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Dean yawns and opens his eyes. First thing he notices that's off is the fact that the car is moving and he isn't behind the wheel. Dean drives. That's just the way it is. He doesn't remember, but some serious shit must have gone down if Sam's doing the driving.
Dean rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean?"
Okay. Problem number two. Sammy's voice had come from behind him. From the back seat of the car. So who the fuck–
Dean's neck snaps around. "Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you driving my car?"
Sam snorts a laugh so hard Dean can feel it poof against the back of his neck.
Bright, greenish-blue eyes that are sorta, well...glowing, cast a sideways glance at the elder Winchester brother. "Look close," the redhead smirks. "You know who I am."
"This is so going to fuck with your mind," Sam chortles, shaking his head.
Dean looks at the man driving his car and sizes him up. Red hair, kinda spiky on top, with a ponytail so long that—so far as Dean can tell—the man's actually sitting on it. Right there shoulda been a hint-and-a-half for his ass that something is desperately wrong here. Nobody wears mullets anymore except for professional wrestlers, Renaissance Faire geeks, and lead singers in bad 1980s cover bands.
Okay, so the red mullet with the lonnnng ponytail. Greenish-blue eyes that kinda sorta glow. Black suit, the jacket zips instead of buttons. White shirt, rumpled and not tucked in, some unidentifiable stains here and there. One looks like coffee, another ketchup. Blood, maybe. Skinny, kinda pretty. For a guy.
The redhead turns his head to regard Dean. "Figure it out yet?" he grins, lets go of the steering wheel for a second to point to the scarlet tattoos hugging the curves of his cheekbones.
Sam doubles over on the back seat, fucking howling with laughter.
Dean blanches ghost-white, head shaking slightly. "No. Just...no."
Reno grins, all Cheshire Cat-like, and pats the Impala's dashboard. "Nice wheels you have here."
A bright white smile and the sound of Sam guffawing are the last things Dean's conscious of before he faints dead away.
***
"Jesus," Dean moans, scrubs one hand down his face in an attempt to wake up. "Sammy, where you at?"
"Right here, Dean," Sam says. He flicks on the light next to the chair by the motel room window. Dean, on the queen-sized bed, props himself up on his elbows, squints at his brother through the glare of the lamp and a pounding headache.
"Man, what the fuck happened?" Dean shakes his head a few times to try and force away the cobwebs, regrets it when it makes the headache worse.
"You don't remember?" Sam asks cautiously.
Dean's getting a little annoyed. "If I did, would I be askin'?"
"Hey," comes a voice from the bathroom, "you guys got any beer or anything in that 'fridge?"
Dean's eyes go wide and he shoots a look at his brother. "Who the fuck–"
"Reno," Sam replies quickly.
"Reno?" Dean, pretty much awake now, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "Who the fuck is Re–" And then it hits him. The long, red mullet hair, the fucked up glowy-greenish-blue eyes, the black suit, the messy white shirt, skinny, pretty. For a guy. "You mean from Final–"
"–Fantasy VII," Sam finishes. "Yeah. That Reno."
"Some fucked up shit, ain't it, yo?" Reno says as he comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a smile on his lips and a towel cinched around his waist.
Dean stares at the redhead for a moment, then returns his eyes to his brother. Sam just shrugs. "Remember that chick at the bar? The one with the black hair down to her ass and the legs up to her neck?"
"Yeahhhh," Dean says slowly, head tilting like a Golden Retriever trying to comprehend quantum physics. "What's she got to do with–"
"Witch. Like, a real one," Sam says.
Reno snickers, lights up a smoke, and starts rooting through bags and luggage until he finds the bottle of bourbon Dean has stowed in a backpack. "Now we're gettin' somewhere."
"I still don't remember," Dean says, warily eyeing the mostly naked character from a video game who sure as fuckin' shit looks like a real guy. And pretty. For a guy.
"You drank an awful lot, Dean." Sam relaxes back in the chair, legs spread, hands clasped behind his neck and a grin on his face. He hadn't drunk nearly as much as his brother so he'd seen what went down, knows what the rules are and hell, at this point he's sorta enjoying this. Especially the view of the redhead sauntering around the room with a smoke in one hand, a bottle of booze in the other, and what's obviously a great fuckin' ass barely hidden under that bath towel. "You started an argument with her. Video game related."
"I think she won, Dean," Reno smirks. He climbs up onto the bed, gets comfy back against a pillow, stuffs his smoke between his lips to free up a hand to grab the remote. He flicks on the television, flips inhumanly rapid through all seventy-some cable channels then snaps it off again. "No porn? That's fucked." Reno goes back to swigging bourbon, smoking, and grinning at the brothers.
Dean rests elbows on knees, holds his head in his hands and studies the carpet for a moment. He's not sure he really wants to know the answer to this question. "What'd I do, Sam?"
It's all Sam can do to get the words out between bursts of laughter as he says, "You bet her...Jesus, Dean...that if the Final Fantasy guys were real, that you stand...holy shit..that you stand a better chance of getting them into the sack than she does."
Reno, toying with the towel-knot on his hip, takes another shot of bourbon and shrugs, "Okay, so maybe you won, Dean." A sly grin breaks out on the redhead's very pretty face. "Depends on your point of view, I guess."
"I said that?" Dean's incredulous.
Sam turns into a pile of giggling goo and slides clean out of the chair onto the floor, he's laughing so hard. "Yeah, you did. You bet her a hundred bucks."
"What are 'bucks'?" Reno asks.
"Like gil," Sam replies, "only not worth as much."
"Here, give me that," Dean says, leans across the bed and grabs the booze from the Turk. He takes a long, long swallow, then another. And another. "So, let me get this straight–"
"Straight," Reno snorts. "Good one."
Dean glares at the redhead, annoyed, but that doesn't stop his eyes from wandering to long, baton-calloused fingers fiddling with the knot in the towel. Dean shakes his head and snaps out of it. "So, I've gotta–" He nods toward Reno. "–with him?"
Sam takes a deep breath so he can maybe speak without cracking up this time. "Yeah," is all he gets out before he's quite literally rolling on the floor, tears streaming down his face, unable to say another word because laughter's stealing his breath.
Dean's eyes roll. "Or else what?"
"Oh, you're gonna love this," Reno smirks.
Dean rolls his eyes again, pretty fuckin' annoyed with the redhead's continual smirking and his brother's insane laughter, about ready to boot both their pretty asses to the parking lot. "What?"
"Oh, god," Sam rolls onto his stomach and starts pounding the floor with both fists, fuckin' losing it.
"Or else," Reno says, slips the bottle out of Dean's grasp with one hand and peels the towel off with the other, "I stay here, and you guys take my place." Reno helps himself to another long pull of the bourbon.
Dean blinks slowly. Once. Twice. A third time. "You mean in the game?"
"Pfftt, aw fuck no," Reno says with a dismissive wave of the liquor bottle, "we're on, like, the third sequel now, yo. You never heard of fuckin' Advent Children? Crisis Core? Where the fuck you been hidin', man?"
"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me." Dean gets up off the bed, nudges the still-hysterical Sam in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "Sammy, pull yourself together!"
Sam rolls onto his back, rubs his face with both hands and slowly, slowly brings himself under control. "Yeah, Dean?"
"This for real?"
Sam looks across the room at Reno, who's now lying on his stomach, legs crossed at the ankles and feet in the air, chin propped up by one palm. He waggles the fingers of his other hand and waves at Sam, grinning.
"Real as it gets, Dean."
Dean rubs his chin and sighs heavily. "I think we're gonna need more booze."
"Good plan," Sam agrees.
***
Sam had paid real close attention, and none of the rules set forth by the witch had said anything about him not being able to participate.
"Fuck, that's hot," Reno says over his shoulder, pressed against the wall next to the bed while Dean's thick cock saws in and out of his ass, Sam behind Dean doing the same to him. "And you're really brothers?"
"Yeah," Dean says on top of a moan, thrusts forward balls deep into the redhead, "we're brothers. Damn you're tight, Reno. Fuck, Sammy, 's good, right there."
"Not metaphorical, like blood brothers or some secret society shit like that? Same mother, same father?"
"Christ yes, you want us to take a fuckin' DNA test before we finish up here?" Dean hisses through tightly clenched teeth. "Just shut the hell up and fuck yourself back on my dick, Turk."
Red hair loose and draped down his back, Reno looks over his shoulder again, pouting. "You just sounded like Rufus ShinRa. Play nice, Dean, or I quit. Personally, I wouldn't mind stayin' here for a while. You go be a Turk, work for that white-suited, slave-drivin', pansy-assed motherfucker and see how you like it!"
Sam rolls his hips, goes deep inside Dean's ass and hits his sweet spot just right. Dean's voice goes up half an octave, says, "When's this officially over? God, Sammy, do that again, feels so fuckin' good."
"When do you think it's over, Dean? When." Thrust. "It's." Thrust. "Over." One last thrust and it's one down, two to go as Sam's belly knots up, balls draw up close to his body and he shoots his load deep in Dean's ass.
"Deeper," Reno grunts, reaches behind with one hand and paws at Dean's hip. He rocks back, impales himself on Dean's cock, Reno's keening moans and guttural groans going straight to Dean's balls. Dean's close, real fuckin' close, and as much he wants this over with so he doesn't end up as a goddamn cartoon for the rest of his life he's not quite ready to stop fucking or looking at that, holy fuckin' shit, that tight, gorgeous, goddamn sweet ass.
But Reno's got other ideas, and instead of doing the gentlemanly thing and waiting for Dean to offer a reach-around, Reno wraps his weapon hand around his own dick and starts jerking off furiously. Sound being a pretty potent aphrodisiac, Dean moans when he hears the wet slapslapslap of Reno jacking himself, feels his balls trying to crawl back into his body, dick drooling like mad inside Reno's ass as it swells and starts to twitch.
"Oh yeah, fuck yeah," Reno moans as he spatters the wall.
"Oh god," Dean groans when Reno's ass clamps down, pulses around his cock like it's trying to suck the spunk right out of him. He comes hard, fills Reno up, and Reno slides down the wall and collapses to the carpet, Dean sweating and moaning and sprawling on top of Reno and how the holy fuck did Sam end up back in the chair by the window with all his goddamn clothes on again?
"Jesus, Dean," Sam says, smiling and shaking his head. "That must've been some dream."
Dean's splayed out on the floor next to the bed, legs tangled in a sheet, dick in his hand and spooge on his belly. "Holy shit..." Dean groans.
"You really need to lay off the bourbon when you're watching that goddamn movie," snorts Sam, nods at Dean's laptop sitting open on the bed, screen frozen with a familiar redhead's smirking face on it.
"Oh." Dean turns about eleven shades of scarlet.
Sam grins. "Personally speaking? I'd do Vincent Valentine in a heartbeat. He's hot."
Dean grins back. "You always did have a thing for gunslingers, Sammy. Gimme a minute and let me re-load."