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*is ded from start of school* Send flowers. In the meantime, here's my spn_summergen story.

Title: Stuck
Characters: Dean Smith, Sam Wesson
Rating: PG-13
Thanks to: My beta-reader whitereflection.
Length: 1,700 words
Warnings/Spoilers: gruesome violence, mention of past relationships. Spoilers for episode 4x17, ‘It’s a Terrible Life’.
Author's Notes: Written for chocca2 in the spn_summergen ficathon. She wondered how Sam and Dean would react to getting stuck in an elevator. I wondered why Dean Smith was so enthusiastic about hunting with Sam. This fic is the result.
Summary: Dean should have known better than to voluntarily get into an elevator with Sam Wesson.

Dean jogged down the hallway with a gym bag full of ghost-hunting supplies and slipped into the elevator just as the doors started to slide closed.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said sharply to Sam, placing the bag on the floor behind him and ignoring the security guard. “And where’s my power cable? This PowerPoint has to be ready for a 9 a.m. pitch to Mr. Adler.”

“Uh, sorry, Mr. Smith,” Sam said, following his lead as if they did this all the time. “I couldn’t find any compatible cables up on eighteen, so I thought I’d try the storeroom down here on fourteen.”

“I caught him rummaging around in an old desk there,” the security guard interrupted. “I think he broke in – no one’s meant to have access to that storeroom.”

Dean shot Sam a scathing look. “In an old desk? Why would you look for a power cable in there?” He glanced at the security guard’s name tag. Dean sighed, hoping he wasn’t over-selling it, and shrugged at the guard. “Seriously, does HR just hire these tech support guys off the street? Look – Jimmy, is it?”

The security guard nodded eagerly, his breath suddenly visible in the cold air.

“He’s an idiot, but I really do need his help getting my laptop back online,” Dean said, skin crawling at the temperature drop. “You think you could –”

The elevator dropped a few sickening feet with a grinding noise. The floor indicator flickered frantically between 9 and 10.

Jimmy pulled out a key and used it to open the elevator doors. He reached up to pry apart the doors for the tenth floor, the elevator creaking and groaning as he hauled himself up and out of the car. He scooted around and reached a hand down for Dean, using the other to brace against the outside door. “Come on, sir.”

Dean stepped up to take his hand, and then froze as the elevator cable made a strange whirring noise. Sam clutched convulsively at the back of Dean’s shirt for a moment before letting go.

“I think I’ll just wait for the repairmen to fix it,” Dean said, stepping to the side and jabbing the alarm button on the panel.

Jimmy leaned a little further into the elevator and craned his neck to see Dean. “Are you kidding me? It took them over two hours last time.”

With a shuddering crash the elevator guillotined down another few feet. Jimmy’s head and shoulder hit the floor with a little thump. Sam made a guttural noise as he was sprayed with blood. The elevator creaked again and slid a little further towards the ground far below.

“That ghost dropped the elevator and cut him in half, in half, what the fuck!” Dean yelled, crammed into the corner of the elevator, as far away from both the twitching remains of Jimmy the security guard and the blood-soaked Sam Wesson as he could get.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He blinked at Dean, stripped off his yellow Sandover polo, and used it to scrub the blood off his face and neck.

“And you,” Dean screeched at him. “Why are you not freaking out? That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and yesterday I watched a guy stab himself in the neck with a damn pencil!”

Sam draped his shirt over what was left of Jimmy. He gave a queasy little smile. “I kind of am. But you know those weird dreams I’ve been having? They’re pretty, umm, graphic. I don’t think this even cracks my top ten list.”

Dean gaped at him. “Your life sucks.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam muttered. He pulled out his cell phone. “No service. Try yours?”

“There’s never a signal in the elevator,” Dean said, but checked anyway. “No.” He stretched his Blackberry out towards the doors, and then to the ceiling, just in case. Still nothing. Damn. He hated being out of touch. What if there was another problem with the Nelson account, or the Hang Seng started to rally overnight? Okay, stop. Prioritize. First, escape from the killer elevator. Second, look after the accounts. Then he could worry about what was left of his portfolio.

“Give me a second here,” Sam said, crouching down next to the body. Dean quickly turned to study the panel. “No good, the shoulder mike won’t broadcast without the part on his belt,” Sam declared, standing up. “I never heard him report in. Are there two security guards on at night, or just one?”

Dean shrugged. “I only ever saw one guy at the desk when I worked late, so we might be stuck here until morning. Unless the ghost decides to drop us the rest of the way,” he said, making a piss-poor joke of the thought that’d been screaming around his head since the elevator first fell.

“Nine floors? I hope not.” Sam grimaced, then shook his head. “At least you brought the ghost-hunting stuff,” he said, pointing to the gym bag in the other corner of the elevator. “We should get the salt out, in case Sandover shows up.” He edged around Jimmy’s remains, crouched down, and opened the bag.

“The pokers, too,” Dean suggested. “Not much room to swing in here, but we could maybe jab the ghost with one.”

Sam handed over a poker from his position on the floor.

Dean experimented. He could reach the entire elevator from his corner, like Errol Flynn in a pirate movie, but it felt off-balance. He gripped the poker half-way along its length and tried a short stabbing motion. That seemed more natural. He looked down to find Sam smirking at him.

“What? I wasn’t exactly on the Stanford fencing team, but I’m trying here.”

“Stanford?” Sam asked, breaking into a grin as he scrambled to his feet. “I went to City College!”

They traded a few stories about life in the Bay Area.

“So why’d you move out to Ohio,” asked Dean.

Sam shrugged. “Broke up with my girlfriend, Madison, and decided I needed a change of scenery.”

Dean’s last girlfriend, Cassie, had broken up with him four years ago, tired of his 90-hour work weeks. Since then he’d been reduced to a few hook-ups a year and his own right hand. Tuesday night he’d seriously considered contacting a professional on Craigslist. The possible impact on his career if he were caught was the only thing that’d stopped him.

“I should have a picture of her in here somewhere,” Sam said, pulling out his cell phone.

“What? No, stop, don’t do that,” insisted Dean. “Are you nuts? Showing pictures of your family or girlfriend always means you die next in the movies.”

Sam snickered. “Guess I won’t risk it then,” he said. “Hey, what games do you have on your phone?”

“None,” Dean answered.

Sam stared at him as if he’d suddenly declared he was Santa Claus. “Seriously? Not even Brick Breakers?”

“I didn’t want any distractions. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Gotta keep my eye on the ball,” Dean said, spewing clichés. As if he cared what some tech support drone thought of him.

“Well, some of my games are two-player,” Sam offered.

Soon they were sitting back-to-back in the corner of the elevator where they could stretch out their legs without stepping on Jimmy, keep an eye out for the ghost, and pass the cell phone between them for shots in Midnight Pool.

A couple of hours later Sam owed him $1200. “I thought you never played this before,” Sam complained.

“I haven’t, I swear. It’s fun though!” And it was. Dean had a headache from caffeine withdrawal, and his face felt both oily and dry without his nightly moisturizing regime, but getting stuck in an elevator with Sam and half a dead guy was more fun than he’d had in years. Which said something about his life.

“Just my luck to get trapped in an elevator with a mobile phone pool hustler,” Sam grumbled.

By six thirty that morning Dean was rambling his way through a story about teaching his little sister, Jo, to swim in a dingy motel pool while Sammy slumped half-asleep against him.

There was a shrill scream from the tenth floor. Sam bolted to his feet and looked wildly around the elevator, poker in hand.

Dean cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey! Call 911! We’re trapped in here!” He stood up next to Sam. “You all right?” Sam nodded groggily.

Dean packed the salt and pokers away in the gym bag and hoped no one asked too many questions about it. “Remember the story we came up with for why we were all in the elevator?”

“Yeah … why’re you checking your watch?” Sam asked.

“Wondering if, once they get us out of here and we finish talking to the cops, if I’ll still be able to make my nine o’clock with Mr. Adler.”

“I was just gonna call in sick,” Sam said.

“Can’t do that,” Dean replied, tucking in his shirt and tugging it as straight as possible. There was a damp patch on his shoulder where Sam had been leaning, but the emergency suit jacket in his office would cover that. “I need to present that PowerPoint at the meeting, then I’ve got a phone conference with the Berlin office at noon, and I haven’t even started the spreadsheets for it yet.”

“Oh,” Sam said, looking him over carefully. “Well, get out of here as early as you can, and get some sleep, okay? Then we can meet back at the storeroom at midnight to finish off the ghost.”

“Deal.” Dean held out his hand and they shook on it.

A voice from above called out, “We called 911, help’s on the way. Are you okay down there?”

“Yeah,” Dean yelled back, “We’re fine. All except Jimmy – he kind of went to pieces!” His shoulders shook with laughter, and Sam just shook his head.


( 11 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 10th, 2010 03:19 am (UTC)
Sorry you are ded! Will remember to bring salt and iron next time I see you. wish you were coming to Chicago

Great story, an alternate version!! But still Smith and Wesson. :) And gotta love pool-hustler Dean.

Sep. 10th, 2010 01:17 pm (UTC)
Thanks, Alex! Even when he's a suit, Dean's a natural pool hustler.

You two'll just need to have twice the fun in Chicago, so I can enjoy it vicariously!
Sep. 10th, 2010 03:54 am (UTC)
Ah ha haaaaa, this was a great late night treat for me! Thank you!
Sep. 10th, 2010 01:11 pm (UTC)
Glad you enjoyed it, vikingprincess!
Sep. 10th, 2010 02:01 pm (UTC)
There are so many reasons I loved this. I love that Sam isn't freaked by all the blood but Dean is, and that Dean's drive is still there, just channeled differently. I love how Sam is willing to take a day off, but Dean isn't (and that Sam worries for him). I love that Dean beats Sam at phone pool. And how Dean tries to maintain his distance, stay detached.

And to give a few specific examples, writing-wise:

With a shuddering crash the elevator guillotined down another few feet.
LOVE how perfectly this describes it!

“And you,” Dean screeched at him. “Why are you not freaking out? That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and yesterday I watched a guy stab himself in the neck with a damn pencil!”

Sam draped his shirt over what was left of Jimmy. He gave a queasy little smile. “I kind of am. But you know those weird dreams I’ve been having? They’re pretty, umm, graphic. I don’t think this even cracks my top ten list.”

Dean gaped at him. “Your life sucks.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam muttered.

All the dialogue is spot on, but I especially loved this bit.

So yeah, kind of liked it. ;)

Sep. 11th, 2010 11:00 pm (UTC)
Oh yeah, the 'guillotined' description made me dance a few steps of the happy dance, when I came up with it. I'm glad that Sam's concern for Dean, and Dean's doomed attempt to keep his distance from Sam, so he won't be hurt, came across. Thanks so much for the detailed feedback, mizface!
Sep. 11th, 2010 06:36 pm (UTC)
Very nice. Still felt Sam and Dean. Yet not. Subtle and hard to do. You did it right! And Dean's dark joke at the end was spot on.
Sep. 11th, 2010 11:12 pm (UTC)
Dean Smith fascinates me, as an expression of who Dean might have been with a more normal upbringing. All those Good Son impulses, expressed in a societally appropriate way, you know? And I liked looking for places where the real Dean might bleed through. Like that joke at the end! Dean has strategies for dealing with stress, and utterly inappropriate humor is one of them. ("But I didn't shoot the deputy!")

Thanks for the feedback, sandy!
Sep. 29th, 2010 11:59 am (UTC)
'getting stuck in an elevator with Sam and half a dead guy was more fun than he’d had in years'

I loved this story. They are both pretty cool and detached, and Dean even does his usual bitching about things that happens to them.

You got yourself a new fan!
Sep. 29th, 2010 01:27 pm (UTC)
both pretty cool and detached
Aside from Dean FREAKING OUT when Jimmy gets cut in half, yeah. ;-) I'm glad that Dean felt somewhat like himself, and that you enjoyed it. Thanks for the comment, minebellatilli!
Sep. 30th, 2010 03:07 am (UTC)
Yeah, but that freakout was short-lasting. And I got the feel he was more freaked out by Sam's non-freakout ;-) It was more like bitching than an actual freakout?
( 11 comments — Leave a comment )