5Ever

Nov. 6th, 2013 03:58 pm
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[personal profile] tikific
Title: 5Ever
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Benny, Cas, Michael, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing
Word Count: ~1,000.
Summary: Sam, Dean and friends are in a boy band managed by the not-so-slightly corrupt Crowley. But their lead singer, Kevin, splits for a solo career just as the band is headed for their big break. The search is on for a worthy replacement.
Notes: I place the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of my DCBB artist and her evil cohorts of evil. Also, the best joke is totally stolen from a Metalocalypse episode. I apologize to all injured parties, sorry/not sorry.





“Can I get my fucking tea or what?”

“No whiskey, Dean,” said Sam over the intercom. He was at the mixing board behind the thick glass panel in the cramped control room.

“My throat feel like a cat took a shit in it.”

“No booze, Dean,” repeated Sam, who looked to Cas for support.

Cas was sitting cross-legged on top of the mixing board, casually smoking a Marlboro Menthol. “I like cats,” he said in a voice that seemed slightly too low for his slim frame.

“You're not supposed to smoke in here, dude. Come on!” protested Dean. “My thoat.” He began dramatically clutching at his neck.

“Can you put it out, Cas?” sighed Sam.

Cas dropped his cigarette butt into a beer can. And then he calmly took out his pack, extracted another cigarette, and lit up.

“Asshole,” grumbled Dean. “Whose idea was this fucking open audition anyway?”

“Crowley,” chorused Sam and Cas.

Dean was rubbing his throat again. And then he leaned over and grabbed a guitar and started randomly strumming it. “How many fucking duets have I sung? I'm so fucking sick of this fucking song.”

“Tell us what you really think, Dean. You agreed to do this!”

“Was I drunk?”

“Yeah.”

Dean tapped his fingers on the frets. “You're my brother, Sammy. Aren't you supposed to talk me out of stupid shit I think of when I'm drunk?”

Sam looked at Cas. The very edge of his mouth quivered up, just a bit. Which was about the limit to Cas's expressiveness. Sam checked his watch, and then held it up to the glass so Dean could see. “This guy is late. May not make it.”

“My throat is burning.”

“No booze, Dean!”

“And where the fuck is Michael?”

“I don't know. Out … doing stuff, I guess.”

The door to the recording studio suddenly burst open and a big, bearded guy stormed in. “Hey, is this the right place?” he asked, his voice tinged by a warm, southern accent.

Sam peered at a clipboard. “Are you … Benny Lafitte?” he asked over the intercom.

“Sorry, brother, I got turned around.” The guy stuck out his hand towards Dean. “You must be Dean?”

“I must be,” grumbled Dean, ignoring the outstretched hand and setting down his guitar. He grabbed a set of headphones and slapped them on Benny's head. “Get ready for your audition. Sam, set up the backing tracks.”

“Dean-”

“Start running the backing tracks now, I ain't got time for this shit.”

Benny arched an eyebrow. “Care to tell me what we're singing?”

“Ain't No Mountain High Enough. Either you know it, our you're a douche bag.”

The red recording light blinked on, and the backing tracks began playing. Gripping his headphones, Dean began to sing, low and soulful, his voice rough from wear, “Listen baby! Ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough baby-”

“If you need me call, me no matter how you are, no matter how far-” Benny began, in a strong, clear tenor.

Inside the booth, Sam and Cas shared a startled look. Benny was good. No, in fact, he was fricking awesome.

“Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't river wide enough, to keep me from getting to you babe!” they belted together.

They traded verses back and forth, each one stronger and clearer. Sam was getting goose bumps, and Cas was letting his cigarette burn to ash. Neither one said a word: they barely breathed.

“My love is alive, way down in my heart, although we are worlds apart-” They stormed through the last chorus, and the last repetition.

And then the music went silent, the track faded, and Benny and Dean were left in the recording studio, staring at one another, breathing hard, Dean looking like someone who'd just woken up from a dream.

Dean removed his headphones and set them down.

“Dean. That was amazing!” raved Sam. “Your voices are perfect together.”

Benny took off his headphones.

Cas tapped out the ash from his cigarette in the beer can.

Sam leaned forward. “Benny, you were slightly late on the first chorus,” he said over the intercom. “You think we could get one more take-?”

“No,” stated Dean flatly.

“Dean-”

“No more takes. Benny and I are gonna go find us some whiskey.” Dean put his arm around Benny's shoulders, and the two men left the recording studio, slamming the door as they left.

“Dean! DEAN!” yelled Sam, but to no avail.

He looked at Cas, who shrugged.

“You're not supposed to smoke in here you know?”

“Why not?”

“It'll stunt your growth.”

Cas's mouth did that slight flicking thing.

“Guess we've found our fifth.”

The door to the recording studio burst open again.

“Dean-” Sam started, but then he saw that it was not his brother.

“I'm here,” bellowed Michael, who had a girl on each arm. “Let's get this party started!”

Sam put his head down on the mixing board.
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