really get a long. It’s not that he doesn’t like Ketch, he just gets on Dean’s nerves. Getting stuck in a snowglobe together is sure to help matters. AO3 Link
“A witch with a hobby shop. Cute,” Dean said, checking the doorway. It was dark inside, and eerily quiet, but the witch had to be in here somewhere.
Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to him to draw the short straw and get stuck with Ketch of all people. Ever since he and Mick wound up breaking from the Men of Letters they’d been hanging around Dean and Sam like lost puppies. That was great for Sam, having someone to geek out with and discuss different and more ethical methods of monster fighting but that meant Dean got stuck with Ketch most of the time. It wasn’t that Dean hated him, it was just, well, he rubbed Dean the wrong way. He was quiet most of the time but then he’d say something a little too biting and close to home and Dean was stomping out of the room. He wasn’t sure how, but the bastard was great at digging down deep and finding shit. And he was hot and kinda smug about it, and that pissed Dean off a little, too.
Dean walked around the corner, waving Ketch along with him. They walked slowly, so their footfalls wouldn’t cause the floorboards to squeal beneath their feet. The witch had to be around here somewhere, they’d seen her run it. Dean and Ketch took the backdoor while Sam and Mick took the front.
There was a clatter to the left, followed by Sam’s distinctive shout. Dean sprinted off towards the noise, Ketch following close on his heels. They found themselves in the front room, the witch standing in front of the cash register with Sam and Mick pinned to the wall across from her, both hands raised in the air.
“Sam!” Dean shouted.
The witch swung her head around and dropped a hand, causing Mick to fall to the floor. Two things happened at once then, Dean and Ketch fired their guns and the room flashed purple.
~~~
Dean awoke on the ground. It was freezing, and there was a thin layer of snow under him, soaking into his jeans. He sat up, feeling that familiar metallic twang on magic in his mouth. His head was swimming, and all he could make out around him was a vast expanse of white. Ketch lay next to him, stirring as he woke.
“Where the fuck are we?” Dean muttered out loud. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam. The line didn’t even ring.
“Fuck, no service,” Dean grumbled, stuffing it back into his pants pocket.
“What’s going on?” Ketch asked, rubbing his head as he sat up.
“We’ve been bippity-boppity-booed.”
“Wonderful.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Dean said. “I have no fucking idea where the hell we are.” Dean stood up, shielding his face from the harsh light above them. Everything was washed out and a little too bright.
Ketch rose to his feet and did the same. “There’s a house in that direction,” he said, pointing to the left. There was a cabin off in the distance, a small cluster of pine trees next to it, but nothing else nearby. Dean’s hackles, raised. There was something very off-putting about the landscape but Dean couldn’t yet put his finger on exactly why.
Dean grunted in acknowledgment and the two started off in the direction Ketch had pointed in in silence, the snow crunching beneath their feet.
It only took a few minutes of walking for the earth to start to shake and the sky to grow dark. In an instant, snow was blowing all around them, pelting them in the face and whiting out everything around them. Dean sprinted in the direction he thought the snow. Ketch was next to him, the dark shape of his jacket all Dean could really make out. Hopefully, they wouldn’t wind up separated in the snow, because as much as Ketch pissed him off he didn’t want to be stuck out in the middle of God knows where without cell service all by himself.
It was just about the point that Dean and who he assumed was Ketch made it up the looming shape of the cabin when the snow stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun. It was still dark and Dean was chilled to the bone, but the cabin was ahead of them and that was a bonus.
When they came up to the cabin door, Dean’s suspicion that there was something off paid off.
“Okay, something’s fucked,” Dean said. The door to the cabin had no doorknob, just a painted-on gold circle where one should be. There wasn’t a window or a peephole either, just painted imitations. The windows on either side of the door were vacant of glass; they were just holes in the walls with painted wood that looked like window panes.
Ketch walked towards the door, pushing it with his fingertips. It swung open easily, but there was nothing on the inside, just a single empty room, save for the ugly red and green tapestry hanging off one wall. “It’s plastic,” Ketch said, stroking down the faux-wood grain.
“How the hell can it be plastic?” Dean asked.
“I don’t know, it just is,” Ketch snapped. “It’s a plastic house.”
“Why the fuck would there be a plastic house in the middle of butt fuck nowhere?”
Ketch rolled his eyes. “Well, if nothing else it will provide shelter if it starts snowing again.” And with that, he marched into the house and left Dean behind.
Dean grumbled and followed, unholstering his gun and checking around the corners, just on the off chance there was something in the room with them.
It was awkward for a while, with Dean pacing the room with Ketch just kind of stood in the middle of the room, fussing with his jacket. Dean didn’t have anything to say. What was there to say, really? Wherever the witch zapped them they were stuck for the foreseeable future. And that was just fucking perfect.
“Snowglobe,” Ketch said suddenly.
“Do what now?”
“We’re in a snowglobe.”
Dean stopped in his tracks, glancing out the window and out into the emptiness surrounding them.
“How do you figure?”
Ketch sighed like he was put out by Dean’s question. “We’re in a plastic house in the middle of nowhere. It’s dark but that happened suddenly and there are no clouds in the sky at all. Not ever snow clouds. Also, it snowed suddenly, hard, and then it just stopped.”
“So you think snow globe is the most logical explanation? That makes fucking sense.”
“Weren’t the witch’s victims disappeared for weeks at a time. That witness Sam and Mick interviewed did say he was some place cold and isolated for a week until his wife agreed to the witch’s terms. I’d say this counts as cold and isolated.”
Dean grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.
“If you’d like to test my theory and walk until you run into the glass be my guest, but we were in a hobby shop and now we’re not. If you were a witch where would you toss your attackers?”
“I dunno, I’d just kill ‘em.”
Ketch rolled his eyes. “Yes, that would be the logical thing to do. But if you panicked what would you do?”
“Fuck, I dunno,” Dean said, plopping down on the floor and leaning up against the wall. “Guess it makes about as much sense as anything else.”
The ground shook beneath them then, and the wind picked up again. Snow blew behind them, a few flakes falling in through the window and landing in Dean’s hair.
“And there’s that,” Ketch said, “the earthquake thing.”
“Yeah, but why aren’t we drowning?” Dean asked.
Ketch shrugged. “Magic, probably.”
“I really fucking hate witches,” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
~~~
It snowed off and on in brief spurts while Ketch and Dean sat in silence. There was nothing to do but wait and stew. Hopefully, Sam would figure out what had happened to them and figure out a way to fix it. He had to because there was no way Dean was going to die here, in a damn snow globe after all the shit he’d been through. It was cold as hell, and Dean’s clothes weren’t helping matters. They’d started to dry and his ass was numb from the cold. Ketch’s leather jacket had served him well, though, keeping the water from soaking into his shirt. Lucky bastard.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ketch said, “but I wouldn’t be concerned if I was you. Sam and Mick will take care of it.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt it,” Dean said, “it’d just be nice if they could figure it out asap so we can get the hell out of here.”
“It’s not so bad,” Ketch said.
Dean snorted. “Yeah, okay. We’re just fucking stuck here with no food or water or way to get warm.”
“Well, that’s not technically true.”
“You planning on eating me if I keel over?”
“I don’t anticipate that being a problem. I was referring to getting warm.”
“You gonna pull that stick out of your ass and start us a fire?”
“I don’t see why you’re unnecessarily hostile all the time.”
“Yeah, figures you wouldn’t.”
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out.”
“Is the Men of Letters thing again? Because if it is I’ve already told you I have no love for them or their organization. I’ve already made it as clear as I can that I’m against them.”
“Well, sorry if it takes me a while to adjust to your sudden change of heart. You’ve only been with them for what? How old are you again? Forty-three? Yeah, forty-three years.”
Ketch actually groaned at that. “Well, excuse me for doing that instead of chumming around with the King of Hell, fallen angels, vampires, werewolves, and starting how many apocalypses again? Four? Five? Six?”
“Oh, fuck you. Those were a net good and you know it.”
“For who again? Those who died? The systems that were thrown into chaos?”
“You’re one to talk about the death toll. You were a glorified hitman.”
“From my perspective, I was doing the right thing. I thought it was it was a net good, too.”
“Yeah, well now you know past you is full of shit. So who’s right again?”
“You live in a glass house, Dean. I’ve done a lot of shit things in my life but I’m at least trying at this point. You’ve given monster your trust on a promise, and that’s all I ask of you.”
Dean rolled his eyes. Ketch had a point and that kind of sucked.
“Yeah, fine whatever.”
Ketch rolled his eyes. There was silence for a while before he spoke again. “And it was twenty-nine years, just so you know.”
Dean did the mental math. “So what, you were… fourteen then? You parents start you off late?”
“I didn’t have parents.”
“You were an orphan?”
“I wish.”
Ketch said nothing after that and Dean tried to swallow the awkward lump in his throat. This was exactly why he hated Ketch. Dean would get all righteously angry for a good reason and then Ketch would say something and Dean would feel bad from him. It wasn’t like Dean didn’t understand that the guy had a shitty life; after all the shit Mick told them after the two escaped Kendrick’s he was sure the two of them had been through all kinds of hell. The mental torture alone was enough to fuck anyone up but especially if they were kids. It was bullshit but it didn’t change the fact that Ketch had done some fucked up shit, too. But, as Ketch was so apt to point out, so had Dean. He’d started the first apocalypse, and had a hand in most of the rest. Hell, he’d been a damn demon for God sakes. But having his transgressions thrown in his face all the time sure as hell didn’t feel good.
Probably didn’t feel good for Ketch either.
Dean sunk down on the ground and curled up into a ball, letting that thought roll around in his head as he tried to sleep.
~~~
Sometime during the night (or morning, or whatever), Dean woke up with his teeth clattering. He was trembling all over, rubbing his ice-cold hands against his arms to get warm, but it wasn’t helping. Before he realized what was happening, Ketch was standing on his knees in front of him, pulling him up to a sitting position. Warm hands slid up to pull off his flannel overshirt and Dean grumbled, pulling away.
“Oh, stop,” Ketch said, “I’m just trying to help.”
“”S cold,” Dean said.
“I know. But if you stay in these frozen clothes it’s only going to get worse.”
“I’ll be colder if I’m naked,” Dean whined.
“Body heat,” Ketch said, slipping off Dean’s flannel and pulling the hem of his shirt up and over Dean’s head.
Dean whined, again.
“I know you hate me, but I’m trying to help you here. Despite what you believe I don’t actually want you dead.” Ketch undid Dean’s pants quickly shimmied them down Dean’s legs, stopping only to pull Dean’s boots off. He left Dean then, leaving him to shudder in the cold. Dean made a pitiful little sound, like that of a child. Ketch scoffed and was back before Dean could question it, first draping his leather jacket around Dean’s shoulders before pulling him close so their chests were pressed together and throwing the wall’s tapestry around the two of them.
“It’ll be better in a bit, I promise,” Ketch said.
Ketch was much warmer than Dean was, and he pressed himself close, not even bothering to care about the fact that he was practically on top of Ketch.
“Thank you,” Dean muttered. He was still shaking, but at least his teeth had stopped chattering.
Ketch hummed in acquiescence, the deep reverb of in rumbling against Dean’s chest.
Dean drifted off again, this time much warmer and much more comfortable.
~~~~
Dean awoke slowly, very much aware of the strong body curled into his own. For a brief moment, he was content and comfortable, but the realization that he was on the hard ground with an itchy wall carpet draped over him came flooding back way too soon. He groaned, rolling away to stretch his muscles, his joints popping. Ketch awoke at that, withdrawing and groaning on his own. The two didn’t speak and Dean stayed wrapped up in Ketch’s jacket and the tapestry for a long time before either one of them said anything.
“You know, I don’t actually hate you, right?” Dean asked.
“Could have fooled me,” Ketch said. They were separated, but sitting only a few feet away against the wall.
“Yeah, I know. But I don’t actually hate you. You piss me off, sure, but you’re not that bad, really.”
“I’ll add ‘not that bad, really’ to my list of positive personality traits then,” Ketch said.
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to be nice, here.”
Ketch stared at him, a single eyebrow raised on his forehead.
“Yeah, I know, I suck at it. I’m trying to say that yeah, you get under my skin because you say shit that hits a little too close to home and you piss me off and all that but you’re not a total douchebag and you’re trying so I don’t hate you.”
“And you find me attractive and that pisses you off,” Ketch said.
“Fuck. Dude, really?”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You know, this is exactly the kind of shit I’m talking about.”
Ketch nodded and hummed. “Do you want a blowjob?”
Dean scoffed. “Dude! What? No! I’m not – what the fuck would even – what?”
“I’m just offering. It wouldn’t be a bad way to relieve the tension between us.”
Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You have the most fucked up way of flirting I’ve ever seen.”
“So is that a no?”
Dean snorted and pulled Ketch into a dirty kiss by the scruff of his neck. From there, it didn’t take Ketch long to get his lips around Dean’s cock, and it didn’t take Dean long to return the favor.
~~~
There was something to be said about Sam’s nearly perfect timing. After Dean had had his brains sucked straight out of his dick and gleefully returned the favor, the musky taste of Ketch on his tongue was corrupted by the tang of magic once again. He was out for a moment, only to awake in the bunker’s library, tapestry still bunched up around his waist. There was a large spell book open on the library table, Mick standing over a golden bowl with a jar of powder still in hand.
“Really guys?” Sam said, gesturing between Dean and Ketch who were disheveled but at least covered where it mattered. “What the hell even happened?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam cut him off once again. “You know, I don’t think I want to know. Just, don’t tell me and we’ll consider it a thank you.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But now you know what I go through every time you and Mick sneak off to the showers.”
Sam rolled his eyes and Mick blushed.
“Yeah, that’s right, I know,” Dean said.
Sam shook his head. “I just hope this means you two will stop sniping at each other all the damn time.”
“As long as he stops, we’re good,” Dean said with a smile.
“Me?” Ketch raised his eyebrows, “I’d say he’s much more antagonistic.”
“Yeah fuckin’ right,” Dean said, his voice raising in pitch just a bit, “you’re the one who starts it.”
Sam groaned and stalked out of the room, Mick following on his heels.
This is Not a Blog 