Sam Winchester And The Corona Virus...
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OCs, Demons
Word Count: 610
Rating: G
Genre: Crack
Summary: How come nobody is this town got sick?
Sam Winchester had always been a clean freak. It was a challenge for most of the Winchesters’ life. Skeevy motel rooms, stakeouts in rotting cottages, and enough abandoned warehouses to fill the entire city of Detroit. Dean was no help. He was indifferent to dirt. Maybe it came from being constantly splattered with blood, flesh, and monster guts. Whatever it was, Dean didn't wash his clothes until they could stand up by themselves. Or Sam did it for him. Which was how it usually happened.
The bunker had been scrubbed to a shine, every surface. You could see yourself in the dishes after Sam washed them. Dean bitched at first, but he made sure to throw his old man robe into the laundry when Sam did it.
And now the corona virus. Like Croatoan but without the homicidal rage. Most of the time, anyway. It was spreading around the world like wildfire. For once, there was no supernatural cause, as far as either of the Winchesters could see. Just idiots refusing to stay home when they were sick. Or gathering in large groups. Or listening to the president.
This week’s job wasn’t terribly exciting. Reports of demon sightings from another hunter. Who had been ganked, naturally, before the brothers got there.
“Damn it, Sam, I’m tired of eating rice and beans!”
“Dean, it’s the only safe food these days,” Sam barked. “Boxed rice and canned beans can’t be infected. After all of these years hunting monsters, demons and Lucifer himself, we cannot be taken down by a virus. Especially now, when we’re on a hunt.”
“I’m in perfect health,” Dean huffed. “Better than perfect health. I’m the healthiest motherfucker you ever met.”
“Not if you catch this thing. I'm not taking care of you, Dean. You are the worst when you're sick. You whine like a little girl."
Dean glared at him. “I’m going to go get a cheeseburger-two cheeseburgers-and a whole pie! I’m sick of this shit!”
“Dean!”
Dean slammed out. Sam heard the impala starting and tires screeching out of the motel parking lot. Damn, his brother was such a drama queen! Cheeseburgers and pie...cheeseburgers and pie...a great big chef salad...green peppers...fresh tomatoes...ranch dressing...beer...he was hungry. Glancing at the plastic container of rice and beans, Sam shrugged on his jacket and headed out.
The one diner in town was packed. Either the virus hadn’t hit this part of the world yet or the citizens had a death wish. Wait...maybe they had a reason not to fear death. Maybe.
Sam decided to wash his hands.
No, it wasn’t suspicious that a large group of men followed him into the men’s room. Not suspicious at all. Sam looked in the mirror as he pumped soap from the wall container.
You had to take time to wash your hands. Some people sang “happy birthday” twice.
Sam smiled to himself. “"Exorcizamus te,” he muttered under his breath. “Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte,, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"
There was a tremendous roar all around him, and suddenly the men’s room was filled with black smoke. Sam could hear screams and roars from outside. Presumably, the exorcism was working throughout the diner.
When the black smoke cleared, Sam took a look around and smiled. Men lay unconscious on the floor, slumped in the corners. The most satisfying was the guy who had pitched forward into the urinal.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean burst into the men’s room. His front was covered with what looked like the remains of an entire blueberry pie.
“Dean, you look like a Smurf puked on you,” Sam said with a laugh.
“SHE WAS ABOUT TO SERVE ME THE PIE!” Dean drew his finger through the mess on his shirt and licked it. “And it was a good pie. Dammit, Sammy, couldn’t you have waited until after I’d eaten?”
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OCs, Demons
Word Count: 610
Rating: G
Genre: Crack
Summary: How come nobody is this town got sick?
Sam Winchester had always been a clean freak. It was a challenge for most of the Winchesters’ life. Skeevy motel rooms, stakeouts in rotting cottages, and enough abandoned warehouses to fill the entire city of Detroit. Dean was no help. He was indifferent to dirt. Maybe it came from being constantly splattered with blood, flesh, and monster guts. Whatever it was, Dean didn't wash his clothes until they could stand up by themselves. Or Sam did it for him. Which was how it usually happened.
The bunker had been scrubbed to a shine, every surface. You could see yourself in the dishes after Sam washed them. Dean bitched at first, but he made sure to throw his old man robe into the laundry when Sam did it.
And now the corona virus. Like Croatoan but without the homicidal rage. Most of the time, anyway. It was spreading around the world like wildfire. For once, there was no supernatural cause, as far as either of the Winchesters could see. Just idiots refusing to stay home when they were sick. Or gathering in large groups. Or listening to the president.
This week’s job wasn’t terribly exciting. Reports of demon sightings from another hunter. Who had been ganked, naturally, before the brothers got there.
“Damn it, Sam, I’m tired of eating rice and beans!”
“Dean, it’s the only safe food these days,” Sam barked. “Boxed rice and canned beans can’t be infected. After all of these years hunting monsters, demons and Lucifer himself, we cannot be taken down by a virus. Especially now, when we’re on a hunt.”
“I’m in perfect health,” Dean huffed. “Better than perfect health. I’m the healthiest motherfucker you ever met.”
“Not if you catch this thing. I'm not taking care of you, Dean. You are the worst when you're sick. You whine like a little girl."
Dean glared at him. “I’m going to go get a cheeseburger-two cheeseburgers-and a whole pie! I’m sick of this shit!”
“Dean!”
Dean slammed out. Sam heard the impala starting and tires screeching out of the motel parking lot. Damn, his brother was such a drama queen! Cheeseburgers and pie...cheeseburgers and pie...a great big chef salad...green peppers...fresh tomatoes...ranch dressing...beer...he was hungry. Glancing at the plastic container of rice and beans, Sam shrugged on his jacket and headed out.
The one diner in town was packed. Either the virus hadn’t hit this part of the world yet or the citizens had a death wish. Wait...maybe they had a reason not to fear death. Maybe.
Sam decided to wash his hands.
No, it wasn’t suspicious that a large group of men followed him into the men’s room. Not suspicious at all. Sam looked in the mirror as he pumped soap from the wall container.
You had to take time to wash your hands. Some people sang “happy birthday” twice.
Sam smiled to himself. “"Exorcizamus te,” he muttered under his breath. “Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte,, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"
There was a tremendous roar all around him, and suddenly the men’s room was filled with black smoke. Sam could hear screams and roars from outside. Presumably, the exorcism was working throughout the diner.
When the black smoke cleared, Sam took a look around and smiled. Men lay unconscious on the floor, slumped in the corners. The most satisfying was the guy who had pitched forward into the urinal.
“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean burst into the men’s room. His front was covered with what looked like the remains of an entire blueberry pie.
“Dean, you look like a Smurf puked on you,” Sam said with a laugh.
“SHE WAS ABOUT TO SERVE ME THE PIE!” Dean drew his finger through the mess on his shirt and licked it. “And it was a good pie. Dammit, Sammy, couldn’t you have waited until after I’d eaten?”