#candy coded misery

“Ow,” you cry, but it’s quickly replaced by giggles, having already tried that line of self-defence. It ended with a pillow on your left thigh because Dean saw right through it. Though how could he not when you hit him square between the eyes seconds before?

You don’t even remember how this started. One minute you were snuggled on the flimsy motel mattress, the dusty duvet bunched up below your back. Next, your hair is tousled. The bedding, disheveled on the floor. You’re strapless on one side and panting hard against your heart, thrumming in your chest from all the action.

“You gonna call it, sweetheart?” Dean asks as he straddles your waist, leering over you with a triumphant grin. He’s got two pillows in his hands now, though one’s squished under the arm holding himself up off you. It tickles your wrist with a wayward string.

You shake your head no, and it only makes you dizzy. That’s what happens when your spine teeters halfway off the bed. Your neck strains and both shoulders now ache as they strive to keep you upright, but there’s no way you’re giving in.

It would take a tremendous kick of your legs without Dean’s weight holding you down to flip yourself over and somersault onto the carpet below. You do your best to reach for his knees instead, but he swats your fingers away with his cushiony bounty. You lost yours to the floor the moment you slipped off the side.

“Nuh-uh. Say uncle.” He snatches your wrist before you lose your balance, but in doing so he swivels his hips. There’s no mistaking the half-formed tent he pitches when he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Is that another Pez in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” you taunt. Suddenly, you’re free to move as you please.

The bed dips by your calves, whose blood returns in such a rush, you’re only noticing the loss now that they’ve lost Dean.

His bare toe scratches your skin. This time it really does hurt, but you keep your mouth shut and you roll over, palms hitting the carpet; your stomach, the duvet. You arch your back like a cat, or rather a dog with its tail between its legs because now you remember—you took it too far. This all began with you teasing him (and Sam) about the latest find of Supernatural merchandise.

In your defence, it’s not everyday someone you know gets their likenesses pasted onto Pez dispensers, but that’s what’s happened here.

Sam’s plastic locks are surprisingly accurate; sideburns and eyebrows included. Dean’s hair is a little too blonde compared to the real-life counterpart, but the packaging came decorated with a miniature Baby, plus, his candy shaft is as green as his eyes.

Realism aside, it’s just another thing tied to Chuck’s books you’re not a part of, having already been excluded from the covers, the main storyline, and other random bibs and bobs you’ve come across.

It’s not to say you want a candy-sized version of yourself; nor are you saying you’re not a part of the fictional universe either. You’re just never mentioned and certainly never a love interest for either Sam or Dean.

You right yourself once more as Sam perks up from his laptop, a questioning look on his face searching your eyes, or soul, could be either. There’s pity there, like he’s already figured out what’s really wrong. You turn to Dean, but he’s not interested.

He huffs at you, pouting. Flushed cheeks, arms crossed, he avoids your gaze. “S’not funny,” he says, though the silhouette of your interrupted excitement says otherwise, still protruding beneath the crotch of his fleecy pants.

“It was a little funny,” you mutter, but defeated, stand up, crossing the room to the bathroom to splash the disappointment away from your brow.

You’re disappointed in yourself; you just won’t admit it. Not aloud, and certainly not to them. You’d rather play the child who’s been told what they can’t have, but insists and continues to act not so accordingly.

So is Dean though, but you’re giving it to him like always. You wash away your qualms with the cool water. He brushes it off with indignation and a stiff upper lip.

The bubbling splash against the basin drowns out the noise from passing cars, trucks, and Sam’s insistent tap tap tapping of the keyboard. He’s started up again like nothing’s amiss.

You fix your hair, readjust the girls in the tank you’re wearing and step back out into the room straight-faced to join Sam at the table.

Unlike Dean, he smiles at you when you settle into the seat, looking you up and down.

Your cheeks burn as much as the stiff you doused yesterday did; lit up like a Christmas tree in the middle of November. Your gut flips—you shouldn’t have eaten the bargain bin refills. Even the plastic versions of your beaus are disappointed in you—all hundred and nine of them.

“Everything okay, baby?” Sam shuts the lid of his laptop. That pitiful look fits him like a glove.

Just like that cat who arched her back, the hairs on your neck prickle. “Yeah,” you say.

You’re a little too casual in finding interest in your nails. It’s one of many Sams or them. Two open packets are in the centre of the table. Two of Dean, too, staring back at you, while the real one continues to pout.

Let’s be real, though. You gained the emotional resilience of a toddler in a matter of minutes yourself. You can add a few more for the pillow fight, and not going back to talk to the man or kissing and making up.

But maybe that’s what you need? That’s where things were headed after all, and these men need to release a lot of pent-up energy after the week you’ve had.

You, well, it’s pent up, but it’s not exactly energetic, and “Truce?” you say to Dean with a sigh.

“All you had to say was uncle.” He smirks, and from where you’re sitting, there’s forgiveness in his eyes.

He stands up, padding over to you, still semi-interested, pillow also still in hand. It winds up on your head, his weight on top of you again, only it redistributes to your side when he swoops down for a kiss.

“We really need to ditch these pieces of junk,” he then says, leaning forward to pick up the smaller version of himself. “Any luck finding out who made ‘em?”

“The factory’s in Akron.” Sam taps his laptop with the length of his hand.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“You were busy.” Sam deadpans.

Your neck prickles again. But that could have something to do with Dean meshing the pillowcase further into the strands of your hair on account of the shrug he’s no doubt pulled to match that airy chuckle

“That’s what—six hours from here?” He straightens up. “We can leave first thing.”

“What exactly do you plan to do when we get there?” You exchange a look with Sam.

Dean’s a little too happy about finding the joint, and you know from his tone it’s not because the search has ended.

“We’ve got the grenade launcher in the trunk.” He racks an imaginary shotgun that cues a long pause and a longer look.

“I’ll distract him; you hide it.” You wink at Sam, but he’s not too pleased with that, either.

“No way. I’m not letting you two have all the fun.”

“Well, if you weren’t so hellbent on finding the—”

“Dean. It’s in your best interest, too,” Sam interjects before refocusing his gaze back on you. “Did he get you all hot and bothered, and that’s why you came here? Need me to give you what you want and not some game, baby?” he adds.

However Sam does that is always one hell of a mystery. One minute he’s all lore and research, the next he’s spoiling you with words and fleeting affections. You’re not sure who’s the bigger softie between him and Dean, but you know who’s got the bigger ego.

“We were getting there until she compared me to him.” Dean clacks his plastic self against the shaft.

“I wasn’t. Just thought it was funny.” You tilt back ‘til you’re catching Dean’s gaze from below. “Your cock is harder than that shitty thing.”

“Damn right it is.” He steals another kiss.

“So’s mine.” Sam stands up and takes the few steps closer to you. His sweats also carry a bulge. “We gonna take this back to the bed, baby girl?” He reaches for your hand and tugs it.

And just like that, you’re left with both Sam and Dean on either side of you. There aren’t any Pez dispensers in sight, but two very interested cocks waiting to be touched and fucked with.

You straightened up the bedding before you let them lie down, of course. The pillows returned to their usual spots even though you aren’t using them. Your head gets cushioned by Sam’s muscular arm instead.

He presses into your back, while Dean, who’s hooked his leg over your side, pays attention to your chest, and the only thing exposed to the chill in the air.

“Sorry for earlier.” You poke Dean again, only this time you aim for his paunch.

“S’nothing,” he says, grabbing your wrist and shaking it playfully.

“Well, I’m kind of glad you broke it up.” Sam’s fingers trace down your side.

He dips underneath the elastic of your panties. They don’t go any further than the dip in your hip. You’d be left disappointed again, only his lips brush your neck when he says, “Means I’m not missing out.”

And you’re not missing out either.

“Please.” Dean snickers, helping you cup your right tit up to his mouth for him to place a chaste kiss there. “You’d finished up your search well before we started hashing it out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You weren’t?” Dean‘s fixation on your boobs ebbs to stare over at his younger brother.

His hands are still there, his lips are still there, but they hover, blowing warm air over and leaving you more and more frustrated things’ll never kick off.

“I was just making sure there weren’t any other variants we should be worried about.”

Wait. “There’re others?” You perk up, and now Dean’s looking at you, until he’s not. It’s amazing how fast his eyes can glitter between any look to one of mischief.

“You want more of us? Isn’t this enough?” He uses his thigh to shake you, rolling your hips closer to him, his appendage and further away from Sam.

“Dude.” Sam sits up, and while you’re expecting another knee-jerk reaction from Dean, there’s a shared tell you’ve missed because he loosens his hold enough for Sam to coax you upright, too.

They’re sharing yet another bout of silent communication. You don’t miss another shiner from Dean’s eyeball moving at warp speed between the two of you.

“What?” you say.

“What’s going on, baby?” Sam asks. “This isn’t like you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Earlier, sweetheart.” Dean’s hand smoothes your thigh. “With the Pez and the mistreatment of good-looking plastic.”

“You like them now?”

“Do you?” Sam ticks his jaw.

“They’re just shitty pieces of plastic.” you relent.

You could snort the candy up your nose and it still wouldn’t burn the back of your throat, but that’s not what this is about and they know it. They’re both still looking at you, Dean a little confused, but Sam searches your soul again as you recapture your fascination with your fingernails.

“Were there other variants?” you whisper.

“Just us—wait, do you—” Sam blinks, “want to be a Pez?” His mouth twitches, unsure whether to smile or frown at his conclusion.

And he’s right—sort of. You’d like to think you’re special enough to warrant a refill or your likeness on one of their backing cards instead of Baby, but it goes deeper than that.

“No.” You shake your head. “I mean—I don’t want to be some bargain-bin candy the kids don’t want.” And that’s way worse considering what you should’ve said.

Dean’s brows are working aerobics on his forehead now. “What?” he tries through all the spluttering. “We’re wanted.”

“But you’re not,” Sam says, and, well, bingo.

“I know it’s stupid,” but admitting it doesn’t make it any easier, either. You’re a part of their lives, and you shouldn’t care what fans of a book think or don’t think about you.

“It’s not stupid.” Sam’s powerful arms pull you into his lap, encompassing you with a squeeze that rivals Dean’s on a good day. “You feeling left out? Is that it?”

“No,” though, contrary to what you’ve just said, you snuggle further into his warmth.

“Why would you even—” But Dean shuts up thanks to another unseen look from Sam, no doubt. Though if you’re not even trying to see them in the first place, like the tree falling down with no one around, does it even count?

“I don’t want to be a Pez,” you reiterate aloud for Dean’s benefit.

“But?”

“But.” You nod, giving yourself enough time to form the words you need to say. “Dean’s being written as a ladies’ man; you’re being thrown hookups, too.” You look up at Sam, but it lasts little when Dean pipes up even more flustered than before.

“Hang on,” he says. “You telling us you’ve read more since last time?”

“I don’t need to.” It’s all over the discussions on the forums. Of course, you only went searching since you found the stupid Pez, but they don’t need to know that. Your spiraling is on you—at least it was.

“It’d just be nice if Chuck acknowledged you two are taken, is all.”

“Sweetheart, the douchebags who read that stuff think we’re fictional, and we’re together.” Dean motions between himself and Sam. “Dunno ‘bout you, but it’s a struggle to share you sometimes. Why would I wanna—”

Dean shakes his head.

“You don’t like sharing?”

You’re sitting upright now. Sam insists you stay on his lap with a firm grip around your middle, but it’s just one blow after another. You continue to pull away.

“No, hey,” Dean says. His hand on your thigh moves to your hips. “If it means I get even a piece of that ass, I’m willing to do my part. But I’d rather not share you with the rest of those asshats. Chuck’s fan club can—”

“You’re ours, baby. We love you.” Sam jostles you back to where he wants you to be. “Y’know, I was checking you hadn’t been turned into one of those things, too,” he adds.

Though it’s probably not what they want, your face is lighting up like a jack-o’-lantern now, dopey grin included. “You checked?”

“Yeah. And there weren’t any,” Sam confirms. “But that’s a good thing. Dean’s eyes are terrifying.” He chuckles, but it’s soon muffled by a pillow to the jaw that gets you, too.

You snatch it up only to launch yourself and it into Dean, who falls backwards with an exaggerated groan.

“Careful, I still got a dispenser in my pocket and I ain’t afraid to use it.” His arms wrap ‘round you, holding you in place before a second pillow cuts you from behind.

“Hey,” you squeal, but Sam’s tackling you to the side.

Once again, your shoulders teeter off the edge of the bed. Unlike before though, you’re a little more elated. Your insecurities, still dormant, but your heart, willing to let sleeping cats lie for now as long as your life stays filled with the two life-size dispensers who keep you on your toes.

“Do you have one for me, too, Sam?” you say with a wider grin.

“Only if you’re good for us, baby,” he whispers into your ear, shuffling to let you feel him. “You wanna taste?”

Yeah, Pez dispenser and Winchesters. Wouldn’t you like to - ✌️

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