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Title: Fifty Shades Weirder
Summary: Follow-up to Fifty Shades of Sammy. The Trickster has dropped the boys into Fifty Shades of Grey.  This is Ana's POV on Sam and Dean as they struggle to act out the roles of Christian and Taylor.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Ana  Very one-sided Christian(Sam)/Ana
Rating: PG-13 for language
Genre: parody, crossover
Wordcount: ~1300
Disclaimer: Still not E.L. James or Kripke... and still not right in the head.

A/N: Holy crap! I'm hoping I have finally purged the Fifty Shades trilogy from my subconscious... and my inner goddess, of course. Seriously, I've never read a published work with so much unacknowledge WTF'ery in my entire life! I think adults should be able to read what they want, and I'm certainly no literary snob - but I worry that some women may use those books as a how-to manual for relationships. *shudders*


I am still unsure what Christian and Taylor are talking about.  The entire situation is very strange.  I think that possibly this is a security matter, and Christian does not wish to burden me with the details. He can be so secretive and closed off.  My mysterious Fifty.

Finally, they return from their roadside conversation. Taylor – who is incredibly bowlegged, I’ve just noticed - slides behind the wheel of the Audi as Christian climbs into the backseat with me.  As usual, he looks mercurial, irritated, smoldering… I can feel it all the way down there.

I also notice that his too-long, unruly hair has more of a just-fucked quality than usual.  Only he can get away with that look.  Oh my, he is so very, very good looking.  It is as if an electric current flows through him and connects directly with my inner goddess. All the muscles below my waist clench with desire. Holy crap.

It is odd, however, that Christian’s unruly, dark copper-colored hair isn’t so copper-colored at the moment.

“Where to, Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.  His voice is pitched low and his speech is very deliberate, as if he’s concentrating on every syllable. 

“I dunno,” Christian shrugs then leads forward in his seat and whispers over Taylor’s shoulder, “What do you think? Where should we go? You’re the expert.”

What? He’s asking for Taylor’s opinion now?  That is so not-Christian.  He is the master of his universe.  He doesn’t ask anyone’s opinion.  He is an expert on everything.  He’s only twenty-seven and he can already fly a helicopter, and play professional-quality classical music on his gold-plated grand piano.

I can almost swear I hear Taylor hiss “screw you, I was curious” in response, but surely that is just my imagination.  No one would dare talk to Fifty like that. He is the very essence of male dominance.

“I think we should go to dinner, Mr. Grey,” Taylor says, this time in a much louder voice.

Once again, Taylor’s voice sounds monotone, almost like he’s reading lines from a script. Very odd.  It occurs to me that the man would make a horrible actor. 

Christian sits back in his seat before turning to me.

“You hungry?” he asks.

Oh my, here we are again.  I bite my lip and cringe, knowing he’ll be displeased with what I am about to say.

“Not really,” I utter in a weak voice.  I can feel his intense, gray…. well, actually… not-quite-gray eyes burning into mine.  The lighting in here must be off.

“Okay,” he says with a shrug.  He sounds like he honestly does not care one way or the other.

Oh my. Christian isn’t badgering me about food. I suppose I should be happy, but it fills me with a deep, cold dread.  He is usually so obsessed with that subject.  His food issues account for at least a good dozen of his fifty shades.

Perhaps he’s losing interest in you, already, my subconscious suggests.  She looks unbearably smug with that ‘I told you so’ expression on her face.  I hate her!

Oh no!  Please don’t let her be right.  My life would be eternal darkness without Christian.  My sweet, sweet Fifty.  It would be a very dark night of the soul, indeed.  I know I’ve only known him for a minute or two, but I feel as if I’d be lost without him.  No Fifty, please don’t desert me!  You are so incredibly good looking.

I’m torn from my near soul-shattering lamentation by another strange exchange between Christian and Taylor.  Taylor is glaring at Christian through the rearview mirror and Christian has his brows drawn together and is shaking his head back at him.  It’s as if they are engaging in a secret form of silent communication.  Holy crap.  What is happening here?

Now Taylor is coughing. I think possibly, I’m becoming paranoid, because it sounds like he says ‘contract’, between coughs.

Christian looks confused as well, but he abandons his rearview mirror staring contest and turns back to me.

“So… uh… what do you think of the contract?” he asks with a frown.

I gasp and flush crimson, cutting my eyes toward Taylor.  I can’t talk about that in front of buzz cut.  He is so taciturn and he reminds me of my stepfather… although I notice he’s looking younger today.  Seriously, what is up with the lighting in this car?

Taylor clears his throat.  “Don’t worry about me, Miss Steele. You can talk freely. I can barely hear a damn thing… mostly just read lips ‘n stuff.  It happened in the war.”

Oh my. The war!  Taylor was in a war?

“Yeah, that’s right,” Christian quickly agrees.  “The war was… awful.  It was a really bad war.  Taylor fell on a mine…. It damaged his hearing.”

Jeez!  He fell on a mine?  I wonder why he isn’t horribly scarred.  I suppose the surgeons really can work miracles these days.  Perhaps Christian met and hired him through his charity work.  It tugs at my heart strings and I gaze fondly at him.  Deep down, he is such a kind and generous man.

“I’m sorry, Taylor,” I mutter, after a horrified gasp.  “I didn’t know.”

“Huh?” he barks back in response.  “Sorry, Miss Steele, I can’t hear you.  But I’ll turn on the radio to give you some more privacy if it’ll make you feel better.”

Suddenly the car is filled with the very loud strains of AC/DC’s Big Balls.  Holy cow!  I knew Christian said his tastes were eclectic, but this is just…. unexpected.  I am absolutely shocked by Taylor’s selection.  He usually goes for the soothing classical pieces.

Christian narrows his eyes at Taylor’s back and rolls his eyes.

Nice to know someone’s allowed to roll their eyes around here, my subconscious snarks.  I truly detest her.  She actually has an ounce of sense.  It is so inconvenient.

Christian is being more mercurial than usual.  In fact, he looks utterly annoyed as he glares at Taylor. I am appalled by his lack of empathy for this poor man… this war hero in our midst. Maybe his choice in music was a little odd, but he can’t hear for Christ’s sake!  Christian’s fifty shades are certainly showing in glowing Technicolor today.   My subconscious purses her lips at him, staring down her nose through her horn-rimmed spectacles.  She does not approve.

“Just ignore Taylor,” he snaps irritably.  “I do.”

Jeez. I bite my lip and wonder if I am the reason Christian is acting so odd. I probably am. I have avoided the subject of the contract.  Perhaps he is losing his patience and taking it out on poor Taylor.  I dig deep in hopes of finding a hidden reserve of courage.  I must face the music.  I cannot avoid it anymore.

“Oh yeah!” Christian suddenly exclaims, sounding like someone who has just remembered some forgotten detail.

I almost jump out of my skin. Holy crap!

“Stop biting your lip,” he says sternly, glaring at me with his smoldering not-quite-gray eyes.

Holy cow. I’m so relieved. He does care!  I release my lip from between my teeth and smile at him.

“Sorry sir,” I murmur.

“Not a big deal," he says and I frown, once again puzzled by his mercurial mood swings. 

“So… this contract thing?” he prompts.

 I look deep into his not-quite-gray eyes, searching my soul for the correct answer.  Do I want to do this?

Of course you do!   My inner goddess exclaims.  She is down on her knees in supplication wearing a horsehair shirt, begging me to say ‘yes’ while flogging herself with a cat-o-nine-tails. 

Just then, Christian reaches up and runs his hand through his dark, not-quite-copper-colored hair.  It is a revelation. Oh my. He is so ridiculously good looking.  Perhaps I can do this.  Yes, I should do this.  He is such an incredibly beautiful man.  I am sure if I let him boss me around long enough, he will realize how much I trust and care for him.  Yes, that will almost certainly work.  I can bring him to the light.

He deserves so much, and yet he wants plain, simple Ana for some unknown reason. I should be more grateful.  He is, after all, so very, very, incredibly, ridiculously good looking and his penis is friggin HUGE!



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