FIC: Duck a L'Orange (part 1)
Title: Duck a L’Orange
Fandoms: Supernatural/Darkwing Duck
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, John and Sam Winchester, Gosalyn Mallard, Honker Muddlefoot, Launchpad McQuack, Darkwing Duck
Disclaimer: Supernatual, Darkwing Duck, their characters, situations and settings are the property of their respective creators and not me.
Summary: Crack-tastic cartoon crossover. The Winchesters try to break the curse of St. Canard.
The air seemed to shimmer as they crossed over the line into Canard County. Dean turned to ask Sam if he’d noticed and found a giant duckling with puppy-dog eyes and a floppy mop of dark hair where his brother had been. “Ah, Dad?” Dean fought to keep the panic from his voice as he groped for the gun he suddenly remembered was in the trunk. He kept his eyes trained on the duck-thing, but it just continued to read Sammy’s book with the corner of it’s tongue sticking out of it’s beak, just the way Sam’s did when he concentrated. “Dad,” Dean gasped, “I think Sam’s a-”
“I know,” rumbled the leather jacket wearing duck in the front seat. “We all are.”
Dean stared at his own webbed feet and feathered hands. He was a duck, a giant talking mutant duck with no pants. He just hoped his hair didn’t look as stupid as Sam’s. “Is,” he paused, moistening his suddenly dry beak. “Is this the case?”
“Well, part of it anyway,” Dad sighed, rubbing a hand across his head-feathers.
Part of it? “You mean there’s more?”
“More what?” Sammy asked, finally looking up from his book. “Dean, what’s this word?” He jabbed his finger at the page.
“Marigold,” Dean answered on big brother auto-pilot, “it’s a kind of flower. Ah, Sammy?” he asked quickly before the duckling-boy could get sucked back into his story. “Do you notice anything, um, different?”
Sammy frowned, looking from Dean the Pants-less Wonder Duck to Dad the Ducky Driver. “Like what?”
Was he blind? Dean knew his little brother could get wrapped up in his books, but their sudden transformation into birds should be harder to miss. “Dude, you’re a duck.”
Sammy’s eyes narrowed in the way that usually meant trouble. “Yeah, well you’re a dork!” He shouted back.
“Loser.” Dean gave his bother a little shove.
“Jerk!” Sam darted forward and seized Dean’s beak, squeezing the upper and lower halves together and giving them a sharp pull.
Dean gave a muffled yelp and yanked hard on a convenient hank of Sammy’s hair. “Dad!” Sam shrilled like he was the victim here.
“Boys,” Dad barked without bothering to turn around. “Knock it off.”
Dean reluctantly released Sam’s hair and the little brat gave one last tug on Dean’s beak before retreating to his own side of the car. Dean rubbed his aching beak and glared angrily at his brother as they drove over the Audubon Bay Bridge and into downtown St. Canard. They’d been here for less than five minutes and he already hated this town.
****
Dad found them some dive apartment in the crummy part of town near a bar where the criminal element hung out. There were butch bull dogs in biker leather, shifty-looking donkeys in pin-striped suits and one crazy rat with a battery on his back and an electrical plug on his head. Dad spent their second day in town there, playing pool and getting the lay of the land. He came home with bills where all the presidents were ducks and Hamilton and Franklin were dogs.
“It’s so weird,” Dean mused, staring at Jackson’s beak-y mug on a twenty over a spaghetti dinner. “Everyone’s an animal but they act all-”
“Anthropomorphized.” Dad interrupted. “It’s when non-human things like animals and furniture act like people,” he explained.
“An-thro-po-mo-fizzed,” crowed Sammy, ineffectually swiping at the tomato sauce splattered all over his beak and face-feathers. He loved long words and this one had more syllables than you could run and jump over. “It’s my new favorite word.”
“Yeah, except it’s an-thro-po-mor-phized,” Dean corrected with an eye roll.
Sammy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He’d always hated being wrong, but it had gotten worse since Dean had taught him to read. Sometimes Dean wondered if the trade off of an hour or so of peace and quite and control of the remote for this know-it-all attitude was really worth it. “Is not!” Sam insisted, banging his fork on the table and splattering them all with spaghetti sauce.
“Boys.” Dad rubbed his forehead tiredly. Dean guessed being an anthropomorphized duck was giving him a headache too. At least he had pants. They started school tomorrow and, even though he knew he’d packed them, Dean couldn’t find pants for himself or Sammy anywhere. He figured their fluffy down feathers would keep them warm enough, but they wouldn’t do jack about the humiliation. Anthropomorphized might be Sammy’s new favorite word, but Dean was really starting to hate it.
****
School wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Dean had thought it would be. It turned out that no one in this town under the age of twelve wore pants anyway. The kids in his class were the usual assortment of jocks, jerks, nerds and girls, they just happened to be geese, ducks and puppies. His teacher was an actual bitch, with floppy ears and a tail and everything. She was pretty nice though. The only cool person there seemed to be this crazy red-head chick who decked the boy who fouled her shot in gym class. Now that was his kind of girl...duck...whatever. Feisty.
After school, Dean maneuvered Sammy and himself next to where she waited on the sidewalk with her friend. “So, um, Gosalyn, right?” he began nervously. This wasn’t like trying to get an extra piece of pie from some waitress; he wanted this girl to like him. Not kissing like him, ‘cause that was girly, but like him like the guys who had girl friends on TV. “That’s some right hook you’ve got,” he offered. It was the kind of praise he knew he liked to hear.
“Thanks,” she said, a faint blush showing through her face-feathers. “You’re Dean, right?”
“Yeah, I-”
“Gos.” A voice carried over the chatter of students and the low rumble of their parents’ cars. “Gosalyn.”
“Is that your dad?” Sammy asked, pointing to a red-headed duck with a bomber jacket and flight helmet waving from a battered car.
Gosalyn grinned and shook her head. “No, that’s my dad’s friend Launchpad. He’s” -She winced as the car flew backwards into the flagpole with a metallic crunch- “a really bad driver. See you tomorrow, Dean,” she yelled over her shoulder as she and her friend ran to the car. She was tough and brave enough to drive anywhere with that lunatic and pretty cute too with her pig-tails and the way her tail-feathers stuck out from under her hockey jersey. Dean wondered what she’d look like when Dad fixed what was wrong.
****
“It’s a curse,” Dad told him while Sammy washed up for dinner. Dean looked up sharply from setting the table. Dad usually never told him what he was hunting. Sometimes after, but never during.
“What do we do?” Dean asked excitedly. Did this mean Dad needed him to come along? Dean had been itching to shoot at something besides cans. “Do you need my help?”
Dad chuckled and gently ruffled Dean’s feathers. “I think I got this one sport,” he said. “You know the best way you can help me.”
“Take care of Sammy,” Dean sighed as he finished setting the table. All he ever did was take care of Sammy. He loved his little brother, but Dean wasn’t a baby any more. He was nine. He could totally help destroy a curse or blow something up. If only Dad would let him.
After dinner, Dad headed to the bar to see if any of the criminal types had a lead on a possibly cursed object. Dean cleared the table and did the dishes while Sammy watched, of all things, the evening news. On the TV, this town’s answer to the capped crusader took a header off a twenty story building. And bounced. Dean shook his head as he turned off the tap. This crazy town was like living in a cartoon world. What kind of vigilante didn’t obey the laws of physics?
Dishes and homework done, he curled up on the couch with Sammy to read the Hardy Boys with him like Dean had promised. The mystery was decent, just enough action for Dean without being too scary for Sammy. In all the illustrations the brothers were dogs. Dean thought ducks like him and Sammy would have been way cooler.
(1)>> 2
Fandoms: Supernatural/Darkwing Duck
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean, John and Sam Winchester, Gosalyn Mallard, Honker Muddlefoot, Launchpad McQuack, Darkwing Duck
Disclaimer: Supernatual, Darkwing Duck, their characters, situations and settings are the property of their respective creators and not me.
Summary: Crack-tastic cartoon crossover. The Winchesters try to break the curse of St. Canard.
The air seemed to shimmer as they crossed over the line into Canard County. Dean turned to ask Sam if he’d noticed and found a giant duckling with puppy-dog eyes and a floppy mop of dark hair where his brother had been. “Ah, Dad?” Dean fought to keep the panic from his voice as he groped for the gun he suddenly remembered was in the trunk. He kept his eyes trained on the duck-thing, but it just continued to read Sammy’s book with the corner of it’s tongue sticking out of it’s beak, just the way Sam’s did when he concentrated. “Dad,” Dean gasped, “I think Sam’s a-”
“I know,” rumbled the leather jacket wearing duck in the front seat. “We all are.”
Dean stared at his own webbed feet and feathered hands. He was a duck, a giant talking mutant duck with no pants. He just hoped his hair didn’t look as stupid as Sam’s. “Is,” he paused, moistening his suddenly dry beak. “Is this the case?”
“Well, part of it anyway,” Dad sighed, rubbing a hand across his head-feathers.
Part of it? “You mean there’s more?”
“More what?” Sammy asked, finally looking up from his book. “Dean, what’s this word?” He jabbed his finger at the page.
“Marigold,” Dean answered on big brother auto-pilot, “it’s a kind of flower. Ah, Sammy?” he asked quickly before the duckling-boy could get sucked back into his story. “Do you notice anything, um, different?”
Sammy frowned, looking from Dean the Pants-less Wonder Duck to Dad the Ducky Driver. “Like what?”
Was he blind? Dean knew his little brother could get wrapped up in his books, but their sudden transformation into birds should be harder to miss. “Dude, you’re a duck.”
Sammy’s eyes narrowed in the way that usually meant trouble. “Yeah, well you’re a dork!” He shouted back.
“Loser.” Dean gave his bother a little shove.
“Jerk!” Sam darted forward and seized Dean’s beak, squeezing the upper and lower halves together and giving them a sharp pull.
Dean gave a muffled yelp and yanked hard on a convenient hank of Sammy’s hair. “Dad!” Sam shrilled like he was the victim here.
“Boys,” Dad barked without bothering to turn around. “Knock it off.”
Dean reluctantly released Sam’s hair and the little brat gave one last tug on Dean’s beak before retreating to his own side of the car. Dean rubbed his aching beak and glared angrily at his brother as they drove over the Audubon Bay Bridge and into downtown St. Canard. They’d been here for less than five minutes and he already hated this town.
****
Dad found them some dive apartment in the crummy part of town near a bar where the criminal element hung out. There were butch bull dogs in biker leather, shifty-looking donkeys in pin-striped suits and one crazy rat with a battery on his back and an electrical plug on his head. Dad spent their second day in town there, playing pool and getting the lay of the land. He came home with bills where all the presidents were ducks and Hamilton and Franklin were dogs.
“It’s so weird,” Dean mused, staring at Jackson’s beak-y mug on a twenty over a spaghetti dinner. “Everyone’s an animal but they act all-”
“Anthropomorphized.” Dad interrupted. “It’s when non-human things like animals and furniture act like people,” he explained.
“An-thro-po-mo-fizzed,” crowed Sammy, ineffectually swiping at the tomato sauce splattered all over his beak and face-feathers. He loved long words and this one had more syllables than you could run and jump over. “It’s my new favorite word.”
“Yeah, except it’s an-thro-po-mor-phized,” Dean corrected with an eye roll.
Sammy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He’d always hated being wrong, but it had gotten worse since Dean had taught him to read. Sometimes Dean wondered if the trade off of an hour or so of peace and quite and control of the remote for this know-it-all attitude was really worth it. “Is not!” Sam insisted, banging his fork on the table and splattering them all with spaghetti sauce.
“Boys.” Dad rubbed his forehead tiredly. Dean guessed being an anthropomorphized duck was giving him a headache too. At least he had pants. They started school tomorrow and, even though he knew he’d packed them, Dean couldn’t find pants for himself or Sammy anywhere. He figured their fluffy down feathers would keep them warm enough, but they wouldn’t do jack about the humiliation. Anthropomorphized might be Sammy’s new favorite word, but Dean was really starting to hate it.
****
School wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Dean had thought it would be. It turned out that no one in this town under the age of twelve wore pants anyway. The kids in his class were the usual assortment of jocks, jerks, nerds and girls, they just happened to be geese, ducks and puppies. His teacher was an actual bitch, with floppy ears and a tail and everything. She was pretty nice though. The only cool person there seemed to be this crazy red-head chick who decked the boy who fouled her shot in gym class. Now that was his kind of girl...duck...whatever. Feisty.
After school, Dean maneuvered Sammy and himself next to where she waited on the sidewalk with her friend. “So, um, Gosalyn, right?” he began nervously. This wasn’t like trying to get an extra piece of pie from some waitress; he wanted this girl to like him. Not kissing like him, ‘cause that was girly, but like him like the guys who had girl friends on TV. “That’s some right hook you’ve got,” he offered. It was the kind of praise he knew he liked to hear.
“Thanks,” she said, a faint blush showing through her face-feathers. “You’re Dean, right?”
“Yeah, I-”
“Gos.” A voice carried over the chatter of students and the low rumble of their parents’ cars. “Gosalyn.”
“Is that your dad?” Sammy asked, pointing to a red-headed duck with a bomber jacket and flight helmet waving from a battered car.
Gosalyn grinned and shook her head. “No, that’s my dad’s friend Launchpad. He’s” -She winced as the car flew backwards into the flagpole with a metallic crunch- “a really bad driver. See you tomorrow, Dean,” she yelled over her shoulder as she and her friend ran to the car. She was tough and brave enough to drive anywhere with that lunatic and pretty cute too with her pig-tails and the way her tail-feathers stuck out from under her hockey jersey. Dean wondered what she’d look like when Dad fixed what was wrong.
****
“It’s a curse,” Dad told him while Sammy washed up for dinner. Dean looked up sharply from setting the table. Dad usually never told him what he was hunting. Sometimes after, but never during.
“What do we do?” Dean asked excitedly. Did this mean Dad needed him to come along? Dean had been itching to shoot at something besides cans. “Do you need my help?”
Dad chuckled and gently ruffled Dean’s feathers. “I think I got this one sport,” he said. “You know the best way you can help me.”
“Take care of Sammy,” Dean sighed as he finished setting the table. All he ever did was take care of Sammy. He loved his little brother, but Dean wasn’t a baby any more. He was nine. He could totally help destroy a curse or blow something up. If only Dad would let him.
After dinner, Dad headed to the bar to see if any of the criminal types had a lead on a possibly cursed object. Dean cleared the table and did the dishes while Sammy watched, of all things, the evening news. On the TV, this town’s answer to the capped crusader took a header off a twenty story building. And bounced. Dean shook his head as he turned off the tap. This crazy town was like living in a cartoon world. What kind of vigilante didn’t obey the laws of physics?
Dishes and homework done, he curled up on the couch with Sammy to read the Hardy Boys with him like Dean had promised. The mystery was decent, just enough action for Dean without being too scary for Sammy. In all the illustrations the brothers were dogs. Dean thought ducks like him and Sammy would have been way cooler.
(1)>> 2