FIC: "Loki's Revenge" - 1/1, PG, Dean/Barbossa, SPN/PotC
Title: Loki's Revenge
Fandom: Supernatural/PotC crossover
Characters(s): Dean Winchester, Hector Barbossa
Rating: PG
Summary: It never pays to irritate the Norse God of Mischief and Mayhem.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'tenth day of Christmas' and I'm not sure if I should thank the_stowaway for this idea or not. *g* Anyway, G, this one is all for you!
A gentle creaking, accompanied by an odd swaying, was the first thing to alert Dean that he was no longer in Kansas. So to speak, anyway, seeing as how he wasn't in Kansas when he went to bed. Either way, his sleep-fogged brain didn't remember his bed swaying or creaking...and if it had been, he hoped he'd remember it.
The second thing to alert him was the smell. Or, rather, the stench. Or brine, dead fish, and wet wood. And that definitely didn't jive with his memories of the previous evening.
"Sam?" he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he tried to sit up. Coarse rope and canvas ensnared him. "What the..."
With flailing arms and kicking legs, Dean lunged up...and promptly found himself face down on a damp, wooden floor. That was the source of much of the stench. "Ow."
Braced on one elbow, he frowned (distinctly remembering lime green carpet in the motel room) and twisted to look at the bed. Which was no longer a bed, but a hammock. For a moment, Dean just laid there and stared at it. Then he looked around -- or attempted to, given how dark it was. He could hear other sounds now, snapping and rattling and an odd hissing, almost like water over sand.
"Somebody's in for an ass kickin'," Dean muttered, bracing both hands on the floor.
Before he could stand, there was a thump and a bump above his head, followed by a trap door opening. Silver light spilled into the hold, flooding over the deck beneath Dean's hands and frosting everything with an odd gleam. His head snapped up and he stared at the very pirate he'd been watching on TV the night before.
"Welcome aboard the Pearl, Mr. Winchester," Barbossa growled, grinning down at Dean while the men standing around him laughed. "We've been expectin' you."
"You have," Dean said, trying to convince himself this was a dream. Too bad he didn't want to believe it.
"Aye, laddie. You could say a little birdie with a funny accent told us."
Just like that, Dean knew. "Loki," he snarled, making a mental promise to kill the little bastard. Just as soon as he figured out how to get out of this damn Disney film and back into the real world.
Fandom: Supernatural/PotC crossover
Characters(s): Dean Winchester, Hector Barbossa
Rating: PG
Summary: It never pays to irritate the Norse God of Mischief and Mayhem.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Notes: The 'tenth day of Christmas' and I'm not sure if I should thank the_stowaway for this idea or not. *g* Anyway, G, this one is all for you!
A gentle creaking, accompanied by an odd swaying, was the first thing to alert Dean that he was no longer in Kansas. So to speak, anyway, seeing as how he wasn't in Kansas when he went to bed. Either way, his sleep-fogged brain didn't remember his bed swaying or creaking...and if it had been, he hoped he'd remember it.
The second thing to alert him was the smell. Or, rather, the stench. Or brine, dead fish, and wet wood. And that definitely didn't jive with his memories of the previous evening.
"Sam?" he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he tried to sit up. Coarse rope and canvas ensnared him. "What the..."
With flailing arms and kicking legs, Dean lunged up...and promptly found himself face down on a damp, wooden floor. That was the source of much of the stench. "Ow."
Braced on one elbow, he frowned (distinctly remembering lime green carpet in the motel room) and twisted to look at the bed. Which was no longer a bed, but a hammock. For a moment, Dean just laid there and stared at it. Then he looked around -- or attempted to, given how dark it was. He could hear other sounds now, snapping and rattling and an odd hissing, almost like water over sand.
"Somebody's in for an ass kickin'," Dean muttered, bracing both hands on the floor.
Before he could stand, there was a thump and a bump above his head, followed by a trap door opening. Silver light spilled into the hold, flooding over the deck beneath Dean's hands and frosting everything with an odd gleam. His head snapped up and he stared at the very pirate he'd been watching on TV the night before.
"Welcome aboard the Pearl, Mr. Winchester," Barbossa growled, grinning down at Dean while the men standing around him laughed. "We've been expectin' you."
"You have," Dean said, trying to convince himself this was a dream. Too bad he didn't want to believe it.
"Aye, laddie. You could say a little birdie with a funny accent told us."
Just like that, Dean knew. "Loki," he snarled, making a mental promise to kill the little bastard. Just as soon as he figured out how to get out of this damn Disney film and back into the real world.