Fic: Duck a L'Orange (part 3)
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 parts here.
Finding and stealing the cursed little statue turned out to be even easier than Dean had thought it would be, but there was one thing he hadn’t counted on. The eyes. They were everywhere, staring at him, at his backpack, and they knew. Dean spent the rest of the tour positive that at any minute someone would announce his thievery to the world. The whole scenario played out in his head like a bad after-school special about why crime doesn’t pay. He would go to jail for the rest of his life, or at least until he turned eight-teen, and Gosalyn would hate him. Dean would spend his days pumping iron in the yard and trying not to drop the soap while at home Sammy starved without Dean there to feed him. Worse yet, even after he escaped, ‘cause he totally would, Dad would never trust Dean with anything ever again. He was suddenly glad he’d forgotten his lunch in all the excitement because he was pretty sure he was gonna throw up.
When they made it safely to the bus without anyone crying stop, thief, Dean began to calm down, but his heart leapt right back into his beak when he looked left at a stop light and saw Darkwing freaking Duck. He was riding what could have been the most bad-ass motorcycle ever if it hadn’t been purple and had a giant red-headed duck in a bomber jacket crammed awkwardly into a tiny sidecar. Dean was so sure the jig was up that it took him a while to notice that Darkwing wasn’t storming the bus to give Dean a taste of vigilante justice. He was preening on his bike and doing a smooth miss America wave while his sidekick flailed his arm like a hyperactive five year old. In the seat in front of Dean, Gosalyn and her goose-friend Honker were waving back just as enthusiastically.
The light changed to green and, as Darkwing’s sweet purple motorcycle sped away, Dean realized something. The sidekick hadn’t been just any old duck in a bomber jacket and flight helmet, he’d been Gosalyn’s dad’s friend Launchpad. Gosalyn’s dad’s friend knew Darkwing Duck. Gosalyn’s dad...“Dude, Gosalyn, is your dad Darkwing Duck?”
“What? No,” she exclaimed in a way that marked her as a really bad liar. “My dad’s just a regular-”
“No, it’s cool,” Dean interrupted her, but it was more than just cool. It was freaking awesome. Now they could bond over their children of super-heros status and maybe she could talk her dad into letting Dean take a spin on that bike. “My dad’s a super-hero too.”
“Keen gear!” She exclaimed. Dean wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he knew she was as excited as he was.
Then Honker had to rain on their best-buddies parade. “I don’t remember hearing about a new crime fighter in town,” he said, pushing his coke-bottle glasses back from where they’d slid down his beak.
Gosalyn’s face fell. “Oh, he doesn’t fight crime,” Dean explained before she could think he was a liar. “He fights monsters and stuff.”
“Monsters?” She looked interested again. Interested and kind of scared.
“Yeah, but we’re not hunting monsters here,” he reassured her. “We’re breaking a curse.”
“Is it bad?” Gosalyn asked, her face serious.
And that’s when it hit him, really hit him. She didn’t know. She had no clue she was supposed to be a human girl with lips and pants and non-webbed feet just like Sammy hadn’t noticed there was anything wrong with this town. As far as they, as far as everyone, was concerned, this being a duck thing was perfectly normal. “It’s...weird,” Dean hedged. “But don’t worry though, me and my dad, we’re gonna break it.”
****
For a cursed object, it was kind of nice. It was a statue of an anthropomorphized duck, brave and dashing looking, like Dad, only without a cool leather jacket. It sat on their kitchen table and Dean wondered if it was supposed to be a human or if it had always been a duck and that was why there was a curse in the first place. “So, now what do we do with it?”
“We burn it,” said Dad, eyeing the statue like it was something he’d pried off of the bottom of his shoe.
Dean studied the cursed little statue. It looked like bronze, or maybe copper. Once, when Sammy was two, he had tossed Dean’s change-purse into Uncle Bobby’s fireplace. After the fire was out, the little bag was gone, but all but all of the coins had been fine. “How do we burn metal?”
Dad considered, scratching the feathers on his chin. “Foundry maybe? There’s gotta be one somewhere in this town. Let’s hope they keep the fires going at night.”
Dean wasn’t sure what a foundry was, but suddenly his simple plan to break the curse and show Gosalyn once and for all how awesome he was was looking like a whole lot of work. “What if we don’t?”
“What if we don’t what?” Dad was starting to sound annoyed, like all the extra work was bugging him too. “Find a foundry? Well, it’s not like we can just burn the damn thing in the sink, Dean.”
Dean shrank back from the harsh tone. He hated it when Dad was mad at him. “No,” he said quietly, head down and scuffing the floor with his webbed feet. “I mean what if we just don’t break the curse.” He risked a look at Dad. His expression was not promising. “It’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s a curse, Dean,” Dad barked, “and we’re hunters. Breaking curses is what we do.”
“I know, but it’s not hurting anybody and...” - he floundered for something more, something to give his argument that extra kick- “...and Gosalyn’s dad. He fell from this really tall building and he bounced! If it wasn’t for the curse, he’d be a sidewalk pancake.” He smiled shyly up at Dad. “See, it’s a good thing. And I don’t even know what a foundry is.”
Dad sighed. He looked at Dean’s earnest face. He looked at the statue. He looked around their packed-up apartment and over to where Sammy was quietly trying to read and watch tv simultaneously. Dad sighed again. “Screw it,” said Dad, flopping into a chair. “I am so sick of this town,” he groaned, shaking his head. “I am so sick of being a duck.”
Dean nodded slowly. Did that mean it was find-a-foundry time or were they just gonna split? “So, now what?’
“I guess now we put it back.”
****
Dad took the time to walk Dean through disabling the alarm system, which was actually kind of neat. It was so easy Dean wondered why they even bothered. If a nine year old with a leg up could get around it, real criminals should have no problem.
City Hall at night looked different, the columns trailing long, looming shadows. The halls were darker, creepier, and without all the voices and other people, their footsteps echoed ominously on the marble floor. They made their way quickly to the display case and were about to put the cursed little statue back when a voice interrupted them.
“I am the terror that flaps in the night,” the voice said, echoing like crazy. Dad just sighed like the cop in Lethal Weapon who was too old for this shit. “I am your neighbors car alarm at 3 AM.” A cloud of smoke began to form and Dean knew what was coming. “I am Darkwing Duck!”
The smoke cleared and there he was. Darkwing looked taller and more bad-ass in person than he had falling off the building on tv, but he was still way shorter than Dad and not much taller than Dean. The duck knew how to make an entrance though. Maybe Dean should talk Dad into getting some smoke bombs and witty catch-phrases. That would be sweet.
“You again.” The super-hero’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His eyes flitted to where Dean stood at Dad’s side and his whole face hardened. “Passing on your villainous ways?” He wiped out the weirdest gun Dean had ever seen and aimed it at Dad’s face. “Suck-”
Dad darted forward and rammed the little statue into the end of Darkwing’s gun. “Keep the damn thing,” he snapped and started to drag Dean away towards the safety of their packed car and a waiting Sammy.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mallard,” Dean called over his shoulder to the rather confused-looking duck. “Tell Gosalyn I said bye.”
****
Five miles past the Audubon Bay Bridge, the air gave a familiar shiver. Sammy was a little boy again, and in the front seat Dad was back to normal too. Dean looked down at his own jeans and sneakers and sighed. He’d kind of miss having webbed feet.
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 parts here.
Finding and stealing the cursed little statue turned out to be even easier than Dean had thought it would be, but there was one thing he hadn’t counted on. The eyes. They were everywhere, staring at him, at his backpack, and they knew. Dean spent the rest of the tour positive that at any minute someone would announce his thievery to the world. The whole scenario played out in his head like a bad after-school special about why crime doesn’t pay. He would go to jail for the rest of his life, or at least until he turned eight-teen, and Gosalyn would hate him. Dean would spend his days pumping iron in the yard and trying not to drop the soap while at home Sammy starved without Dean there to feed him. Worse yet, even after he escaped, ‘cause he totally would, Dad would never trust Dean with anything ever again. He was suddenly glad he’d forgotten his lunch in all the excitement because he was pretty sure he was gonna throw up.
When they made it safely to the bus without anyone crying stop, thief, Dean began to calm down, but his heart leapt right back into his beak when he looked left at a stop light and saw Darkwing freaking Duck. He was riding what could have been the most bad-ass motorcycle ever if it hadn’t been purple and had a giant red-headed duck in a bomber jacket crammed awkwardly into a tiny sidecar. Dean was so sure the jig was up that it took him a while to notice that Darkwing wasn’t storming the bus to give Dean a taste of vigilante justice. He was preening on his bike and doing a smooth miss America wave while his sidekick flailed his arm like a hyperactive five year old. In the seat in front of Dean, Gosalyn and her goose-friend Honker were waving back just as enthusiastically.
The light changed to green and, as Darkwing’s sweet purple motorcycle sped away, Dean realized something. The sidekick hadn’t been just any old duck in a bomber jacket and flight helmet, he’d been Gosalyn’s dad’s friend Launchpad. Gosalyn’s dad’s friend knew Darkwing Duck. Gosalyn’s dad...“Dude, Gosalyn, is your dad Darkwing Duck?”
“What? No,” she exclaimed in a way that marked her as a really bad liar. “My dad’s just a regular-”
“No, it’s cool,” Dean interrupted her, but it was more than just cool. It was freaking awesome. Now they could bond over their children of super-heros status and maybe she could talk her dad into letting Dean take a spin on that bike. “My dad’s a super-hero too.”
“Keen gear!” She exclaimed. Dean wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he knew she was as excited as he was.
Then Honker had to rain on their best-buddies parade. “I don’t remember hearing about a new crime fighter in town,” he said, pushing his coke-bottle glasses back from where they’d slid down his beak.
Gosalyn’s face fell. “Oh, he doesn’t fight crime,” Dean explained before she could think he was a liar. “He fights monsters and stuff.”
“Monsters?” She looked interested again. Interested and kind of scared.
“Yeah, but we’re not hunting monsters here,” he reassured her. “We’re breaking a curse.”
“Is it bad?” Gosalyn asked, her face serious.
And that’s when it hit him, really hit him. She didn’t know. She had no clue she was supposed to be a human girl with lips and pants and non-webbed feet just like Sammy hadn’t noticed there was anything wrong with this town. As far as they, as far as everyone, was concerned, this being a duck thing was perfectly normal. “It’s...weird,” Dean hedged. “But don’t worry though, me and my dad, we’re gonna break it.”
****
For a cursed object, it was kind of nice. It was a statue of an anthropomorphized duck, brave and dashing looking, like Dad, only without a cool leather jacket. It sat on their kitchen table and Dean wondered if it was supposed to be a human or if it had always been a duck and that was why there was a curse in the first place. “So, now what do we do with it?”
“We burn it,” said Dad, eyeing the statue like it was something he’d pried off of the bottom of his shoe.
Dean studied the cursed little statue. It looked like bronze, or maybe copper. Once, when Sammy was two, he had tossed Dean’s change-purse into Uncle Bobby’s fireplace. After the fire was out, the little bag was gone, but all but all of the coins had been fine. “How do we burn metal?”
Dad considered, scratching the feathers on his chin. “Foundry maybe? There’s gotta be one somewhere in this town. Let’s hope they keep the fires going at night.”
Dean wasn’t sure what a foundry was, but suddenly his simple plan to break the curse and show Gosalyn once and for all how awesome he was was looking like a whole lot of work. “What if we don’t?”
“What if we don’t what?” Dad was starting to sound annoyed, like all the extra work was bugging him too. “Find a foundry? Well, it’s not like we can just burn the damn thing in the sink, Dean.”
Dean shrank back from the harsh tone. He hated it when Dad was mad at him. “No,” he said quietly, head down and scuffing the floor with his webbed feet. “I mean what if we just don’t break the curse.” He risked a look at Dad. His expression was not promising. “It’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s a curse, Dean,” Dad barked, “and we’re hunters. Breaking curses is what we do.”
“I know, but it’s not hurting anybody and...” - he floundered for something more, something to give his argument that extra kick- “...and Gosalyn’s dad. He fell from this really tall building and he bounced! If it wasn’t for the curse, he’d be a sidewalk pancake.” He smiled shyly up at Dad. “See, it’s a good thing. And I don’t even know what a foundry is.”
Dad sighed. He looked at Dean’s earnest face. He looked at the statue. He looked around their packed-up apartment and over to where Sammy was quietly trying to read and watch tv simultaneously. Dad sighed again. “Screw it,” said Dad, flopping into a chair. “I am so sick of this town,” he groaned, shaking his head. “I am so sick of being a duck.”
Dean nodded slowly. Did that mean it was find-a-foundry time or were they just gonna split? “So, now what?’
“I guess now we put it back.”
****
Dad took the time to walk Dean through disabling the alarm system, which was actually kind of neat. It was so easy Dean wondered why they even bothered. If a nine year old with a leg up could get around it, real criminals should have no problem.
City Hall at night looked different, the columns trailing long, looming shadows. The halls were darker, creepier, and without all the voices and other people, their footsteps echoed ominously on the marble floor. They made their way quickly to the display case and were about to put the cursed little statue back when a voice interrupted them.
“I am the terror that flaps in the night,” the voice said, echoing like crazy. Dad just sighed like the cop in Lethal Weapon who was too old for this shit. “I am your neighbors car alarm at 3 AM.” A cloud of smoke began to form and Dean knew what was coming. “I am Darkwing Duck!”
The smoke cleared and there he was. Darkwing looked taller and more bad-ass in person than he had falling off the building on tv, but he was still way shorter than Dad and not much taller than Dean. The duck knew how to make an entrance though. Maybe Dean should talk Dad into getting some smoke bombs and witty catch-phrases. That would be sweet.
“You again.” The super-hero’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His eyes flitted to where Dean stood at Dad’s side and his whole face hardened. “Passing on your villainous ways?” He wiped out the weirdest gun Dean had ever seen and aimed it at Dad’s face. “Suck-”
Dad darted forward and rammed the little statue into the end of Darkwing’s gun. “Keep the damn thing,” he snapped and started to drag Dean away towards the safety of their packed car and a waiting Sammy.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mallard,” Dean called over his shoulder to the rather confused-looking duck. “Tell Gosalyn I said bye.”
****
Five miles past the Audubon Bay Bridge, the air gave a familiar shiver. Sammy was a little boy again, and in the front seat Dad was back to normal too. Dean looked down at his own jeans and sneakers and sighed. He’d kind of miss having webbed feet.
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