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Title: Keep On Tryin' To Turn That Trick
Author: Spacemonkey
Fandom: Supernatural/Metallica
Rating: R
Word Count: 1284
Warnings: Underage/Prostitute Dean, Wee!Chesters
Pairing: Dean Winchester/James Hetfield
Summary: Dean had been twelve the first time he’d visited Los Angeles
Notes:
I had to write it. I've been trying to do it for a year and a half, because come on, Dean would so put out for James Hetfield. And finally, I got there. Hmm. Title is taken from the song 53rd & 3rd, because duh.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of Supernatural, any associated entites, or any copywrited material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copywrited material.
Dean had been twelve the first time he’d visited Los Angeles, and his dad had insisted they were there for a purpose. In and out, get rid of the spirit, maybe get a cash bonus, and split to wherever the road took em, had been his words. Close enough, anyway.
Sam had wanted to see the sights. Dean had too, but he would never say so, but Sam had been eight and hadn’t realized that in and out meant exactly that.
They stayed an extra day, and Dean tried not to look interested while he walked over famous names, or when Dad pointed out a guy he recognized from a show that had aired in the 70’s, but turned out to be a valet. “Maybe it is the same guy?” he’d suggested, and Dad had shook his head.
“Can’t be.”
“Have you seen him in anything recently?”
Dad had just grabbed Sammy’s hand and crossed the street, and Dean had followed reluctantly, wanting to get another look at the possibly once famous valet. They’d caught a movie, seen a guy dressed as a girl, and ducked their heads into shops that asked hundreds for a freakin shirt.
“No one has that sort of money,” Sam had announced, and Dean and Dad had agreed.
They’d walked a long way back to the car after finding a cheap dinner, and it was dark by then. Dad hustled Sam quick, hand on his shoulder, and Dean had seen Pretty Woman enough times (twice, and only because Caleb had a thing for Julia Roberts) to know that the group of ladies they were walking past, were hookers.
“Let’s go, dude,” Dad had said, smirking when Dean had fallen behind.
“But-” Dean had started, and Sam had stopped and looked behind them.
“They’re gonna get cold,” he decided.
“Are you legal?” Dad had asked, ignoring Sammy completely, and Dean thought about this, then turned to Sam.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll warm up when they have their legs wrapped around-”
“Dean.” The warning came swift, but Dean had just smirked and walked on, listening to Sam ask what he meant. They’d left L.A. two hours later, and split to wherever the road took em.
Dean was fifteen the next time he visited Los Angeles. They were in town for a case, and it was gonna be a long one, Dad said. It was all he’d told Dean, and it was school holidays, so Dad didn’t really care about the length of time. “I don’t have to put you through school here, at least.”
It had only been three days into the case when Dean had learned that Dad was leaving. “Further out then L.A. You and Sammy can’t come.”
The usual. Dad had said he’d be back in a week, at the latest, for a stop before getting back into it. That had been three weeks ago, and Dean dialled Caleb’s number for the third time that day, getting nothing. He slammed the phone back onto the hook, and tried not to cry.
“This is stupid,” Sam said, glaring at the phone booth.
“Shut up, I’m thinking.”
“I’m just saying, it’s stupid.”
And I’m just saying shut up!”
They walked in silence back to the hotel, and Dean watched Sam eat his cereal for dinner, because it was all they had left. He gave it some more thought, and then he watched Sam wash his bowl out and waited for his brother to fall asleep before he walked out of the room.
It wasn’t a long walk, coupla miles before he found something useful. Dad hadn’t exactly picked the nice part of town, after all. Hotel was cheap, not cheap enough though, and Dean knew they only had a couple of nights left before they were both out on the streets.
The guys name was Mike. “You legal?” he asked, as way of introduction.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Dean said. Mike sized him up, then shook his head and laughed.
“Whatever. Doubt anyone is gonna care either way, with that face of yours.”
Dean had been nervous. He had a gun, he knew how to handle himself, protect himself, but this was different. It hurt, the first time. And the second. And he’d had to use his gun the third time, two nights later, when his friend had been too friendly.
It had only been a knee cap, after all.
“It’s good money, though, ain’t it?” Mike said a day later, and Dean had to agree. He pushed down that feeling in his stomach, the one that wondered if Sammy was okay, if his dad was dead, if Caleb was dead and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone, if maybe he’d get dead tonight, and leaned into the nearest car window, smiling because it’s good money, after all.
“You legal?” the man asked, and Dean froze. Dad was not going to believe it. Because he’d never hear about it, to be fair. But still, they’d listened to The Black Album enough times that it was wearing out (and had taken up current residence in Dean’s Walkman, since Dad had insisted he was sick of it), and Dean had a shirt or two stuffed into his duffel back at the hotel, second-hand because they were expensive as all hell. That was as close as he thought he’d get, but there he was, face to face with a guy named James, and Dean nearly pissed himself. “I’m talkin’ to you, kid.”
Dean cleared his throat. It would be damn good money. He could take Sammy out somewhere nice. Get him food that didn’t taste like an ashtray. Maybe even get enough money to get across the country to somewhere that felt like home. “Would it stop you if I wasn’t?”
“It depends,” James answered, eyes scanning the scene in front of him, and Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah? On what?”
There was a long stretch of silence, and Dean straightened up, sure that James was gonna take off suddenly, dragging Dean with him, and yeah that would probably hurt a lot. But the car stayed there, and James looked at him. “Are you or aren’t you?” he said gruffly, and Dean could smell the alcohol. It was like talking to his dad after a case gone wrong, and Jesus, did Dean not want to get into those sorts of issues. He smiled.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he said coolly, and then he was in the car with the windows down and the radio up high, and Dean couldn’t believe how normal the vehicle was. “You don’t do convertibles?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He wanted to ask more, but there was too many words trying to get out, and he was sure they would all come out at once, in a crazy jumble. Plus, the music was really loud, and it was a station that his dad liked to listen to. Really, weird. So Dean leaned back, turned his head to James, and smiled.
“You’re kind of pretty,” James said finally, almost apologetically, and Dean had so not been expecting that. “Don’t usually, but-”
“You shouldn’t drink and drive,” Dean cut in, and the glare he got kept him silent for the next ten minutes, and loud once they reached their destination.
Two hours later, he walked out of the hotel room with a bundle of bills and the continuing stream of holy shit running through his head. But it was enough, and the next morning he sat down next to Sam on the Greyhound and muttered something unintelligible when Sam asked to borrow his Walkman.
Sam frowned. “You’re being weird.”
“Just,” Dean sighed, and shifted in his seat. “Shut up, Sam.”
Author: Spacemonkey
Fandom: Supernatural/Metallica
Rating: R
Word Count: 1284
Warnings: Underage/Prostitute Dean, Wee!Chesters
Pairing: Dean Winchester/James Hetfield
Summary: Dean had been twelve the first time he’d visited Los Angeles
Notes:
I had to write it. I've been trying to do it for a year and a half, because come on, Dean would so put out for James Hetfield. And finally, I got there. Hmm. Title is taken from the song 53rd & 3rd, because duh.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of Supernatural, any associated entites, or any copywrited material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copywrited material.
Dean had been twelve the first time he’d visited Los Angeles, and his dad had insisted they were there for a purpose. In and out, get rid of the spirit, maybe get a cash bonus, and split to wherever the road took em, had been his words. Close enough, anyway.
Sam had wanted to see the sights. Dean had too, but he would never say so, but Sam had been eight and hadn’t realized that in and out meant exactly that.
They stayed an extra day, and Dean tried not to look interested while he walked over famous names, or when Dad pointed out a guy he recognized from a show that had aired in the 70’s, but turned out to be a valet. “Maybe it is the same guy?” he’d suggested, and Dad had shook his head.
“Can’t be.”
“Have you seen him in anything recently?”
Dad had just grabbed Sammy’s hand and crossed the street, and Dean had followed reluctantly, wanting to get another look at the possibly once famous valet. They’d caught a movie, seen a guy dressed as a girl, and ducked their heads into shops that asked hundreds for a freakin shirt.
“No one has that sort of money,” Sam had announced, and Dean and Dad had agreed.
They’d walked a long way back to the car after finding a cheap dinner, and it was dark by then. Dad hustled Sam quick, hand on his shoulder, and Dean had seen Pretty Woman enough times (twice, and only because Caleb had a thing for Julia Roberts) to know that the group of ladies they were walking past, were hookers.
“Let’s go, dude,” Dad had said, smirking when Dean had fallen behind.
“But-” Dean had started, and Sam had stopped and looked behind them.
“They’re gonna get cold,” he decided.
“Are you legal?” Dad had asked, ignoring Sammy completely, and Dean thought about this, then turned to Sam.
“I’m pretty sure they’ll warm up when they have their legs wrapped around-”
“Dean.” The warning came swift, but Dean had just smirked and walked on, listening to Sam ask what he meant. They’d left L.A. two hours later, and split to wherever the road took em.
Dean was fifteen the next time he visited Los Angeles. They were in town for a case, and it was gonna be a long one, Dad said. It was all he’d told Dean, and it was school holidays, so Dad didn’t really care about the length of time. “I don’t have to put you through school here, at least.”
It had only been three days into the case when Dean had learned that Dad was leaving. “Further out then L.A. You and Sammy can’t come.”
The usual. Dad had said he’d be back in a week, at the latest, for a stop before getting back into it. That had been three weeks ago, and Dean dialled Caleb’s number for the third time that day, getting nothing. He slammed the phone back onto the hook, and tried not to cry.
“This is stupid,” Sam said, glaring at the phone booth.
“Shut up, I’m thinking.”
“I’m just saying, it’s stupid.”
And I’m just saying shut up!”
They walked in silence back to the hotel, and Dean watched Sam eat his cereal for dinner, because it was all they had left. He gave it some more thought, and then he watched Sam wash his bowl out and waited for his brother to fall asleep before he walked out of the room.
It wasn’t a long walk, coupla miles before he found something useful. Dad hadn’t exactly picked the nice part of town, after all. Hotel was cheap, not cheap enough though, and Dean knew they only had a couple of nights left before they were both out on the streets.
The guys name was Mike. “You legal?” he asked, as way of introduction.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Dean said. Mike sized him up, then shook his head and laughed.
“Whatever. Doubt anyone is gonna care either way, with that face of yours.”
Dean had been nervous. He had a gun, he knew how to handle himself, protect himself, but this was different. It hurt, the first time. And the second. And he’d had to use his gun the third time, two nights later, when his friend had been too friendly.
It had only been a knee cap, after all.
“It’s good money, though, ain’t it?” Mike said a day later, and Dean had to agree. He pushed down that feeling in his stomach, the one that wondered if Sammy was okay, if his dad was dead, if Caleb was dead and that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone, if maybe he’d get dead tonight, and leaned into the nearest car window, smiling because it’s good money, after all.
“You legal?” the man asked, and Dean froze. Dad was not going to believe it. Because he’d never hear about it, to be fair. But still, they’d listened to The Black Album enough times that it was wearing out (and had taken up current residence in Dean’s Walkman, since Dad had insisted he was sick of it), and Dean had a shirt or two stuffed into his duffel back at the hotel, second-hand because they were expensive as all hell. That was as close as he thought he’d get, but there he was, face to face with a guy named James, and Dean nearly pissed himself. “I’m talkin’ to you, kid.”
Dean cleared his throat. It would be damn good money. He could take Sammy out somewhere nice. Get him food that didn’t taste like an ashtray. Maybe even get enough money to get across the country to somewhere that felt like home. “Would it stop you if I wasn’t?”
“It depends,” James answered, eyes scanning the scene in front of him, and Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah? On what?”
There was a long stretch of silence, and Dean straightened up, sure that James was gonna take off suddenly, dragging Dean with him, and yeah that would probably hurt a lot. But the car stayed there, and James looked at him. “Are you or aren’t you?” he said gruffly, and Dean could smell the alcohol. It was like talking to his dad after a case gone wrong, and Jesus, did Dean not want to get into those sorts of issues. He smiled.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he said coolly, and then he was in the car with the windows down and the radio up high, and Dean couldn’t believe how normal the vehicle was. “You don’t do convertibles?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He wanted to ask more, but there was too many words trying to get out, and he was sure they would all come out at once, in a crazy jumble. Plus, the music was really loud, and it was a station that his dad liked to listen to. Really, weird. So Dean leaned back, turned his head to James, and smiled.
“You’re kind of pretty,” James said finally, almost apologetically, and Dean had so not been expecting that. “Don’t usually, but-”
“You shouldn’t drink and drive,” Dean cut in, and the glare he got kept him silent for the next ten minutes, and loud once they reached their destination.
Two hours later, he walked out of the hotel room with a bundle of bills and the continuing stream of holy shit running through his head. But it was enough, and the next morning he sat down next to Sam on the Greyhound and muttered something unintelligible when Sam asked to borrow his Walkman.
Sam frowned. “You’re being weird.”
“Just,” Dean sighed, and shifted in his seat. “Shut up, Sam.”
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