Zoboomacrack
Oh, salveo_opes, what have you done? All because we had to discuss what would happen if the Kratt brothers met up with the Winchesters. And Lemmypie? Yeah, aiding and abetting. Pure, unadulterated crack. Crackity crack crack.
Dean wiped the ten-inch blade on his t-shirt, leaving a big long smear of blood. Didn’t have any expression on his face to show for the quick, clean kill he’d just made. Might have just cut the lawn.
Sam skidded up beside him, throwing a spray of gravel across the night-blackened parking lot, not even a wonky sulfuric streetlight to assist in creature identification. He smacked his temperamental flashlight against his thigh a couple of times as Dean re-sheathed his hunting knife and pulled out the remainder of a yellow bag of M&Ms from his jeans pocket.
Dean rattled a few candies into the palm of his hand, staring impassively at the dead creature bleeding out on the high school parking lot. Far away, near the gymnasium’s open doors, they could hear shouting and feet stamping. A basketball game, maybe? Girls screaming shrilly. Not their sort of screams, though.
Sam, panting hard, finally got the flashlight to work, played it over the still, furry beast at Dean’s feet. He scowled. “I don’t know, Dean,” he muttered, not convinced. “Doesn’t look too dangerous.”
Dean wasn’t looking at it, took a few meandering steps to the lit gym doors. “Came after me like a fuckin’ werewolf, Sammy. Coulda killed me. You see the way it...” searched for a different word than the one he ended up using, “bounced?”
Sam nudged the fuzzy thing with the toe of his sneaker. “I don’t know. Too small to be a werewolf.” It looked nothing like a werewolf. He didn’t say ‘too cute’ but he might have thought it. His tone implied it.
A long silence followed this, during which Sam put one and one and one together. The sum of these parts was: “Are you still after that fucking thing?”
Dean sighed explosively through widened nostrils, popped a handful of M&Ms in his mouth, cracked them for effect. “Was after the candy, I said.”
“Dean,” Sam warned. “Fabric softener mascots don’t bleed. This isn’t a cuddly toy, a..a stuffed bear...” fumbled for words. “What the fuck did you call it?”
Dean shrugged, eyes sharp on two figures outlined in gym fluorescent. The two newcomers emerged from the gym, cast about, searching. Dean put away the candy again. Preparing himself for a fight, Sam could see it same as if his brother had said it out loud. “Sure enough is, Sam. That look like any housecat to you? Furry little bitch.”
Sam rolled his eyes, wondered if this was someone’s dog. Didn’t look like a dog, either, though. Looked like a...Sam didn’t know what the fuck it was.
“Zoboo!” Sam saw one of the approaching figures put hands around his mouth, shout again, “Zoboo!”
Oh, fuck, it WAS someone’s pet, a Maltese cockapoo or something. Sam stared down again. “Hey!” he shouted. “You looking for your dog?”
And from the way these two guys moved, Sam could tell that they meant business, had dealt with plenty of out of the ordinary situations before, maybe even some involving dangerous creatures that only came out at night, which could include Dean, if Sam was being truthful.
He wasn’t prepared for the taller of the two, the dark haired one, to fall to his bare knees, hiking boots (serious ones, where the hell did these two think they were, on fucking safari?), smearing the pooling blood like kindergarten fingerpaint.
“Zoboo,” the man whimpered, cradling the little black and white creature in his arms.
Behind this pathetic scene, his companion crossed his arms, mouth working around a wad of gum. Sizing them up like he had an elephant gun. Took out a flashlight, a big professional kind that Sam had only seen in the X-Files. “What happened?”
And Dean was so not interested in this, looked bored. “Came after me, man. Attacked.”
The standing man shifted his stance. Sam didn’t like the look of him. Instinctively, he knew Dean would go for this one first. The other one, with the animal in his arms? A pussy.
“Attacked?” the standing man said, startled. “It’s a fucking lemur, dude. They don’t attack.”
“Yeah. Well,” Dean said unhelpfully.
That was all it took. These assholes don’t have a chance. Dean moved faster than a hunting cat, going right for the standing one, which made the other one - who was really no pussy after all - come to his feet and jump on Dean’s back, all before Sam had even moved. Man, they were quick.
Sam pulled the dark-haired one off, was more of a size with him, and he stumbled over the fuzzy little creature, fell forward into the other, and they both rolled on the ground like it was a playground fight. Except this guy wasn’t pulling punches.
“Hey!” he heard Dean grunt and Sam saw Dean’s face, just for a moment, blood running from his nose, a big grin on his face. “Off my brother!”
And the one on top of Sam stopped, confused. He looked back and forth, unable to figure out which one was his companion, which one was the asshole that had killed his dog. Not dog. Lemur. Whatever the hell that was. “You two are brothers?” he asked, like they were having a good time.
Dean had the other guy by the hair and was about to smack the back of his head against the pavement. “Yeah?”
“Us too!” The one on top of Sam got off, helped Sam up. “Cool!”
They all stood awkwardly, Dean still bouncing on the balls of his feet, boxer-like. “Sorry about the...”
“Lemur,” the other said, weird resignation in his voice. “Did you have candy?”
Dean brought out the M&Ms. The shorter of the hiking boot brothers sighed. “That crazy fucker. Always with the candy.” He glanced back at the gymnasium. “I hate these school rallies.”
“Beer?” Dean suggested.
“Beer,” the other two said together, like he was suggesting naked Swedish massage therapy.
Sam stood, watching them as they started to walk out of the parking lot. “Hey!” he called. “Hey!” They turned, flashlights pooling light at their feet. “What about this?” and gestured to the trammeled lemur at his feet.
The shorter brother shrugged. “Third one this month, greedy assholes. I’ll call the pound from the bar. Chris?”
Chris smiled widely. “Don’t sweat it. We have a budget for this sort of thing. But first round?”
“On me,” Dean said magnanimously.
Dean wiped the ten-inch blade on his t-shirt, leaving a big long smear of blood. Didn’t have any expression on his face to show for the quick, clean kill he’d just made. Might have just cut the lawn.
Sam skidded up beside him, throwing a spray of gravel across the night-blackened parking lot, not even a wonky sulfuric streetlight to assist in creature identification. He smacked his temperamental flashlight against his thigh a couple of times as Dean re-sheathed his hunting knife and pulled out the remainder of a yellow bag of M&Ms from his jeans pocket.
Dean rattled a few candies into the palm of his hand, staring impassively at the dead creature bleeding out on the high school parking lot. Far away, near the gymnasium’s open doors, they could hear shouting and feet stamping. A basketball game, maybe? Girls screaming shrilly. Not their sort of screams, though.
Sam, panting hard, finally got the flashlight to work, played it over the still, furry beast at Dean’s feet. He scowled. “I don’t know, Dean,” he muttered, not convinced. “Doesn’t look too dangerous.”
Dean wasn’t looking at it, took a few meandering steps to the lit gym doors. “Came after me like a fuckin’ werewolf, Sammy. Coulda killed me. You see the way it...” searched for a different word than the one he ended up using, “bounced?”
Sam nudged the fuzzy thing with the toe of his sneaker. “I don’t know. Too small to be a werewolf.” It looked nothing like a werewolf. He didn’t say ‘too cute’ but he might have thought it. His tone implied it.
A long silence followed this, during which Sam put one and one and one together. The sum of these parts was: “Are you still after that fucking thing?”
Dean sighed explosively through widened nostrils, popped a handful of M&Ms in his mouth, cracked them for effect. “Was after the candy, I said.”
“Dean,” Sam warned. “Fabric softener mascots don’t bleed. This isn’t a cuddly toy, a..a stuffed bear...” fumbled for words. “What the fuck did you call it?”
Dean shrugged, eyes sharp on two figures outlined in gym fluorescent. The two newcomers emerged from the gym, cast about, searching. Dean put away the candy again. Preparing himself for a fight, Sam could see it same as if his brother had said it out loud. “Sure enough is, Sam. That look like any housecat to you? Furry little bitch.”
Sam rolled his eyes, wondered if this was someone’s dog. Didn’t look like a dog, either, though. Looked like a...Sam didn’t know what the fuck it was.
“Zoboo!” Sam saw one of the approaching figures put hands around his mouth, shout again, “Zoboo!”
Oh, fuck, it WAS someone’s pet, a Maltese cockapoo or something. Sam stared down again. “Hey!” he shouted. “You looking for your dog?”
And from the way these two guys moved, Sam could tell that they meant business, had dealt with plenty of out of the ordinary situations before, maybe even some involving dangerous creatures that only came out at night, which could include Dean, if Sam was being truthful.
He wasn’t prepared for the taller of the two, the dark haired one, to fall to his bare knees, hiking boots (serious ones, where the hell did these two think they were, on fucking safari?), smearing the pooling blood like kindergarten fingerpaint.
“Zoboo,” the man whimpered, cradling the little black and white creature in his arms.
Behind this pathetic scene, his companion crossed his arms, mouth working around a wad of gum. Sizing them up like he had an elephant gun. Took out a flashlight, a big professional kind that Sam had only seen in the X-Files. “What happened?”
And Dean was so not interested in this, looked bored. “Came after me, man. Attacked.”
The standing man shifted his stance. Sam didn’t like the look of him. Instinctively, he knew Dean would go for this one first. The other one, with the animal in his arms? A pussy.
“Attacked?” the standing man said, startled. “It’s a fucking lemur, dude. They don’t attack.”
“Yeah. Well,” Dean said unhelpfully.
That was all it took. These assholes don’t have a chance. Dean moved faster than a hunting cat, going right for the standing one, which made the other one - who was really no pussy after all - come to his feet and jump on Dean’s back, all before Sam had even moved. Man, they were quick.
Sam pulled the dark-haired one off, was more of a size with him, and he stumbled over the fuzzy little creature, fell forward into the other, and they both rolled on the ground like it was a playground fight. Except this guy wasn’t pulling punches.
“Hey!” he heard Dean grunt and Sam saw Dean’s face, just for a moment, blood running from his nose, a big grin on his face. “Off my brother!”
And the one on top of Sam stopped, confused. He looked back and forth, unable to figure out which one was his companion, which one was the asshole that had killed his dog. Not dog. Lemur. Whatever the hell that was. “You two are brothers?” he asked, like they were having a good time.
Dean had the other guy by the hair and was about to smack the back of his head against the pavement. “Yeah?”
“Us too!” The one on top of Sam got off, helped Sam up. “Cool!”
They all stood awkwardly, Dean still bouncing on the balls of his feet, boxer-like. “Sorry about the...”
“Lemur,” the other said, weird resignation in his voice. “Did you have candy?”
Dean brought out the M&Ms. The shorter of the hiking boot brothers sighed. “That crazy fucker. Always with the candy.” He glanced back at the gymnasium. “I hate these school rallies.”
“Beer?” Dean suggested.
“Beer,” the other two said together, like he was suggesting naked Swedish massage therapy.
Sam stood, watching them as they started to walk out of the parking lot. “Hey!” he called. “Hey!” They turned, flashlights pooling light at their feet. “What about this?” and gestured to the trammeled lemur at his feet.
The shorter brother shrugged. “Third one this month, greedy assholes. I’ll call the pound from the bar. Chris?”
Chris smiled widely. “Don’t sweat it. We have a budget for this sort of thing. But first round?”
“On me,” Dean said magnanimously.