SPN Ficlet for ileliberte: Next Time, Duck (Gen, G, season 1)
For ileliberte, who asked for a snarky fun Sam and Dean ficlet or drabble (this is a flashfic, which I define as exactly 500 words).
[ETA: Illustration by ileliberte]
Next Time, Duck
(Gen, G, set mid-season 1)
"Maybe you should have taken your own advice," Sam said, then bit his lip hard to keep from laughing.
"Yeah? And what advice is that?" Dean glared at himself in the mirror over the dresser, rubbing his palm vigorously over his short-cropped hair.
"Duck," said Sam.
"Oh, I'm glad you think this is funny!"
"That's because it is," Sam muttered under his breath.
When Dean spun around to face him, Sam wiped the smile from his face as if it had never been. He shrugged, trying to look like someone who would never dream of mocking his older brother.
In the large jar on the dresser, the imp watched them through the gaps between the iron rods Dean had taped at four-inch intervals. It blinked its large eyes, tiny, spindly hands pressed nervously against the glass. Dean crouched down so the creature was at his eye level, and the imp shrank back, letting out a tiny but distinct squeak.
"Aw, you're scaring it," Sam said, and crouched next to Dean. "It's okay, little guy. We aren't going to hurt you." He waggled a finger at it. The creature shot Dean a nervous glance but relaxed a fraction.
"Don't count on it." Dean looked at himself the mirror again and let out a sound that was half moan of disgust, half grunt of rage.
"You said imps couldn't be killed." Sam tapped at the glass. This was the first time he'd seen one for real, although there was plenty about them in Dad's journal, and Pastor Jim had one in his house back in the late '80s. They hadn't been visiting him at the time; Pastor Jim had called to tell Dad all about it, and Dad passed the story on to them with many warnings.
"Didn't say they couldn't be killed, I said they shouldn't. If you kill an imp, their power has nothing to contain it, shoots off every which way. It's dangerous."
"Dad said Pastor Jim called it 'wild magic.'"
"Whatever. If you believe in that crap. Anyway, only way to deal with it is let it loose in the middle of nowhere. Then it can torture the chipmunks and bears but it won't be tearing up people's homes." Dean got to his feet and rapped his knuckles against the jar and the imp scrabbled back, scratching against the glass. "Or turning my hair plaid."
"It'll wear off, Dean, you said it yourself."
"But in the meantime, I can't go out in public like this." Dean rummaged in his duffel and grabbed a knit Green Bay Packers hat and jammed it over his head, covering up the mutli-colored riot of his hair. "Goddamned imps." He stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Still crouched down, Sam finally gave in and laughed so hard his eyes watered. If he hadn't been gripping the dresser he'd have fallen over.
From within the jar came a small warbling noise and Sam could swear the imp was laughing too.
Continued in Two Against One
[ETA: Illustration by ileliberte]
Next Time, Duck
(Gen, G, set mid-season 1)
"Maybe you should have taken your own advice," Sam said, then bit his lip hard to keep from laughing.
"Yeah? And what advice is that?" Dean glared at himself in the mirror over the dresser, rubbing his palm vigorously over his short-cropped hair.
"Duck," said Sam.
"Oh, I'm glad you think this is funny!"
"That's because it is," Sam muttered under his breath.
When Dean spun around to face him, Sam wiped the smile from his face as if it had never been. He shrugged, trying to look like someone who would never dream of mocking his older brother.
In the large jar on the dresser, the imp watched them through the gaps between the iron rods Dean had taped at four-inch intervals. It blinked its large eyes, tiny, spindly hands pressed nervously against the glass. Dean crouched down so the creature was at his eye level, and the imp shrank back, letting out a tiny but distinct squeak.
"Aw, you're scaring it," Sam said, and crouched next to Dean. "It's okay, little guy. We aren't going to hurt you." He waggled a finger at it. The creature shot Dean a nervous glance but relaxed a fraction.
"Don't count on it." Dean looked at himself the mirror again and let out a sound that was half moan of disgust, half grunt of rage.
"You said imps couldn't be killed." Sam tapped at the glass. This was the first time he'd seen one for real, although there was plenty about them in Dad's journal, and Pastor Jim had one in his house back in the late '80s. They hadn't been visiting him at the time; Pastor Jim had called to tell Dad all about it, and Dad passed the story on to them with many warnings.
"Didn't say they couldn't be killed, I said they shouldn't. If you kill an imp, their power has nothing to contain it, shoots off every which way. It's dangerous."
"Dad said Pastor Jim called it 'wild magic.'"
"Whatever. If you believe in that crap. Anyway, only way to deal with it is let it loose in the middle of nowhere. Then it can torture the chipmunks and bears but it won't be tearing up people's homes." Dean got to his feet and rapped his knuckles against the jar and the imp scrabbled back, scratching against the glass. "Or turning my hair plaid."
"It'll wear off, Dean, you said it yourself."
"But in the meantime, I can't go out in public like this." Dean rummaged in his duffel and grabbed a knit Green Bay Packers hat and jammed it over his head, covering up the mutli-colored riot of his hair. "Goddamned imps." He stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Still crouched down, Sam finally gave in and laughed so hard his eyes watered. If he hadn't been gripping the dresser he'd have fallen over.
From within the jar came a small warbling noise and Sam could swear the imp was laughing too.
Continued in Two Against One