M*A*S*H Fic: Hanging Around
Title: Hanging Around
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: BJ Hunnicutt, Hawkeye Pierce, Frank Burns.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1008
Spoilers: Nothing specific, just business as usual.
Summary: BJ comes up with a fiendish new prank to play on Frank, but he needs Hawkeye’s help to carry it out.
Written For: Challenge # 201: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge # 49: Dangling. Also for aeshna_cyanea. Who asked for no. 18: “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” M*A*S*H, Hawkeye & BJ.
Disclaimer: I don’t own M*A*S*H, or the characters. They belong to their creators.
“Let me get this straight; you want me to help you fasten Frank to a post while he’s asleep so we can set him up as a scarecrow in Father Mulcahey’s vegetable plot?”
BJ shrugged. “Well, the good Father did say he was having trouble with birds scratching up all his seeds before they had time to grow, and it’s not like we’re using Frank for anything else. Might as well give him a chance to earn his keep. So, what d’you say? Are you in?”
Hawkeye shook his head admiringly. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in. When do we do it?”
“Tonight, after lights out. We’ll wait until Frank is fast asleep. I already have everything we’ll need tucked away behind the showers.”
“The secret to a great practical joke is in careful planning and attention to detail. I bow before your expertise.” Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Hawkeye chuckled evilly. “I can’t wait, this is going to be one of our best yet!”
Night fell; the camp personnel, all except for the sentries, retreated to their cots, and one by one the lamps went out across the camp. Hawkeye and BJ waited an hour longer, then slipped silently from beneath the covers and crept over to where Frank lay flat on his back, dead to the world, mouth half open and snoring softly. He really did make things ridiculously easy for them, although the sedative they’d slipped into his nightcap probably helped. Picking him up, his arms over their shoulders, they carried him outside and over to the showers, not in use at this late hour.
Setting him down carefully on a blanket, they dressed him in ‘borrowed’ uniform pants and jacket, both a couple of sizes too big, along with his own boots. Turning Frank on his stomach, they spread his arms out at right angles to his body before carefully threading a wooden pole up one sleeve, across his back, and down the other until it emerged from the cuff. Bandages tied around the top of each arm, above the elbow, and at the wrist secured him in place.
BJ studied the result critically by the light of the moon. “Would have looked better if we could have fastened him to the crossbar before putting the jacket on,” he whispered
“But then we would have had to cut the jacket down the back to get it on him, and then sewn it back together again. This might not look as pretty, but it’s more efficient.”
“I guess you’re right. Okay, now for the post.”
It was long and sturdy, sharpened to a point at one end so it could be driven into the loose earth of Father Mulcahey’s garden more easily. They slid the blunt end up the back of the jacket, so it came out above the collar and rested against the back of Frank’s head. The belt around his waist, which they’d put on back to front, was soon buckled firmly, and just for extra security, they flipped the jacket up and wound bandages around his chest just below his arms.
“We should tie the posts together too, or he might slide down,” Hawkeye said.
“Already ahead if you,” BJ replied, waving a length of rope. “I’ll see to that while you tie his legs to the post.”
“Mid thigh and mid calf should do the trick I think.” Hawkeye picked up another roll of bandage and set to work.
Ten minutes later, after double-checking all the fastenings, they were ready.
BJ dusted his hands off, a satisfied smirk on his face. “All we have to do now is plant him.”
Lifting Scarecrow Frank was a bit tricky, but with Hawkeye taking his shoulders and BJ his feet, they managed to manoeuvre him the short distance through the camp to where they wanted him. Finding his spot he’d prepared earlier, BJ set the sharpened tip of the post in position at the edge of the narrow hole he’d dug, then helped Hawkeye push Frank upright. The post slid neatly into the hole, and a few cautious taps with a cloth-muffled rock forced it in deeper. After that, it was just a case of filling the hole in and tamping the earth down tight around the scarecrow’s post with their heels. Stepping back, they admired their handiwork. Frank hung their, oblivious, toes dangling about a foot above the ground.
“And he’s still sleeping like a baby! Looks peaceful, doesn’t he?” BJ glanced across at his partner in crime.
“Not a care in the world,” Hawkeye agreed.
“Just needs one last thing for the finishing touch.” BJ disappeared and was back a moment later with a battered straw hat, which he set on Frank’s head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle. “Don’t want him getting sunstroke, do we? How’s that?”
“Perfect!” Hawkeye gave two thumbs up.
Frank just snored, and drooled a bit.
“Our work here is done. Shall we retire for the night?”
“Excellent idea.” Side by side, they returned to The Swamp and their cots.
OoOoOoO
They woke the next morning to the sounds of laughter from outside.
“Sounds like our gift to the Padre has been discovered.” BJ grinned as he swung his feet out of bed.
“Seems to be meeting with general approval so far.” Hawkeye stretched and yawned.
“Clearly Frank hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Should we give him a wake-up call?”
“I think not, let the man sleep a bit longer. He’s had a busy night, all that hanging around. You know, I’ve been thinking; we could charge people to have their picture taken with the scarecrow.”
“You really are despicable, aren’t you?” Hawkeye chuckled.
“Why, thank you. Now we mustn’t keep our adoring public waiting for too long. Besides, we don’t want to miss Margaret’s reaction.”
“Or Frank’s.”
Dressing quickly and pulling on their boots, they hustled outside into the early morning light, secure in the knowledge that they were still the 4077th’s undisputed kings of the practical joke.
The End
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: BJ Hunnicutt, Hawkeye Pierce, Frank Burns.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1008
Spoilers: Nothing specific, just business as usual.
Summary: BJ comes up with a fiendish new prank to play on Frank, but he needs Hawkeye’s help to carry it out.
Written For: Challenge # 201: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge # 49: Dangling. Also for aeshna_cyanea. Who asked for no. 18: “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.” M*A*S*H, Hawkeye & BJ.
Disclaimer: I don’t own M*A*S*H, or the characters. They belong to their creators.
“Let me get this straight; you want me to help you fasten Frank to a post while he’s asleep so we can set him up as a scarecrow in Father Mulcahey’s vegetable plot?”
BJ shrugged. “Well, the good Father did say he was having trouble with birds scratching up all his seeds before they had time to grow, and it’s not like we’re using Frank for anything else. Might as well give him a chance to earn his keep. So, what d’you say? Are you in?”
Hawkeye shook his head admiringly. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in. When do we do it?”
“Tonight, after lights out. We’ll wait until Frank is fast asleep. I already have everything we’ll need tucked away behind the showers.”
“The secret to a great practical joke is in careful planning and attention to detail. I bow before your expertise.” Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Hawkeye chuckled evilly. “I can’t wait, this is going to be one of our best yet!”
Night fell; the camp personnel, all except for the sentries, retreated to their cots, and one by one the lamps went out across the camp. Hawkeye and BJ waited an hour longer, then slipped silently from beneath the covers and crept over to where Frank lay flat on his back, dead to the world, mouth half open and snoring softly. He really did make things ridiculously easy for them, although the sedative they’d slipped into his nightcap probably helped. Picking him up, his arms over their shoulders, they carried him outside and over to the showers, not in use at this late hour.
Setting him down carefully on a blanket, they dressed him in ‘borrowed’ uniform pants and jacket, both a couple of sizes too big, along with his own boots. Turning Frank on his stomach, they spread his arms out at right angles to his body before carefully threading a wooden pole up one sleeve, across his back, and down the other until it emerged from the cuff. Bandages tied around the top of each arm, above the elbow, and at the wrist secured him in place.
BJ studied the result critically by the light of the moon. “Would have looked better if we could have fastened him to the crossbar before putting the jacket on,” he whispered
“But then we would have had to cut the jacket down the back to get it on him, and then sewn it back together again. This might not look as pretty, but it’s more efficient.”
“I guess you’re right. Okay, now for the post.”
It was long and sturdy, sharpened to a point at one end so it could be driven into the loose earth of Father Mulcahey’s garden more easily. They slid the blunt end up the back of the jacket, so it came out above the collar and rested against the back of Frank’s head. The belt around his waist, which they’d put on back to front, was soon buckled firmly, and just for extra security, they flipped the jacket up and wound bandages around his chest just below his arms.
“We should tie the posts together too, or he might slide down,” Hawkeye said.
“Already ahead if you,” BJ replied, waving a length of rope. “I’ll see to that while you tie his legs to the post.”
“Mid thigh and mid calf should do the trick I think.” Hawkeye picked up another roll of bandage and set to work.
Ten minutes later, after double-checking all the fastenings, they were ready.
BJ dusted his hands off, a satisfied smirk on his face. “All we have to do now is plant him.”
Lifting Scarecrow Frank was a bit tricky, but with Hawkeye taking his shoulders and BJ his feet, they managed to manoeuvre him the short distance through the camp to where they wanted him. Finding his spot he’d prepared earlier, BJ set the sharpened tip of the post in position at the edge of the narrow hole he’d dug, then helped Hawkeye push Frank upright. The post slid neatly into the hole, and a few cautious taps with a cloth-muffled rock forced it in deeper. After that, it was just a case of filling the hole in and tamping the earth down tight around the scarecrow’s post with their heels. Stepping back, they admired their handiwork. Frank hung their, oblivious, toes dangling about a foot above the ground.
“And he’s still sleeping like a baby! Looks peaceful, doesn’t he?” BJ glanced across at his partner in crime.
“Not a care in the world,” Hawkeye agreed.
“Just needs one last thing for the finishing touch.” BJ disappeared and was back a moment later with a battered straw hat, which he set on Frank’s head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle. “Don’t want him getting sunstroke, do we? How’s that?”
“Perfect!” Hawkeye gave two thumbs up.
Frank just snored, and drooled a bit.
“Our work here is done. Shall we retire for the night?”
“Excellent idea.” Side by side, they returned to The Swamp and their cots.
OoOoOoO
They woke the next morning to the sounds of laughter from outside.
“Sounds like our gift to the Padre has been discovered.” BJ grinned as he swung his feet out of bed.
“Seems to be meeting with general approval so far.” Hawkeye stretched and yawned.
“Clearly Frank hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Should we give him a wake-up call?”
“I think not, let the man sleep a bit longer. He’s had a busy night, all that hanging around. You know, I’ve been thinking; we could charge people to have their picture taken with the scarecrow.”
“You really are despicable, aren’t you?” Hawkeye chuckled.
“Why, thank you. Now we mustn’t keep our adoring public waiting for too long. Besides, we don’t want to miss Margaret’s reaction.”
“Or Frank’s.”
Dressing quickly and pulling on their boots, they hustled outside into the early morning light, secure in the knowledge that they were still the 4077th’s undisputed kings of the practical joke.
The End