ficlet #1: I've Got Cattitude!
From the meme I posted the other day.
I've Got Cattitude!
Dean/Angela (SPN/The Office Xover), PG, 1125 words, for arabella_hope.
“What did you say it looked like again?” Sam says, cracking open his laptop.
Dean looks up from where he's bent over the sink, trying to scrub creature goo out of the ass of his good jeans, and sighs.
“It looked like Steve Buscemi.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don't know, dude,” Dean says, frustrated. “It had claws and scales and big buggy green eyes. And horns.”
“A horned beast.”
“Yes! A gooey, scaly, horned beast, alright?”
There's a flurry of typing from Sam, and then he pauses, hand raising to his chin, and says, “Hm.”
“If I go over there and you've got Steve Buscemi's IMDB page up, I'm gonna flush your head. Old school.”
Sam turns the laptop around, and there it is in all its swampy, hideous glory.
“That's it! That's the bastard. What's it do, rip people to shreds? Suck your soul out through your nostrils? Lay eggs in your abdomen? Lemme tell you, I would not be surprised if this was one of those burst-out-of-your-chest-and-sing-showtunes kind of things.”
Sam rests his forehead on tented fingers and closes his eyes. He's either getting a headache or trying not to laugh.
“It eats cats.”
Dean frowns.
“What, like panthers?”
“No, Dean.” Sam unfurls himself from his chair and grabs his duffel bag. “Not like panthers.”
**
“Mexican Cat Sucker.”
“Dean, shut up.”
“El Chupacatbra.”
Dean watches as Sam trudges forward and begins to sink into the muck, only following when he's sure his brother isn't going to get sucked all the way down.
“Catsquatch.”
“Just because it doesn't have a name yet, doesn't mean you can name it,” Sam says, voice flat and tight.
“Says who?” Dean says. “I can totally name this thing.”
He nearly loses his balance trying to yank his foot out of the ankle-deep mud without leaving his boot behind, almost flops face-first into the stuff. Sam doesn't even turn around.
“Kitty Kruncher. Two Ks.”
No reaction, which means Sam's reached that point of little brother annoyance where he pretends Dean doesn't exist at all. Prod him just a little bit longer and he'll start to whine like a toddler at naptime.
“Pussy Snatcher?”
Sam whips around to face him, but his boots refuse to budge, causing him to wheel his arms hilariously around before tipping over like a downed pine and landing on his ass. The swamp floor ripples like a broken suspension bridge.
“Deeeeeeeean! That's disgusting.”
Dean smiles. Victory.
**
Dean doesn't mean to shriek like a little girl. It's just that he really doesn't want to go down in history as the guy who wastes the first ever documented Pussy Snatcher (tm), then gets clawed to death by a hissing, meowing furball.
“Everything okay over there?” Sam says, glancing over from the driver's seat.
“Fine,” Dean says, even though the goo-covered furbeast has somehow managed to wriggle its way out of the towel he wrapped it in to protect the upholstery, and is now attempting to remove his scrotum with its claws.
“See if he's got a tag or something.”
“Yeah, there's something,” Dean says, trying to twist the collar around to see. He just about hits the
roof when the cat sinks its needle-like teeth into the fleshy base of his thumb. “Ow! Son of a bitch!”
Sam snorts. “It's just a cat, dude. Suck it up already.”
“No, I will not- Sprinkles. His name is Sprinkles.” Dean finally gets a grip on the license tag.
“Is there an address?”
“Yeah. But we're not actually gonna- Oh, this is so beneath us.”
“You're the one who wanted to come back out here and kill it. I encountered something in that swamp, Sammy. A creature evil beyond all imagining. Sound familiar?”
Dean attempts a glare, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he now has a lapful of purring feline.
“Your impression of me is uncanny.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“No, really. You should go on the road.”
**
The lady takes one look at Sprinkles and goes into convulsions. She's sobbing hysterically and holding her gooey, disgusting cat up to her cheek and it's all very wet and messy.
“All in a day's work, ma'am.”
Dean's trying to leave, but the multiple flower patterns on the living room walls and furniture have left him disoriented, and he's no longer sure which way he came in.
“Sprinkles is very grateful,” the woman says, pulling herself together quite suddenly. She's about four foot ten, stern, with a sharp-angled face and blond hair in a tight bun. She's definitely hitting Dean's starchy librarian fetish. “As am I, of course.”
“It's really no problem,” Dean lies.
“I suppose you'll want to collect some sort of reward,” the blonde says, sounding resentful.
She's unfastening the buttons of her blouse, small hands moving efficiently. Looks like Dean's about to get some action. Except, there are probably eighty tiny pearl buttons altogether, and they're all the way up to her chin. This might take a while. He gives it a good two minutes before he starts to fidget.
“You know, I'd accept some cash, or, uh, a muffin or something.”
Which is when she flies at him, clinging like a howler monkey, legs wrapping tight around his waist. She's sucking on his neck with all the finesse of a shopvac, and rutting against him eagerly.
“Or sex,” he manages, his voice uneven and hoarse. “Sex is good too.”
She shifts her weight and somehow topples them both onto the flower-patterned carpet.
Sprinkles watches.
**
“Tell me again how she took advantage of you?”
“Dude,” Dean says, trying unsuccessfully to look behind him, where Sam is crouched and tending to his wounds. “Less talk, more soothing aloe gel.”
“I mean, I only saw her from the car, but wasn't she, like... really small?”
“Sam-”
“Like, really, really small?”
Dean's growl turns to a whimper when Sam begins applying the gel.
“I think this rugburn is even worse than that time you dragged me to the bathroom on my face.”
Dean snorts. “You totally cried when I told you your chin was gonna fall o- OW!”
Sam wipes his hands all over Dean's shirt and tosses the aloe bottle at his head.
“You know what? You can reach your own ass.”
He flops onto his own bed and starts clicking around looking for HBO.
“Did you just spank me?” Dean says.
Sam just turns up the volume on Dexter and smirks.
I've Got Cattitude!
Dean/Angela (SPN/The Office Xover), PG, 1125 words, for arabella_hope.
“What did you say it looked like again?” Sam says, cracking open his laptop.
Dean looks up from where he's bent over the sink, trying to scrub creature goo out of the ass of his good jeans, and sighs.
“It looked like Steve Buscemi.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don't know, dude,” Dean says, frustrated. “It had claws and scales and big buggy green eyes. And horns.”
“A horned beast.”
“Yes! A gooey, scaly, horned beast, alright?”
There's a flurry of typing from Sam, and then he pauses, hand raising to his chin, and says, “Hm.”
“If I go over there and you've got Steve Buscemi's IMDB page up, I'm gonna flush your head. Old school.”
Sam turns the laptop around, and there it is in all its swampy, hideous glory.
“That's it! That's the bastard. What's it do, rip people to shreds? Suck your soul out through your nostrils? Lay eggs in your abdomen? Lemme tell you, I would not be surprised if this was one of those burst-out-of-your-chest-and-sing-showtunes kind of things.”
Sam rests his forehead on tented fingers and closes his eyes. He's either getting a headache or trying not to laugh.
“It eats cats.”
Dean frowns.
“What, like panthers?”
“No, Dean.” Sam unfurls himself from his chair and grabs his duffel bag. “Not like panthers.”
**
“Mexican Cat Sucker.”
“Dean, shut up.”
“El Chupacatbra.”
Dean watches as Sam trudges forward and begins to sink into the muck, only following when he's sure his brother isn't going to get sucked all the way down.
“Catsquatch.”
“Just because it doesn't have a name yet, doesn't mean you can name it,” Sam says, voice flat and tight.
“Says who?” Dean says. “I can totally name this thing.”
He nearly loses his balance trying to yank his foot out of the ankle-deep mud without leaving his boot behind, almost flops face-first into the stuff. Sam doesn't even turn around.
“Kitty Kruncher. Two Ks.”
No reaction, which means Sam's reached that point of little brother annoyance where he pretends Dean doesn't exist at all. Prod him just a little bit longer and he'll start to whine like a toddler at naptime.
“Pussy Snatcher?”
Sam whips around to face him, but his boots refuse to budge, causing him to wheel his arms hilariously around before tipping over like a downed pine and landing on his ass. The swamp floor ripples like a broken suspension bridge.
“Deeeeeeeean! That's disgusting.”
Dean smiles. Victory.
**
Dean doesn't mean to shriek like a little girl. It's just that he really doesn't want to go down in history as the guy who wastes the first ever documented Pussy Snatcher (tm), then gets clawed to death by a hissing, meowing furball.
“Everything okay over there?” Sam says, glancing over from the driver's seat.
“Fine,” Dean says, even though the goo-covered furbeast has somehow managed to wriggle its way out of the towel he wrapped it in to protect the upholstery, and is now attempting to remove his scrotum with its claws.
“See if he's got a tag or something.”
“Yeah, there's something,” Dean says, trying to twist the collar around to see. He just about hits the
roof when the cat sinks its needle-like teeth into the fleshy base of his thumb. “Ow! Son of a bitch!”
Sam snorts. “It's just a cat, dude. Suck it up already.”
“No, I will not- Sprinkles. His name is Sprinkles.” Dean finally gets a grip on the license tag.
“Is there an address?”
“Yeah. But we're not actually gonna- Oh, this is so beneath us.”
“You're the one who wanted to come back out here and kill it. I encountered something in that swamp, Sammy. A creature evil beyond all imagining. Sound familiar?”
Dean attempts a glare, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he now has a lapful of purring feline.
“Your impression of me is uncanny.”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“No, really. You should go on the road.”
**
The lady takes one look at Sprinkles and goes into convulsions. She's sobbing hysterically and holding her gooey, disgusting cat up to her cheek and it's all very wet and messy.
“All in a day's work, ma'am.”
Dean's trying to leave, but the multiple flower patterns on the living room walls and furniture have left him disoriented, and he's no longer sure which way he came in.
“Sprinkles is very grateful,” the woman says, pulling herself together quite suddenly. She's about four foot ten, stern, with a sharp-angled face and blond hair in a tight bun. She's definitely hitting Dean's starchy librarian fetish. “As am I, of course.”
“It's really no problem,” Dean lies.
“I suppose you'll want to collect some sort of reward,” the blonde says, sounding resentful.
She's unfastening the buttons of her blouse, small hands moving efficiently. Looks like Dean's about to get some action. Except, there are probably eighty tiny pearl buttons altogether, and they're all the way up to her chin. This might take a while. He gives it a good two minutes before he starts to fidget.
“You know, I'd accept some cash, or, uh, a muffin or something.”
Which is when she flies at him, clinging like a howler monkey, legs wrapping tight around his waist. She's sucking on his neck with all the finesse of a shopvac, and rutting against him eagerly.
“Or sex,” he manages, his voice uneven and hoarse. “Sex is good too.”
She shifts her weight and somehow topples them both onto the flower-patterned carpet.
Sprinkles watches.
**
“Tell me again how she took advantage of you?”
“Dude,” Dean says, trying unsuccessfully to look behind him, where Sam is crouched and tending to his wounds. “Less talk, more soothing aloe gel.”
“I mean, I only saw her from the car, but wasn't she, like... really small?”
“Sam-”
“Like, really, really small?”
Dean's growl turns to a whimper when Sam begins applying the gel.
“I think this rugburn is even worse than that time you dragged me to the bathroom on my face.”
Dean snorts. “You totally cried when I told you your chin was gonna fall o- OW!”
Sam wipes his hands all over Dean's shirt and tosses the aloe bottle at his head.
“You know what? You can reach your own ass.”
He flops onto his own bed and starts clicking around looking for HBO.
“Did you just spank me?” Dean says.
Sam just turns up the volume on Dexter and smirks.