Author: Regala Electra
Warnings: Language, Sexual Content
Summary: Wherein Sam and Dean perform seaweed dances, possibly get a contact high off of hippies, and feel some good vibrations as Dean decides his destiny with the help of dolphin spirit guides.
Word Count: 2,358
Author’s Notes: As prompted by ignited: Sam/Dean; having to deceive their way into a dolphin spirit retreat. PLATES OF DESTINY!. I cannot thank memphis86 enough for the beta-read and cheerleading. This fic would not exist without the Penn & Teller: Bullshit! episode on dolphins.
Some of the craziness involved in these special spirit retreats in this fic are exaggerated however the seaweed dance, listening to dolphin music, and plates of destiny are all true. Really.
"This is the lamest cult ever, dude. Why couldn't we go to that sex cult that likes making teapots and then having lots of crazy sex?"
"The community at Oneida hasn't been active for a long time, Dean," Sam whispers, the soothing music on the surround sound speakers too low to carry on a louder conversation. "We need to figure this out."
"I'm seaweed right now. You have to figure this out."
Dean's swaying reluctantly, which is nice to know is actually physically possible. Sam has to guide him, being that he’s seaweed, his hand pushing against the small of Dean's back. Dean forces a shuffle-step here and there to look like he's into it as the leader of the cult had already corrected Sam when he had to do the seaweed dance; they need to stop getting singled out.
The purpose of this ridiculous charade, according to the believers is to reach some sort of harmony with the universe. Dean obviously feels differently (and has been incredibly vocal about it despite the fact that they shouldn’t be speaking in front of these people) and frankly Sam feels like a giant fool. Although he does get to mess with Dean a little as he rucks up Dean's shirt, skimming the edge of Dean's jeans.
“Not fair to start up something we can’t finish,” Dean says when the “soothing” music hits a weirdly high and clicky note.
Dean has pointed out that Sam has something of a kink for having sex in public which Sam vehemently denies. He doesn’t need to have sex with the thrill of getting caught.
But he wishes that he had a reason to drag Dean off to some nearby enclosed space and completely ruin that claim by nosily fucking Dean and causing all kinds of a ruckus.
He’s getting distracted. His hand is sliding lower down Dean’s back and there’s no reason he can find to stop.
Then Dean slows his shuffle-swaying and slams his head back into Sam's shoulder.
"Sorry," Dean says to the small group of would-be cult members, a familiar desperate look in all of their eyes, needing to believe so damn bad, "I guess my spirit guide is a little wild."
"It's okay," says one of the spirit coordinators as she walks over to them. "Let me help you be guided in the waters. Remember, you are not the force that determines where you will go. You are seaweed."
"Okay. Got it." Dean's voice is a little doubtful and nervous, which is good, since this is completely ridiculous, especially when the woman holds his arm and tries to gently raise it up and down. "I'm seaweed."
It's not weird at all that Sam has to fend off a coughing attack for a few minutes after that.
The laughter has been building. Building when Dean had turned to him frantically thirty minutes before and hissed "You never told me there would be seaweed dancing! Building when, an hour ago, they were introduced to the soothing music of dolphin singing with some guy singing over screeches and clicks "translating" the dolphin language. While everyone greeted each other with uncomfortably long hugs and Sam is pretty sure they both got a contact high just from touching.
Dean claimed, afterwards, that some old guy tried to grab his ass.
And it had all started when they met the cult leader, a bright-eyed, well-kept, and clearly insane woman who stroked a dolphin skull and warmly informed them that she knew that their spirits were strong and most welcome to her happy community.
Which is not creepy at all.
Sam pulls it together and ends his coughing fit in time to assist Dean in the last part of the seaweed dance, ending it with a little push that has Dean stumbling forward before he rights himself by leaning back into Sam. And no, Sam couldn't have planned that any better so there is justification for his smug smile.
"Excellent work! Everyone should give each other a hand."
The loud applause is surprising because it's not like they accomplished anything. They were being pushed around. If that counts for a spiritual experience, Sam really has to wonder what they'll be dealing with next.
"I think we've reached the final stage of understanding our connection with our spiritual guides," the cult leader, Doris says ("The crazy chick's name is Doris?" Dean had asked, looking doubtfully at the article Sam had found. "Why not High Priestess Flipper?"). "We will now ask each of our guides which path we should follow using the Plates of Destiny."
"Man, this sounds like a riot," Dean murmurs, his breath warm against Sam's ear.
"Oh, Tan, are you volunteering to go first?"
"Uh. No. I'm, I'm good. Still trying to really, uh, get one-on-one with my dolphin...guide," Dean says, swallowing the word back like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "And I'm Black. My buddy here is Tan."
Dean did not have to slap Sam's back that hard but that's okay. Sam can get his revenge right now. "I'm sorry, Doris, Black here gets nervous about his future and he's worried if he goes first, he'll be judged by everyone in the room."
Oh yes, Sam does sell that lie with the widest smile in his arsenal.
"Sweet Black!" Doris says in what is supposed to be a motherly tone, her hands dramatically folded over her heart. "You don't ever have to worry about judgment here. This is a safe, warm environment, the womb of where all of life's forces meet and contract. We don't push you here, Black. We keep you tight and safe and let you determine where you will go with the loving guidance of our dolphin brothers and sisters who only want the best for you."
That is a disturbing visual. Dean takes a long time processing it as well, puckering his lips and shooting Sam a pissed off side-eye glare. "Fine. I'll do it."
"Wonderful! Everyone please sit around Black so that our dolphin spirits are also aligned to assist him in his ultimate choice. Tan, you should sit at the rear of Black since your dolphins have the strongest connection to him.”
Huh. Something Sam never needed to know about him and Dean.
Sam notices that everyone, including him, has to sit on the carpeted floor while Doris settles on a ridiculous beanbag chair in aqua tie-dye.
With great ceremony, Doris produces what appears to be a stack of plain paper plates, the kind that nearly fall apart when you try to pile hot food on them. "These are our circles of choosing. Our Plates of Destiny. Black, I will need you to write on two of these plates two different choices for your life. For as we all must travel a path and come across a fork in the road, let the dolphin spirits inform us of where your life must proceed."
"Yes. You can reveal as much of your dilemma at your digression but remember that it should be the most important issue facing you at the moment."
"Oh," Dean says, too seriously, taking the sharpie and two paper plates with a warm, devious smile, "I got that."
"Write down your options and then put them face down on the ground, two feet apart and then stand in the middle."
Dean really enjoys slapping those paper plates down, even tossing Sam an evil smirk as he does it. "So I just stand and...?"
Doris gets up and begins patting the air around him. "Yes, the dolphins are enclosing their spirits around you. You will be wisely guided. Close your eyes."
When she's sure he isn't looking, she bends down to wave her hands over the plates before switching them around a few times but really, it's not even three-card Monte. Anyone who knows better, that being Sam and Dean, can easily follow which card landed where just by listening.
Waving her hands in front of Dean's face, she intones, "Look now, with the eyes of a dolphin!"
Sam really has to take control of his coughing.
Doris has returned to her exalted beanbag chair, hands constantly moving to shape a giant invisible circle. "Tell us what guidance you need, Black."
"Yes, tell us," everyone says, an unexpected chant. “Tell us, tell us, tell us!”
"I wanna know what position I should choose."
The vague answer displeases Doris, a nasty flash of anger streaking across her face, not fitting the Earth Mother vibe she’s so desperately trying to maintain. "Where do the dolphins guide you?"
"I don't know."
"Stand over each plate of destiny. The choice will be clear. The vibrations that are strongest will lead you to the right decision."
Dean can't keep up the earnest follower act. He scratches his head and what Sam would’ve give to see the look on his face. "What?"
"De–uh, Black," Sam says, "Stand over the plates. I uh, feel some good vibrations telling me that you'll feel some too."
"You’re feeling some good vibrations?" Dean cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, twist of a smirk on his face. “Good, good, good, good vibrations?”
"It is always wonderful when lovers share similar dolphin spirits.”
And that right there shuts up them both up.
Continuing, Doris says, “Everyone, you can see how together, our dolphin spirits sing to each other. Now, Black, if you would...?"
"Okay. I'm standing. Um, it feels bubbly. Like, like being high. You all know what that's like, am I right?"
Now Dean is trying to deliberately blow their cover.
“You must know what position you want.”
“Oh, I do. I know what I want real bad. It’s like, it’s hard, you know? It gets all thick, too. Hard and thick. But rising. Getting bigger. Makes me want, want to—”
“Are the dolphins guiding you to this plate, Black?”
Dean’s quiet for a long time and he breathes deeply. Slowly kneels down, hand stretched out over the circumference of the plate, his fingers brushing over the surface.
Everyone is staring at Dean, waiting for him to decide.
Sam quickly notes that they should stop taking cult cases that require them to infiltrate.
“Nope,” Dean says, dismissive, pushing it away. “That ain’t for me.”
In a quick move, Dean picks up the plate and tosses it Sam, letting Sam catch it in an instinctual move.
“Tan, you are welcome to read it as Black consents,” Doris says.
“Um, okay.” There’s a single word written in a thick scrawl and Sam says it out loud before really thinking about what it means, “Pitcher.”
“Awesome. I knew I always had a shot at a career in the major leagues.” Dean reaches out for the plate he’d discarded, handing it to Sam. “The dolphins want you to know this is your destiny.”
Sam doesn’t have to look at it. But he does, to verify that yes, Dean is that mature.
For a brief, brief moment, Sam wonders why he puts up with this and then Dean flicks his tongue out and oh yes, Sam remembers. Dean’s mouth has a lot of other awesome uses.
But now he’s busy using it to talk. “Gotta thank you, Doris. Really got my chakras lined up and um, my aura’s really...blue. Yep.”
“Oh! Well, that’s a soothing color and clearly you are embracing the natural connection to our dolphin kindred. Will you be coming back to the next course to further advance your learnings?”
“We’ll be in touch,” Sam says flatly, standing up.
“Yeah we will,” Dean agrees, easily sidling up next to Sam, grabbing Sam’s ass and letting everyone know exactly what he’s doing. “I got some pitching to do.”
“Wow, you try looking any bitchier, you’ll get your own reality TV show.”
“I’m thinking. This is what it looks like.”
“Whatever. Yeah, so those dolphin freaks aren’t a real cult. They’re just weirdoes.” Dean’s mouth is hot on Sam’s neck and Sam really should be congratulated for moaning only a little because Dean is really way too good at that. Little scrape of teeth gets quickly replaced with a deliberate kiss. “Don’t act like you don’t love getting fucked, Sammy.”
Sam responds by fisting Dean’s cock, almost half-hard already. “Don’t act like you don’t love it, either.”
“What I like is hearing you begging for it.” Sam snorts in disbelief in Dean’s mouth and Dean pulls back a little, says, “I still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Yeah? And if I did this—” Sam pushes Dean on his back, sight of him should be ridiculous, since Dean always looks ridiculous after sex but they’re gearing up for round two and there’s nothing quite like how Dean looks just before. “What are you going to do?”
“I got some ideas. Figure maybe I’ll let you suck me off.”
“Maybe,” Sam considers. “Maybe I’ll go take a shower.”
“Maybe I’ll follow you.”
“We won’t fit together.”
“Aww, Sammy,” Dean says, sitting up, hands cupping Sam’s ass, “now you know that ain’t true.”
Sam has exactly one sexual habit that he is deeply ashamed of. It is completely unavoidable. His brain-to-mouth filter kind of falls apart only since he has thoughts in his head, they kind of get blurted out when he is in a completely inappropriate situation. The situation being about to get laid. And this particular thought being:
“You know dolphins are one of the few species that have sex for fun.”
There is one benefit to fucking around with Dean. He is more interested in the end result. So he’ll let it slide.
“Huh, that’s amazing. Now me, I like people. But that’s me. You got a confession to make? You know I’m up for anything but I ain’t putting on flippers just to help you get your rocks off.”
“Oh shut up,” Sam says, pushing Dean back down. Before Dean can make another smartass joke, he’s sucking Dean off, which is, pretty much, the only way to get Dean to shut up forever.
“Okay. But man, next time, sex cult. That’s all—oh fuck yeah—all I’m saying.”
additional note: The names Black and Tan were used in the TV show Psych by Shawn and Gus as aliases when they posed as male models
additional notes 2 & 3: Black and Tan was also used on Clone High by Gandhi and George Washington Caver when they had to film a student movie together. Now picture Dean annoying Sam by going "Say...whaaaaaaat?" It certainly amuses me.
And yep, Black and Tan is a drink, which is why Dean would totally push for using it as their aliases. He isn't going to waste a rocker or actor reference on a cult infiltration mission..