Fic: Duck a L'Orange (part 2)
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.
previous part here
After three months in St. Canard, the novelty had worn off the whole anthropomorphized animal thing. Dean liked stomping in puddles with his webbed feet and it had been ages since he’d gotten the giggles watching Sammy try to brush his beak. Their landlord was a giant rat, their across-the-hall neighbor was a big pig and some days it seemed like it had always been that way. Dad had a job at a garage and had been on a few salt-and-burns. Everything was so normal it was almost hard to remember that there even was a curse.
At school, Dean’s plan to win Gosalyn’s friendship wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. The problem was that she already had a best guy friend, a goosey nerd, and, for a dude with such thick glasses, he sure was possessive. Plus, it turned out talking to girls, even ones who acted like normal people instead of giggling and playing with dolls all the time, was actually really hard. If only Dean could tell her about hunting. Then Gosalyn would think he was cool.
Dean sighed and let his fork chase the swirl of his dinner around his plate. He thought about Gosalyn’s red pigtails and the way her green eyes lit up in a fist fight. He wondered how kissing worked with a beak.
“Boys,” Dad’s low, serious tone cut through Dean’s musings like a karate chop. “I’m going out later, and I want you two to have everything packed for when I get back.”
“Aw, Dad,” groused Sammy. “I like it here.” He always said that and they always moved anyway. He was a smart enough kid, Dean wondered why he hadn’t picked up on that pattern.
“You always say that,” Dad said with a gentle smile. “You’ll like the next place too. Besides, the semester’s almost over and it’s time to move on.”
Satisfied with that explanation, or maybe just resigned to the inevitable, Sammy gave a dejected sigh and pouted in his milk, but Dean wasn’t satisfied at all. It was another month until the end of the semester and the only reason Sam didn’t know that was ‘cause he probably didn’t know what one was. Why were they really moving now? Was it a hunt or had someone called Social Services again? Dean hoped it was a hunt. Ghosts he could handle, social workers were scary.
After dinner, Dean sent Sam off to start packing his stuff while Dean washed the dishes and boxed up the kitchen. Carefully wrapping their small collection of mismatched plates in their stolen hotel sheets and towels, Dean watched as Dad cleaned and loaded his favorite gun on the kitchen table.
“You found it didn’t you,” Dean asked excitedly. “The curse thing?” A sudden and frightening thought occurred to him. “It didn’t get back to you, did it?” That had happened a couple of times before and it hadn’t been fun. Dean tried to worry his lower beak, but it just wasn’t the same without lips. “You need me to wipe everything down?”
“No, dude, we’re good.” Dad stuck his gun at the small of his back and pocketed a handful of the fast-food salt packets that lived on the napkin stack in the center of the table. “It’s at City Hall. I’m gonna go get it tonight. Just be ready to move when I get here.”
“Yes, sir.” They’d be ready to go. Dean was really good at packing.
Dad gently ruffled Dean’s feathers. “Good man. You know the drill?”
Dead took a deep breath and dutifully recited standard operating procedure from looking out for Sammy to shooting first with questions later. He wondered if Gosalyn would be impressed that he knew how to use a gun. Too bad he’d never get to tell her.
****
Contrary to popular belief, careful packing wasn’t just about cramming all your stuff into a small space. Packing was about organization and strategy. It was a science and Dean was all over it. All the little used, apartment-y stuff destined for the back of the trunk was in one neat pile close by the door so it could be taken out first, while all the guns, clothes and toiletries they would need for their next hotel room were all set to go last.
Sam and Dean were on the couch, fully clothed and ready to go too, or at least Dean was. It was pushing midnight and Sammy had fallen asleep hours ago, his head pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean kept himself awake and reasonably alert watching late night talk shows. Every time he started to nod off, he tightened his fist around the handle of their trusty first aid kit to remind himself what he was here for. He needed to be ready for a medical emergency, a quick getaway, for just about anything really.
Dean was still puzzling his way through some of the more adult humor in Letterman’s top ten when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. He slipped out from under Sammy, grabbed the med kit, and went to let Dad in. The older duck didn’t seem to be bleeding but, even with the feathers, Dean could tell his color was off.
“You okay? What happened?” he asked worriedly as he shadowed Dad into the kitchen.
“It was the damnedest thing,” Dad said, slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. “Grab me a drink, will ya,” he added.
Dean dutifully fished the last beer out of the cooler for Dad and, despite the emergency pit-stop he knew they’d have to make later, grabbed a juice box for himself too. He took a seat, passed across the beer and jammed the little straw into his own drink. Dean waited until Dad had taken a few gulps before he started the interrogation. “So,” he asked again, “what happened?”
Dad took another gulp and shook his head. “I got in there okay. The alarm system was pretty simple. It took me a while to find the damn thing, but I unlocked the case and...
John tucked his lock-picks away and was about to open the display case when he noticed a pillar of dark smoke starting to coalesce a few feet away. John rose slowly to his feet and carefully reached for the salt packets in his coat. He hadn’t heard about a haunting or any demonic omens at City Hall, but he was suddenly glad he’d come prepared.
“I am the terror that flaps in the night.” The low, disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “I am the peanut butter that gums up your mouth,” it continued, somewhat less ominously. “I am” -the smoke dispersed with a poof revealing a short duck in a purple cape and floppy hat -“Darkwing Duck,” he intoned dramatically.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, felonious fiend,” the duck said, dramatically swirling his cape, “Desist your dastardly deeds.”
“What?” asked John, momentarily overwhelmed by all the alliteration.
A look of annoyance flashed over the duck’s masked face. “Suck gas, evil doer,” he cried and, before John could do more than cover his face, fired off a round of tear gas. Noxious smoke rapidly filled the hallway and, eyes streaming and gasping for breath, John...
made a strategic retreat,” Dad explained.
“You actually met Darkwing Duck?” Dean asked excitedly. “That’s so cool. I saw him on TV. He’s like Batman, only a duck and without Bruce Wayne’s money.”
“Yeah, that’s great, son,” Dad snorted into his beer. “But now I’ve gotta go back again tomorrow night though.”
They were staying for another day? That meant Dean would be able to say goodbye to Gosalyn. That meant he could go on the class field trip. The class field trip to City Hall. “Dad” -he tugged on Dad’s sleeve, giddy with lack of sleep and excitement-“Dad, I could get it. You never re-locked the case and we’re going there tomorrow. I can grab it and put it in my backpack. It’ll be so easy.”
“Dean,” Dad sighed. He looked so old, so tired and Dean was all the more determined to do it. If Dad only knew he could count on Dean to do more than just pack and watch Sammy, then maybe he wouldn’t be so tired all the time. If they shared to load together, maybe it wouldn’t be so heavy.
“I can do this, Dad,” Dean said. He tried to make his eyes big and dewy, like Sammy did when he really wanted something. “I can do this. Let me help. Please.”
Dad stared hard at him for a minute and Dean did his darndest to look sincere and responsible. His eyes drifted from Dean’s face to the neat piles of boxes by the door to Sammy curled up asleep on the couch. “Alright,” he whispered, slumping as if in defeat. “Alright, but you be careful,” he added, clasping Dean’s shoulder and giving him a little shake.
“Yes, sir.” Dean straighten to attention under Dad’s hand, just about bursting with pride. He’d be extra-special careful. This was his big chance to prove himself and he wouldn’t let Dad down. Dean was extra attentive as Dad described the cursed object and where to find it. Funny how Dad didn’t look any less tired when was done explaining though. He didn’t look like he was sharing his burdens. He just looked kind of sad.
****
1<< (2) >> 3
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.
previous part here
After three months in St. Canard, the novelty had worn off the whole anthropomorphized animal thing. Dean liked stomping in puddles with his webbed feet and it had been ages since he’d gotten the giggles watching Sammy try to brush his beak. Their landlord was a giant rat, their across-the-hall neighbor was a big pig and some days it seemed like it had always been that way. Dad had a job at a garage and had been on a few salt-and-burns. Everything was so normal it was almost hard to remember that there even was a curse.
At school, Dean’s plan to win Gosalyn’s friendship wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. The problem was that she already had a best guy friend, a goosey nerd, and, for a dude with such thick glasses, he sure was possessive. Plus, it turned out talking to girls, even ones who acted like normal people instead of giggling and playing with dolls all the time, was actually really hard. If only Dean could tell her about hunting. Then Gosalyn would think he was cool.
Dean sighed and let his fork chase the swirl of his dinner around his plate. He thought about Gosalyn’s red pigtails and the way her green eyes lit up in a fist fight. He wondered how kissing worked with a beak.
“Boys,” Dad’s low, serious tone cut through Dean’s musings like a karate chop. “I’m going out later, and I want you two to have everything packed for when I get back.”
“Aw, Dad,” groused Sammy. “I like it here.” He always said that and they always moved anyway. He was a smart enough kid, Dean wondered why he hadn’t picked up on that pattern.
“You always say that,” Dad said with a gentle smile. “You’ll like the next place too. Besides, the semester’s almost over and it’s time to move on.”
Satisfied with that explanation, or maybe just resigned to the inevitable, Sammy gave a dejected sigh and pouted in his milk, but Dean wasn’t satisfied at all. It was another month until the end of the semester and the only reason Sam didn’t know that was ‘cause he probably didn’t know what one was. Why were they really moving now? Was it a hunt or had someone called Social Services again? Dean hoped it was a hunt. Ghosts he could handle, social workers were scary.
After dinner, Dean sent Sam off to start packing his stuff while Dean washed the dishes and boxed up the kitchen. Carefully wrapping their small collection of mismatched plates in their stolen hotel sheets and towels, Dean watched as Dad cleaned and loaded his favorite gun on the kitchen table.
“You found it didn’t you,” Dean asked excitedly. “The curse thing?” A sudden and frightening thought occurred to him. “It didn’t get back to you, did it?” That had happened a couple of times before and it hadn’t been fun. Dean tried to worry his lower beak, but it just wasn’t the same without lips. “You need me to wipe everything down?”
“No, dude, we’re good.” Dad stuck his gun at the small of his back and pocketed a handful of the fast-food salt packets that lived on the napkin stack in the center of the table. “It’s at City Hall. I’m gonna go get it tonight. Just be ready to move when I get here.”
“Yes, sir.” They’d be ready to go. Dean was really good at packing.
Dad gently ruffled Dean’s feathers. “Good man. You know the drill?”
Dead took a deep breath and dutifully recited standard operating procedure from looking out for Sammy to shooting first with questions later. He wondered if Gosalyn would be impressed that he knew how to use a gun. Too bad he’d never get to tell her.
****
Contrary to popular belief, careful packing wasn’t just about cramming all your stuff into a small space. Packing was about organization and strategy. It was a science and Dean was all over it. All the little used, apartment-y stuff destined for the back of the trunk was in one neat pile close by the door so it could be taken out first, while all the guns, clothes and toiletries they would need for their next hotel room were all set to go last.
Sam and Dean were on the couch, fully clothed and ready to go too, or at least Dean was. It was pushing midnight and Sammy had fallen asleep hours ago, his head pillowed on Dean’s thigh. Dean kept himself awake and reasonably alert watching late night talk shows. Every time he started to nod off, he tightened his fist around the handle of their trusty first aid kit to remind himself what he was here for. He needed to be ready for a medical emergency, a quick getaway, for just about anything really.
Dean was still puzzling his way through some of the more adult humor in Letterman’s top ten when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine. He slipped out from under Sammy, grabbed the med kit, and went to let Dad in. The older duck didn’t seem to be bleeding but, even with the feathers, Dean could tell his color was off.
“You okay? What happened?” he asked worriedly as he shadowed Dad into the kitchen.
“It was the damnedest thing,” Dad said, slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. “Grab me a drink, will ya,” he added.
Dean dutifully fished the last beer out of the cooler for Dad and, despite the emergency pit-stop he knew they’d have to make later, grabbed a juice box for himself too. He took a seat, passed across the beer and jammed the little straw into his own drink. Dean waited until Dad had taken a few gulps before he started the interrogation. “So,” he asked again, “what happened?”
Dad took another gulp and shook his head. “I got in there okay. The alarm system was pretty simple. It took me a while to find the damn thing, but I unlocked the case and...
John tucked his lock-picks away and was about to open the display case when he noticed a pillar of dark smoke starting to coalesce a few feet away. John rose slowly to his feet and carefully reached for the salt packets in his coat. He hadn’t heard about a haunting or any demonic omens at City Hall, but he was suddenly glad he’d come prepared.
“I am the terror that flaps in the night.” The low, disembodied voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “I am the peanut butter that gums up your mouth,” it continued, somewhat less ominously. “I am” -the smoke dispersed with a poof revealing a short duck in a purple cape and floppy hat -“Darkwing Duck,” he intoned dramatically.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No, felonious fiend,” the duck said, dramatically swirling his cape, “Desist your dastardly deeds.”
“What?” asked John, momentarily overwhelmed by all the alliteration.
A look of annoyance flashed over the duck’s masked face. “Suck gas, evil doer,” he cried and, before John could do more than cover his face, fired off a round of tear gas. Noxious smoke rapidly filled the hallway and, eyes streaming and gasping for breath, John...
made a strategic retreat,” Dad explained.
“You actually met Darkwing Duck?” Dean asked excitedly. “That’s so cool. I saw him on TV. He’s like Batman, only a duck and without Bruce Wayne’s money.”
“Yeah, that’s great, son,” Dad snorted into his beer. “But now I’ve gotta go back again tomorrow night though.”
They were staying for another day? That meant Dean would be able to say goodbye to Gosalyn. That meant he could go on the class field trip. The class field trip to City Hall. “Dad” -he tugged on Dad’s sleeve, giddy with lack of sleep and excitement-“Dad, I could get it. You never re-locked the case and we’re going there tomorrow. I can grab it and put it in my backpack. It’ll be so easy.”
“Dean,” Dad sighed. He looked so old, so tired and Dean was all the more determined to do it. If Dad only knew he could count on Dean to do more than just pack and watch Sammy, then maybe he wouldn’t be so tired all the time. If they shared to load together, maybe it wouldn’t be so heavy.
“I can do this, Dad,” Dean said. He tried to make his eyes big and dewy, like Sammy did when he really wanted something. “I can do this. Let me help. Please.”
Dad stared hard at him for a minute and Dean did his darndest to look sincere and responsible. His eyes drifted from Dean’s face to the neat piles of boxes by the door to Sammy curled up asleep on the couch. “Alright,” he whispered, slumping as if in defeat. “Alright, but you be careful,” he added, clasping Dean’s shoulder and giving him a little shake.
“Yes, sir.” Dean straighten to attention under Dad’s hand, just about bursting with pride. He’d be extra-special careful. This was his big chance to prove himself and he wouldn’t let Dad down. Dean was extra attentive as Dad described the cursed object and where to find it. Funny how Dad didn’t look any less tired when was done explaining though. He didn’t look like he was sharing his burdens. He just looked kind of sad.
****
1<< (2) >> 3