FIC: Of Terminators and Training Wheels-Chapter 11
(Chapter one starts here if you missed it)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own and didn't create these characters except Tiffany... and now I know how Dr. Frankenstien felt.
CHAPTER 11-
It was no real surprise to either Winchester brother that breakfast at Tiffany's hand proved to be as much of a nightmare as everything else in this ridiculous day had been.
Sam sat unhappily wedged in a high chair, surrounded by a disgusting array of jarred goop representing every color of some putrid rainbow. Each strained and puréed vegetable looked and smelled more nauseating than the next. Luckily, he had yet to find out what any of them tasted like. Tiffany was on the phone again, pacing back and forth across the kitchen as she alternated between taking a puff on her cigarette, haphazardly spreading peanut butter and jelly onto slices of Wonderbread, and shoveling random spoonfuls of baby food towards the captive toddler. She hadn't managed to actually hit the kid's mouth once and Sam's face and hair were slowly becoming a bizarre modern art exhibit of congealed multi-colored glop.
Dean wasn't fairing much better on his side of the table. Tiffany had prepared a glass of milk with powdered Strawberry Quik but hadn't bothered to stir the mixture before slinging it down in front of the preschooler. Dean couldn't decide which was more off-putting: the soggy lumps of pink powder floating in a slushy sea of frothy white or the overly precious Care Bear cup that the nasty mess was sitting in. Thirst and Winchester tenacity soon led the boy to brave a sip, but that was interrupted as Tiffany marched back towards the counter smacking Dean full in the face with the phone cord as she went.
"Sonofa..." he hissed as the gritty pink milk sloshed up his nose.
"Sooo... anyway Debbie. I so totally can't wait 'til Topher gets here! We're gonna like drink beer and watch rated 'R' movies on Cinemax. It'll be like sooo grown up, fer reals..."
The teenager finally remembered why she had been fixing a sandwich and slapped the two pieces of bread together before slamming her culinary masterpiece down on Dean's plate.
"Thank you... it looks very appetizing..." he grimaced, delicately picking up the mangled mass of peanut butter and jelly.
Before he could take a bite the girl whapped him in the back of the head with the phone cord as she stomped over to force another spoonful of strained peas in Sam's direction.
"DAMN IT!" both Winchesters snapped simultaneously as Dean's face was rammed into the sticky sandwich and Sam caught an eyeful of pea green goop.
"Oh, as if, Debbie!" Tiffany giggled, "Of course I'm not gonna like go all the way with Topher! Not even! You know I'm totally saving myself for George Michael!"
"Heh heh heh! Good luck with that one, Sweetheart," Dean cackled, "Better start hanging out in the Men's Room!"
He waited until the phone cord was well out of range before picking the sandwich back up and taking a triumphant bite.
"SONOFABITCH!" he howled, spitting the morsel back out on to the plate.
Dean furiously peeled the Wonderbread apart to find the peanut butter and jelly filling completely covered in cigarette ash. Sam started to snicker at his brother's outrage but his mirth was cut off as Tiffany finally hit his mouth with a heaping spoonful of strained prunes.
"BLEEGGHH!" Sam cried, spitting out the horrid purple gunk.
The brothers exchanged a look of utter disbelief and misery just as the catchy finger snaps and synthesized organ music of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go came blasting out from the television in the next room.
"OOOH! Tubular!" Tiffany squealed, "My future husband's on MTV right now!"
She scampered off into the living room lassoing Dean with the phone cord and knocking him out of his chair as she went. He lay sprawled on the floor covered in ashy PB&J smearings for a long moment before finally sitting up and running a weary hand down his face.
"I could go for a beer right now," he muttered without irony, "How about you, Sam?"
"Sure, just pour some in my sippy cup," Sam deadpanned.
Dean shook his head as he got to his feet and walked over to the sink. Standing on tip-toes he wet a dish towel and wiped his own sticky face before carrying the cloth over to wash the baby food off of Sam.
"Sammy is a messy baby," he sing-songed as he cleaned his brother up.
"DUDE!" Sam balled his little hands into fists shooting daggers at Dean.
"Sorry, force of habit..." Dean said, sheepishly, "I meant Sam... Sam is a messy baby... I mean...Uhh... I'll shut up now..."
"Dean, what the Hell are we gonna do?" Sam huffed, "Dad's gone. There're no neighbors around. The one person who's supposed to be watching out for us is libel to give us food poisoning or strangle us with that phone cord before Gordon even gets here... I mean forget all the monsters and demonic forces that have plagued us all our lives. How did we manage to survive childhood with Tiffany as our caretaker?"
"She wasn't our usual sitter," Dean shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Dad used to drop us off somewhere... a neighbor's house I think."
"What neighbor?" Sam asked, "Tiffany said no one was ever around except her and..."
"Old Lady Moseley!" Dean's eyes widened with sudden recognition, "Missouri!"
"You mean Dad's psychic friend who helped us get rid of that poltergeist?" Sam blinked, "She used to baby-sit us? I don't remember that."
"Well, neither did I," Dean said, "But this morning, Dad mentioned something about not being able to drop us at her house like usual... I was so busy trying to convince him to stay that I didn't catch it at the time. But it makes sense. She was the only person who knew what was going on when he first started hunting. Of course he would trust her to watch after us. And now that I think back on it, it seems we did have a babysitter who always knew exactly what kind of trouble I was going to get into before I even had a chance to start it up... I have some vague recollection of a big woman chasing after me with a big spoon and... I think I must have blocked out the rest..."
"So, let's wrestle the phone away from Tiffany and call Missouri right now!" Sam said excitedly.
"No... She's out of town," Dean sighed, and then looked at Sam hopefully, "But you can call her, Bro!"
"Huh?"
"Your powers, Dude!" Dean beamed, "Why didn't I think of this before! You can contact her on the Psychic Hotline or whatever you call that mystical connection you Shirley MacLaine types possess!"
"Dean, I don't know how to channel somebody," Sam scoffed, "I've never done anything like that before. Hell, I barely understand how my powers work as it is."
"Well, we gotta try something!" Dean said desperately, "Do it! Call her with your mind!"
"Help us, Missouri Moseley... You're our only hope," Sam uttered doubtfully, "Dude, I don't think this is gonna work. We gotta try something more proactive. Maybe we can break into the house next door and use their phone to call the police."
"No way," Dean shook his head, "We don't dare venture out into the open. Best to stay here and protect our turf! Look, the Professor said another Time Portal would open within 24 hours, right? Well, it was about 7:00 at night when we left. It's almost 11:00 now so all we have to do is hold Gordon off for about 8 hours and we're home free!"
"Ok, and exactly how do we do that?" Sam asked bemused, "Or have you forgotten that you're wearing shorts with little tigers on the pockets and I'm sitting in a high chair?"
"You have major size issues, you know that, Gigantour?" Dean rolled his eyes, "Physically we may be kids, but we've had 20 plus years of survival tactics drilled into our head by John Winchester himself! Quick sweep of the house to build up an arsenal and we can totally pull a Macauley Caulkin on Gordon's crazy ass."
A mischievous grin spread over Dean's face suddenly. Sam watched curiously as he hurried over towards the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a pair of tongs, another dish towel and an oversized pair of rubber gloves.
"Besides, the son of bitch doesn't stand a chance against the ultimate weapon at our disposal!" he said donning the gloves and tying the dish towel over his nose and mouth.
"Dude, you're not gonna try to make an explosive out of household chemicals are you?" Sam asked nervously.
Dean shook his head and rushed up the stairs. He returned moments later holding an object at arms length in the tongs. Sam recognized the object at once... his own soiled diaper.
"What do you think you're gonna do with that?" Sam frowned.
"Drop it on Gordon's head!" Dean announced, "It should distract him enough to let go of his gun and then we go in for the kill!"
"Dean, have you lost your ever loving mind?" Sam snapped, "We're not going to drop a dirty diaper on someone's head! That's disgusting!"
"This came out of your body, Sam!" Dean said, "Besides, it's Gordon!"
Sam cocked his head thoughtfully.
"If I had some food that didn't come pureed out of a jar in my stomach, I might actually be able to come up with more ammo!"
"That's the spirit, kiddo!" Dean said gleefully setting the diaper aside and hurrying to wash his hands, "Just you sit tight, Bro. I knew my way around the kitchen even at this age. I'm gonna whip us a feast of epic proportions just like old times!"
"Oh. You mean you're gonna heat up a can a Scabetti-O's?" Sam snarked.
"...Yes, I'm gonna heat up a can of Scabetti-O's," Dean sulked.
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