The Great Outdoors
My own fic written for the prompt challenge over at the online home of Mini team free Will: 
spn_on_parade
Mini Team Free Will are getting up to mischief again; think Supernatural meets Toy Story! needless to say, this is unadulterated crack!
What you need to know for this story to make any sense is that Mr Dizzo will occasionally take the little plastic people while I'm not looking at place them in, um, compromising positions around the house for me to find ...
The challenge prompt picture was:
Genre: crack,humour
Rating: T for mild naughtiness
Word Count: 1400
Characters: Mini Team Free Will, Bagpuss, Little Nutbrown Hare
spoilers/Warnings: None
xxxxx
It had been a quiet morning on the bedside cabinet, Mini Team Free Will’s usual place of residence.
Dean had spent an hour enthusiastically tormenting Sam and Castiel with the contents of Dizzo's underwear drawer, played with the clock radio to see if he could find any decent tunes until he accidentally pulled one of the knobs off, and bounced on the bed until he felt sick, but ultimately, the pot-pourri rabbit and the box of tampons that were the only other objects sharing the boys' living space weren't the most diverting company and now he was bored.
And hell, didn't Sam and Castiel know it.
“Bored.”
“Yes, we know,” sighed Sam; “that’s the thirty-seventh time you’ve told us.”
“Really, really bored.”
Even Castiel had reached the point where he was pondering on punching Dean square in the gob (or at least the portion of his smug little plastic face where his gob should have been) and concerning himself with the matter of heavenly forgiveness and salvation afterward.
“I always thought being held prisoner in a chick’s bedroom would be cool,” Dean groaned, petulantly throwing himself backward onto the bed and spreading his little arms and legs across the small round dent he’d made in the duvet as if he were making a quilt angel.
“We’re not prisoners, jerk” Sam snorted; “Dizzo loves us, we’re well looked after here.”
“I spent two weeks in a container ship from China, upside down in a box, packed up tight next to ten thousand Gollums,” Castiel added; “they kept calling me precious and fondling my halo - trust me Dean; compared to that - this is bliss.”
Dean harrumphed non-committally and glanced up out of the window.
The open window.
He perked up. “Hey, she’s left the window open!”
Sam had barely had a chance to look up before Dean was bounding across the bed, and scrambling up the headboard toward the windowsill.
Unceremoniously elbowing Bagpuss and Little Nutbrown Hare out of his way, he heaved himself up onto the windowsill, and tugged the curtain aside.
“Jeez Sam,” he observed; “I don’t think they’re big into gardening.”
“Dean, snapped Sam; “don’t be rude!”
“Heck, the only fairies you’ll find at the bottom of this garden would be ones with a machete and an elephant gu …”
His last word tapered off into a yelp as a sudden breeze lifted the curtain, complete with tiny Dean-shaped appendange.
“SA-AM!”
Sam was already tearing across the bed, bouncing across the memory foam like Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk, when Dean’s grip gave out and he dropped off the fluttering curtain into next door’s garden.
Launching himself at the windowsill and sending the already-dazed Bagpuss and Little Nutbrown Hare cartwheeling across the floor, Sam leaned forlornly out of the window, desperately scanning the view, expecting to find his brother in a little shattered splash of plastic across the concrete pathway.
It was, therefore, with a small degree of relief that his eyes eventually settled on Dean, on the other side of the trellis, upside down and lavishly tangled in next-door’s Clematis.
“SAM!” Dean snapped; “a hand?”
Sam stared in angry disbelief down at the predicament Dean had got himself into; he guessed his brother hadn’t meant a round of applause - even though he deserved one for that stunt.
Sam stared down into the garden; somehow he needed to get on that fence; but how?
He could jump, but one wrong move and it was all over; he couldn’t imagine a woman who transported her action figures in socks to prevent them getting scratched would be too enamoured of coming home to find a small plastic pizza spread out across the garden path.
Speaking of which; said woman would be getting home from work soon. Sam knew if he was going to act, he was going to have to do it now.
Taking a deep breath, he slithered on his belly across the windowsill, lowering himself off until he was hanging by his arms which, for the record, was easier said than done. He cursed the idiots who designed the Funko dolls; any kind of activity was a challenge when your goddamn head was wider than the span of your arms.
Kicking his little legs, his boots found the wall, and made a firm purchase against the rough brickwork, enough that he felt confident to grasp the edge of the brick before him, and before long, he was clinging, spider-like to the wall, inching his way down towards the fence and, on the other side of it, the swaying, rustling bush, complete with its struggling and highly vocal occupant.
He paused as he heard a voice, and looked up to see Castiel leaning out of the window.
“Please be careful,” the angel intoned solemnly; “otherwise you might fall off the wall and die.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up, Sam snorted.
Another head appeared alongside the angel; “kiss my scut, tosspot - kick me off the sodding windowsill again and you WILL die.” Clearly, Little Nutbrown Hare wasn’t quite as lovable as his public persona suggested.
With no small amount of careful perseverance, Sam had finally made it to the fence, just in time to see Dean’s flushed face emerge from the voluminous layers of leaves surrounding him.
“’Bout friggin’ time,” he grumbled, lunging forward out of the foliage and making a grab for his side of the fence. Sam stared back at Dean with undisguised relief and briefly pondered how it was that a plastic painted head could manage to look tousled.
“You’re such an ass,” he snorted as Dean fought his way free of the plant’s interminable layers, and clambered up the trellis, his little bandy legs windmilling furiously in thin air as he fought to heave himself over the top of the fence.
“Why they *huff* gotta have plants that are *grunt* all thick an’ *ugh* green,” he grumbled; “why can’t they jus’ *pant*let them shrivel up an’ die like *groan* Dizzo does?”
Eventually he found himself clinging to Dizzo’s side of the fence next to Sam.
“Smooth Dean, real smooth,” Sam remarked flatly; “you move like a panther.”
“Never mind the smart comments, genius, how we gettin’ back up to the bedroom window?” Dean asked, peering up at the open window through which he could see Castiel’s concerned face, and Little Nutbrown Hare making obscene gestures with his ears.
“I don’t …” Sam’s answer was cut short as they heard a car pull into the drive.
“Crap - it’s Dizzo, she’s home!” Sam gasped.
The brothers clung to the fence and looked at each other in wide-eyed panic - not that it was possible for them to look at each other in any other sort of panic.
“Wait,” Sam snapped; “I’ve got an idea!”
“I’m listening,” Dean replied urgently.
“But you’re not going to like it,” Sam replied apologetically.
“wait, but …”
Sam let go of the fence, dragging Dean with him as the pair of them dropped down to the ground, coming harmlessly to rest in the soft soil of a flowerbed.
Grabbing his brother’s arm, Sam leapt to his feet and the two ran as fast as their little legs would carry them, along the perimeter of the patio to a gravelled spot next to the doorstep.
They kept one eye constantly on Dizzo who was still in her car switching off her I-pod or trying to work out where the handbrake was, or whatever else it was she did after she parked up.
As they reached the gravelled area, Sam skidded to a halt.
“Sorry Dean,” was all he muttered before he threw Dean to the ground, and sunk down on top of him with his face planted firmly into a place where he would normally have no desire to plant it.
Judging by the indignant squawk Dean let out, he was no happier about the situation than Sam was.
They both froze as they heard a car door slam and the click of heels against tarmac.
“What the hell …?”
Dizzo looked down at the two little figures laying on the gravel, apparently going at it like knives judging by their compromising position, and shook her head with a grin.
Mr Dizzo clearly has way too much time on his hands!
Snapping a photo, she carefully picked up the dolls and carried them into the house.
“Great, now that’s gonna be all over the friggin’ internet,” hissed Dean.
“At least you’re not bored any more, asshole,” replied Sam.
xxxxx
end
spn_on_parade
Mini Team Free Will are getting up to mischief again; think Supernatural meets Toy Story! needless to say, this is unadulterated crack!
What you need to know for this story to make any sense is that Mr Dizzo will occasionally take the little plastic people while I'm not looking at place them in, um, compromising positions around the house for me to find ...
The challenge prompt picture was:
Genre: crack,humour
Rating: T for mild naughtiness
Word Count: 1400
Characters: Mini Team Free Will, Bagpuss, Little Nutbrown Hare
spoilers/Warnings: None
xxxxx
It had been a quiet morning on the bedside cabinet, Mini Team Free Will’s usual place of residence.
Dean had spent an hour enthusiastically tormenting Sam and Castiel with the contents of Dizzo's underwear drawer, played with the clock radio to see if he could find any decent tunes until he accidentally pulled one of the knobs off, and bounced on the bed until he felt sick, but ultimately, the pot-pourri rabbit and the box of tampons that were the only other objects sharing the boys' living space weren't the most diverting company and now he was bored.
And hell, didn't Sam and Castiel know it.
“Bored.”
“Yes, we know,” sighed Sam; “that’s the thirty-seventh time you’ve told us.”
“Really, really bored.”
Even Castiel had reached the point where he was pondering on punching Dean square in the gob (or at least the portion of his smug little plastic face where his gob should have been) and concerning himself with the matter of heavenly forgiveness and salvation afterward.
“I always thought being held prisoner in a chick’s bedroom would be cool,” Dean groaned, petulantly throwing himself backward onto the bed and spreading his little arms and legs across the small round dent he’d made in the duvet as if he were making a quilt angel.
“We’re not prisoners, jerk” Sam snorted; “Dizzo loves us, we’re well looked after here.”
“I spent two weeks in a container ship from China, upside down in a box, packed up tight next to ten thousand Gollums,” Castiel added; “they kept calling me precious and fondling my halo - trust me Dean; compared to that - this is bliss.”
Dean harrumphed non-committally and glanced up out of the window.
The open window.
He perked up. “Hey, she’s left the window open!”
Sam had barely had a chance to look up before Dean was bounding across the bed, and scrambling up the headboard toward the windowsill.
Unceremoniously elbowing Bagpuss and Little Nutbrown Hare out of his way, he heaved himself up onto the windowsill, and tugged the curtain aside.
“Jeez Sam,” he observed; “I don’t think they’re big into gardening.”
“Dean, snapped Sam; “don’t be rude!”
“Heck, the only fairies you’ll find at the bottom of this garden would be ones with a machete and an elephant gu …”
His last word tapered off into a yelp as a sudden breeze lifted the curtain, complete with tiny Dean-shaped appendange.
“SA-AM!”
Sam was already tearing across the bed, bouncing across the memory foam like Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk, when Dean’s grip gave out and he dropped off the fluttering curtain into next door’s garden.
Launching himself at the windowsill and sending the already-dazed Bagpuss and Little Nutbrown Hare cartwheeling across the floor, Sam leaned forlornly out of the window, desperately scanning the view, expecting to find his brother in a little shattered splash of plastic across the concrete pathway.
It was, therefore, with a small degree of relief that his eyes eventually settled on Dean, on the other side of the trellis, upside down and lavishly tangled in next-door’s Clematis.
“SAM!” Dean snapped; “a hand?”
Sam stared in angry disbelief down at the predicament Dean had got himself into; he guessed his brother hadn’t meant a round of applause - even though he deserved one for that stunt.
Sam stared down into the garden; somehow he needed to get on that fence; but how?
He could jump, but one wrong move and it was all over; he couldn’t imagine a woman who transported her action figures in socks to prevent them getting scratched would be too enamoured of coming home to find a small plastic pizza spread out across the garden path.
Speaking of which; said woman would be getting home from work soon. Sam knew if he was going to act, he was going to have to do it now.
Taking a deep breath, he slithered on his belly across the windowsill, lowering himself off until he was hanging by his arms which, for the record, was easier said than done. He cursed the idiots who designed the Funko dolls; any kind of activity was a challenge when your goddamn head was wider than the span of your arms.
Kicking his little legs, his boots found the wall, and made a firm purchase against the rough brickwork, enough that he felt confident to grasp the edge of the brick before him, and before long, he was clinging, spider-like to the wall, inching his way down towards the fence and, on the other side of it, the swaying, rustling bush, complete with its struggling and highly vocal occupant.
He paused as he heard a voice, and looked up to see Castiel leaning out of the window.
“Please be careful,” the angel intoned solemnly; “otherwise you might fall off the wall and die.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up, Sam snorted.
Another head appeared alongside the angel; “kiss my scut, tosspot - kick me off the sodding windowsill again and you WILL die.” Clearly, Little Nutbrown Hare wasn’t quite as lovable as his public persona suggested.
With no small amount of careful perseverance, Sam had finally made it to the fence, just in time to see Dean’s flushed face emerge from the voluminous layers of leaves surrounding him.
“’Bout friggin’ time,” he grumbled, lunging forward out of the foliage and making a grab for his side of the fence. Sam stared back at Dean with undisguised relief and briefly pondered how it was that a plastic painted head could manage to look tousled.
“You’re such an ass,” he snorted as Dean fought his way free of the plant’s interminable layers, and clambered up the trellis, his little bandy legs windmilling furiously in thin air as he fought to heave himself over the top of the fence.
“Why they *huff* gotta have plants that are *grunt* all thick an’ *ugh* green,” he grumbled; “why can’t they jus’ *pant*let them shrivel up an’ die like *groan* Dizzo does?”
Eventually he found himself clinging to Dizzo’s side of the fence next to Sam.
“Smooth Dean, real smooth,” Sam remarked flatly; “you move like a panther.”
“Never mind the smart comments, genius, how we gettin’ back up to the bedroom window?” Dean asked, peering up at the open window through which he could see Castiel’s concerned face, and Little Nutbrown Hare making obscene gestures with his ears.
“I don’t …” Sam’s answer was cut short as they heard a car pull into the drive.
“Crap - it’s Dizzo, she’s home!” Sam gasped.
The brothers clung to the fence and looked at each other in wide-eyed panic - not that it was possible for them to look at each other in any other sort of panic.
“Wait,” Sam snapped; “I’ve got an idea!”
“I’m listening,” Dean replied urgently.
“But you’re not going to like it,” Sam replied apologetically.
“wait, but …”
Sam let go of the fence, dragging Dean with him as the pair of them dropped down to the ground, coming harmlessly to rest in the soft soil of a flowerbed.
Grabbing his brother’s arm, Sam leapt to his feet and the two ran as fast as their little legs would carry them, along the perimeter of the patio to a gravelled spot next to the doorstep.
They kept one eye constantly on Dizzo who was still in her car switching off her I-pod or trying to work out where the handbrake was, or whatever else it was she did after she parked up.
As they reached the gravelled area, Sam skidded to a halt.
“Sorry Dean,” was all he muttered before he threw Dean to the ground, and sunk down on top of him with his face planted firmly into a place where he would normally have no desire to plant it.
Judging by the indignant squawk Dean let out, he was no happier about the situation than Sam was.
They both froze as they heard a car door slam and the click of heels against tarmac.
“What the hell …?”
Dizzo looked down at the two little figures laying on the gravel, apparently going at it like knives judging by their compromising position, and shook her head with a grin.
Mr Dizzo clearly has way too much time on his hands!
Snapping a photo, she carefully picked up the dolls and carried them into the house.
“Great, now that’s gonna be all over the friggin’ internet,” hissed Dean.
“At least you’re not bored any more, asshole,” replied Sam.
xxxxx
end