Limericks and dares
You stared at him with an unflinching confidence. Sitting in a chair at one side of the table with your palms pressed down on top, your hair swept over your shoulder and face as stern as a pissed off headteacher.
Sam stared back, mirroring your position.
“You only have three lives and then you lose.” you stated.
“I know, I won’t need them. This is my area of expertise, darling.” he smirked.
Smug bastard you thought.
Castiel and Dean sat side-by-side on the end of the table between the both of you, their gazes bouncing back and forth as you took turns to speak. They had placed bets on who would win and who would lose. Dean had put $50 on you winning, but Cas had said he ‘had faith’ that Sam would prevail.
You scoffed. “Well, sweetling,” you leaned forward and brought your hand up to cup your mouth and whispered loudly, “you might want to find something else to excel at, else you might just be left with your deflated ego and a red face.” he narrowed his eyes at you. You grinned and sat back in your chair, lowering your hand to the table once again.
“Fine, no lives. You crack, you’re over.” You dramatically drug a finger across your neck to illustrate and he gave you a bitchy smile.
You started to list off the rules whilst directing your gaze at the persons most likely to break them. “No audience participation, no touching, no commenting on persons involved. We take turns, no interrupting, no criticising, and absolutely NO laughing. First person to laugh loses. Winner gets the beer.”
See, this whole debacle was about the last beer in the bunker that now sat in the middle of the table, awaiting to be drained by the victor. It had been chilled and poured into a straight pint glass, the shining golden colour full of tiny rising bubbles and a clean white head looked like the most tempting thing in the world.
Dean had refused to go out and get some more from the shops as it was pouring down with rain and had been for the past week. Another reason being was that he had managed to snatch the second to last one, leaving you and Sam standing there empty handed and staring at the lone bottle in the fridge. Dean sat there with his beer bottle clutched in his hand as he leant over the back of his chair which he had flipped around to sit more comfortably. Cas sat properly next to him in his own chair, hands folded in his lap.
It was Cas that had suggested the competition to everyone’s shock. Apparently him and Gabriel had previously used this tactic to solve their own personal arguments, and although you were sure Cas didn’t appreciate the concept as much as Gabriel, it definitely would have been a sight to see.
Sam’s hair swished against his jaw as nodded in agreement to your terms, and then he cleared his throat.
“There was a young man from Brighton
Who thought he’d at last found a tight ‘un.
He said, “Oh my love,
It fits like a glove.”
Said she, “But you’re not in the right ‘un.””
The two meerkats next to you swivelled their heads around to see your reaction. You stayed utterly still. Your face never betraying any of the emotions that you had to mentally beat down with a bat to keep at bay. You were a pro, but the look on Sam’s face in contrast to the dirty words spilling from his lips was almost enough to make your crack.
“There once was a man from madras
Whose balls were made of brass
In stormy weather
They clang together
And sparks fly out of his ass!”
Poker face. He didn’t even blink, and it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. He took a few seconds before he opened his mouth.
“There once was a man from Bel Air
Who was doing his wife on the stair
But the banister broke
So he doubled his stroke
And finished her off in mid-air.”
You pressed your lips together tightly and narrowed your eyes a little.
You little fucker.
You would not break. Your will was an impenetrable wall and your face was steel. If you were going to have anything with your life, you would have this. You just had to play dirtier. After relaxing your face, you began again.
“There once was a girl named McGill
Who used dynamite sticks for a thrill
They found her vagina
In South Carolina
And bits of her tits in Brazil.”
Dean covered an abrupt laugh with a cough and covered his mouth with a closed fist whereas Castiel only seemed to recognise the limerick and nodded along.
Sam’s eyes had widened, almost imperceptibly, but you saw it. His adam’s apple bobbed and your heart leapt to your throat. He was going to lose. You were so close, you just had to keep hacking at his defences. He must have seen the light in your eyes, because his fingers started to grip the table slightly. He breathed out of his nose harshly, his shoulders moving with the action and his eyes bored into you.
“There once was a barmaid named Gale
On whose breasts was the menu for ale
But since she was kind
For the sake of the blind
On her ass it was printed in Braille.”
Dean had to bite the fist still at his mouth to try and keep quiet, but you all heard as he let out a distorted squeak, his eyes alight with childish glee. Your chest constricted and you couldn’t quite tame your lips enough to stop the corners of them from turning up a smidge. Sam’s eyes locked onto the movement and when he brought them back up to yours, it was obvious he thought he was going to win. You breathed in deeply and let a wave of calmness wash over your face.
Time to pull out the big guns.
“A young escape artist by the name of Sweeny.
His girl was a bit of a meany.
At the hatch of her snatch.
She had a catch that would latch.
And she could only be fucked by Houdini.”
Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore as it burst from his lips and flung him backwards, almost tipping him off the back of his chair and spilling his drink. Castiel simply looked over at him in confusion, obviously contemplating how it was physically possible to have a ‘latch’ on your ‘catch’.
First of all he had to figure out what a ‘catch’ was.
He would ask Dean later.
The combination of your words, Dean’s outburst and Castiel’s lost face had Sam lightly snorting.
His eyes widened and his large hand slapped over his mouth.
Your smile was positively glowing.
His eyes closed in defeat and his shoulders slumped.
You picked up the glass and proceeded to take a big gulp of the coveted beer. Sam pathetically watched your throat bob as you swallowed down half a pint then smacked the glass back on the table with a loud and satisfied groan. He slapped his hand on the table in outrage making the glass clatter against the wood.
Your other hand shot to the the pint to stop it from moving.
“Hey!” you snapped.
“Damn it!” he slapped his hand down again.
“Awh, c’mon Sammy! Don’t be a sore loser. She beat you fair and square, man. Hell, she’s got a dirtier mouth than me, you did well to last as long as you did.” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, snickering at his innuendo.
Sam whacked his hand away and pointed at Dean accusingly. “I would have won if you hadn’t been giggling like a 13 year old over there with Mr. Clueless.” Sam flung a hand at Cas who sat looking innocent as ever.
“I wasn't giggling.” Cas said snidely. “You laughed, therefore you lost. And now I owe Dean $50.”
Dean grinned over at Cas and held his hand out to receive his prize.
“I don’t carry cash.” Cas stated.
Dean’s hand dropped against his knee. He looked away and shook his head with an unsurprised face. “Figures.”
“I’m willing to make a trade, Samuel.” You suddenly said, the pint glass still half full in your hands.
His eyes snapped to you. “What do you want?”
You tapped your fingers against the glass in a quick rhythm and you tilted your head to the side, looking to the corner of the room as you contemplated how far Sam was willing to be pushed.
“In fact, let’s make it a dare.”
Dean practically jumped up and down in his seat all giddy. Sam lifted his chin and showed no fear. “Name it.”
“Dean, can I borrow your phone for a second please?” you held out your hand to the side without looking over. Dean dug into his back pocket and deposited his phone into your hand. You scrolled through the contacts until you got to a certain name. Putting the phone on loudspeaker you set it on the table in front of Sam as it started to ring.
“Tell him you have a big crush on him. And that you think about him in the shower.”
Deans head was about to spin off if he swung it any faster, his mouth had dropped open and he waited for Sam’s response.
Sam’s face had scrunched up in confusion. “Tell who?”
“Hello squirrel, bit busy at the moment. Can this wait?” Crowleys voice echoed into the room, along with a painful scream in the background that was cut off with a loud slam of a heavy metal door.
Sam almost choked on his own spit. He threw his hand up and looked at you with a ‘WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS’ face.
“Dean?” Crowley questioned.
You pressed your fingers to your smile and pointed to the phone with your other hand. ‘He’s waiting, loverboy.’ You mouthed back to Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes, dug his fingers into his forehead which disturbed his hair, and breathed out a sigh as he started to talk. “Uh-uh, it’s not Dean. It’s Sam.”
“Moose? Why have you got Dean’s phone? Has he gotten into trouble again?”
“No, no listen. I uh- I have something I need to tell you.”
Sam made the mistake of looking over at Dean, who had tears streaming down his pink face as he held in laughter. Sam punched him hard in the arm.
‘Ow!’ Dean mouthed and gestured to Sam whilst looking at you and Cas like he was out of line. Cas rubbed Dean’s arm thinking he was actually hurt, causing Dean to give him a flat look.
You hiccuped trying to stop yourself from cracking up, your shoulders shaking from the strain.
“Well go on then, I haven’t got all bloody day! Speak!”
If looks could kill, Sam would have pulverized you 10 times over. You kicked him in the shin to prompt him.
“I HAVE A REALLY BIG CRUSH ON YOU AND I THINK ABOUT YOU IN THE SHOWER WHEN I TOUCH MYSELF.”
The room was silent. If this were the place for a tumbleweed to slowly roll past, it would be careening behind Sam right now. Everyone stared at the phone with bated breath, waiting for Crowley to say something.
“What?” Crowley’s hesitant voice rumbled out of the speaker.
“I uh- I-I-” Sam stuttered.
“No, don’t say it again!” and then Crowley was suddenly in the room, smacking Sam repeatedly over the head with a cloth covered in spots of dried blood.
“You can’t talk to the King of Hell like that, you bloody imbecile! My demons heard you say that! THEY HEARD YOU, SAMUEL!”
Sam raised his arms to shelter his face from the attack, Dean had dissolved into a giggling mess leaning his arm on an amused Cas, and you were cackling like a witch with wet cheeks.
“IT WAS A DARE CROWLEY I DIDN’T MEAN IT WILL YOU STOP HITTING ME!” Crowley paused his attack and looked at Sam with an incredulous look.
“It-it” you had to try and breathe for a second before you could cut in, “it was me!” you told Crowley.
“You dared him to ring me up, and shout down the phone so all my loyal subjects could hear that he thinks about me when he’s getting cosy with himself in the shower!?” Crowley spat at you.
You sputtered out a snort and then cracked up again, nodding as much as you could as you lost control.
Crowley turned to Sam to see him sitting with his arms crossed, a sour look on his face.
“And what do you get out of this?” he questioned and jabbed a finger into Sam’s shoulder.
Sam reached forward and placed the glass to his lips, drinking down the rest of the pint. He looked up at Crowley when he finished. “Half a beer.”
Crowley’s eyes were murderous for a split second before he closed them. When he opened them again he smiled disarmingly. “Well I hope it was worth it, Moose. I’ll be seeing you in your dreams.” He tapped Sam on the cheek before he disappeared.
Sam turned to look at you with his jaw on the ground. Cas spoke up. “Did he mean that he was going to visit you in your dreams? Why would he want to do that?” his eyebrows drew together and he looked at each of you for an answer. Dean slung an arm over his shoulder and held up his beer. “Sometimes Cassie, when you tell a boy you like him, he might not say it back, but might show you how he feels in different ways.” He jerked his beer in Sam’s direction and nodded jeeringly.
Sam smacked the beer out of his hand and it crashed to the floor, liquid spilling out on the wood. You opened your mouth and watched as Dean stared down at the mess.
He faced Sam with thinly veiled fury in his eyes.
“Jerk.” Sam shot back.
“Ookaayyy! Now we’re officially out of beer, I say we start on the whiskey.” You suggested, rising to go towards the trolley of glassware.
“I’m gonna get you back for this, Y/N. I want a rematch.” Sam turned around in his seat and pointed at you as you poured 4 glasses of whiskey out. Gripping two glasses between your pinched fingers in each hand you slid the glasses to each of them and sat back down.
“Try it, Sammy. Just think about what you’re willing to give up next time. I might not be so nice.” You gave him a feline smirk as you sipped the whiskey. The promise in Sam’s eyes was enough to make you long for the next rainy day.
A/N: The Sherlock fic is on its way, I just couldn’t get this out of my head!