(no subject)
Well, my Warcraft account is on the fritz, so here! Have a Supernatural ficlet, before bad things probably happen next Thursday.
Joy in Mudville
I was always the crazy one / who broke into the stadium
Sam's whining almost killed the plan before it even got off the ground. "You're insane. They have guards here, you know. Even in February."
Dean rolled his eyes and jiggled the lockpick. "That's why you're here. You're my lookout."
"Yeah, and when the security guy sees us with candles, holy water, and a book of arcane rituals, what am I supposed to say? 'Oh, don't mind us, officer, we're just breaking into Wrigley Field so we can exorcise a goat.'"
"If he's any kind of a fan," Dean reasoned, "he'll let us in." He felt the last tumbler click into place, and the padlock on the gate fell open.
***
"I still think this is stupid," Sam hissed, still whispering as they clambered down the aisle and hopped over the low wall onto the field.
Dean glared up at him and played his trump card. "Look, this could be my last World Series, and I just want to see the Cubbies win it all."
It was enough to shut Sam up for five whole minutes, while Dean dithered over whether they ought to do it at the pitcher's mound or over home plate. He picked home plate, ostensibly because its shape was perfect for drawing pentagrams, but really because he knew he'd never get another chance to see Wrigley Field from Ryne Sandberg's perspective. But thinking like that was just going to distract him from the matter at hand, so he peeled the tarp away and knelt in the cold dust to unload their supplies.
"It's not going to work, anyway," Sam said, more gently this time. "Dad and Bobby tried, remember? Like ten years ago."
Dean sat back, eyeing the pentagram critically. "Dad and Bobby were drunk as hell--slurring their Latin all over the damn place. It'll work this time," he said, and the conviction in his voice silenced Sam's protests once and for all.
The exorcism went off perfectly, Latin rolling from Dean's tongue like the rumble of an afternoon crowd, until he broke off abruptly. "Hey, college boy, what's the Latin word for goat?"
"Depends," Sam sighed. "Male or female?"
"Male."
Sam's forehead wrinkled. "How do you know?"
"It's called the curse of the billy goat, Sammy."
"Caper," he said, surprising himself. "Capri in the genitive, which is the case you need there."
Dean flashed him a grin and picked up again, candles guttering in the bitter Chicago wind.
***
The Cubs didn't sweep the Series--didn't even make the playoffs--but by then it didn't matter anymore. Dean just turned to Sam and grinned. "Wait till next year," he said, savoring the sound of the words.
Next year.
For those interested: Wikipedia on the Curse of the Billy Goat.