Burn in Hell, old hag!
Title: Burn in Hell, old hag!
Rating: PG
Genre: Crack, crossover fic Hansel and Gretel/SPN
Characters and/or pairing : Dean/Castiel, Sam, the Witch, Hansel and Gretel, guest starring the Voice.
Spoilers: none.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns those I've molested in my story, and Brothers Grimm own the rest.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1772
Summary: When two unsuspecting hunters stumble upon a candy house, things take a turn for the surreal.
Follow up to Help! Wolf! but can be read on its own i guess. This is part of my budding Bedtime Stories 'verse.
A/N: This so did not turn out as what I first had in mind. This may be the crackiest thing I've written yet 0_o.
One day, a jolly hunter by the name of Dean was walking through a forest with his brother whose name was Samuel.
"I still don't see why you had to drag me out here at seven in the friggin' morning," grumbled Dean.
"Well your boyfriend thought it was a good idea at the time. 'Go get some air,' he said, 'and take Dean with you.' Kinda makes you wonder what's he's up to."
Dean bristled, "Don't call him that."
"What? Your boyfriend? Would 'partner' be more suited to your taste?" Samuel teased.
"Alright, that's it," said Dean as he lunged at his brother, knocking him into a puddle of conveniently placed mud.
"Agh! You ass! Now look at what you've done!"
"I know. Hold still," he said as he snapped a picture of his muddied and flustered brother on his mobile phone.
"You're such a jerk. If there's a hole somewhere in my clothes, you're buying me a Gucci suit."
"Oh quit your bellyaching, bitch, and take it like a grown girl."
Samuel got up and looked mournfully at his violated clothes, "Why aren't you like this with Cas as well? Why does he get the special treatment, huh?"
"'Cause I'm not fucking you," he put it bluntly.
Samuel cringed at his choice of words, "Dude, could you be any more boorish?"
Dean paused to think about that, "Yo momma."
His younger brother rolled his eyes; he was not amused. Sometimes he felt he was the older one between the two.
The sun shone brilliantly on the warm summer day; the birds chirruped, the flowers bloomed, and the brook gurgled. Mopy and Jolly were pleasantly bickering when Jolly Dean interrupted Mopy Samuel to point to him a peculiar house in the middle of a dark, dark wood.
"Is that house what I think it is?" asked Dean in awe.
"Are those giant lollipops in the garden?" his brother said, confused and morbidly fascinated.
"Holy crap! The pebble stones are… no freakin' way… smarties! Dude! Smarties!" he cried out excitedly. "This must be some attraction thing for tourists… it's just gotta be."
Dean wasted no time and directly started to test the authenticity of the sweets. They were real. And he was making positively obscene noises.
"Wait, Dean," Samuel cautioned, "doesn't this strike you as… well… downright weird?"
His brother shrugged, "Meh… weirdness has its perks - have you seen the size of these doughnuts? Oh Momma… come to Daddy," he said to a particularly plump looking jelly doughnut, sprinkled in almond and honey.
"I think this is a trap," worried Samuel.
"Mmyeah?" garbled Dean.
"Yeah, a trap to get you diabetes. Seriously, Dean, a carrot wouldn't hurt."
Before Dean could snap a snide remark about his brother's bunny diet, a frazzled old lady stormed out of the chocolate house.
"Oi, you there! Stop eating my sweets! That stuff doesn't grow on trees, you know! Shoo! Go on! Get!" she waved a gnarled stick in their direction.
"Well actually… I think they do on these ones," the jolly hunter pointed out helpfully.
"Those are for the children, you mongrel! Now go away before I turn you into a frog."
"Come again?" Samuel blurted out.
"You heard me. I'm a witch!" she proclaimed proudly and emphasised her point by waving her hands and twirling her fingers in the air, as if playing an invisible piano above her head.
"Oh snap!" cried Dean, as he reached for the handgun tucked in his trousers.
But the witch had already begun chanting an ancient spell: "Cora Cora Klipto Ferg - er… Illipsis Phogouz… er, no, wait… Gerptu… no that's not it… hang on… Jerediah Monolesia… Hu-huklok Jimmy… no that's not it… Jimmay… Jimminy… oh blow this for a lark," and she stalked back inside in a huff.
"What was that about?" Dean asked his brother, at a total loss.
"I dunno, but I suggest we don't stick around to find out," he cautioned wisely.
"Okay, hang on, lemme bring some of this goodness home. Cas will love these," he proceeded to chuck his pockets and jacket - which he used as a makeshift bag - with sundry smarties, skittles, some chocolate eggs and the occasional sumptuous doughnut.
"Dean…" Sam fretted, "get a move on! She'll be back any minute."
"Don't tell me you're afraid of the big bad Alzheimer's lady, are you?"
As if on cue, the old witch came back with a spell book in hand and a pair of glasses on. "Aha! Now you will tremble before me, meagre mortals, as I reduce you to toads! Derma Sera Narradora Maintenente Oli Poly Golly!"
The brothers blinked; nothing had visibly changed. Then…
"Hey, what's that voice?" asked the jolly hunter. "Did it just call me a 'jolly hunter'?" he pulled a face, obviously disgruntled by the harmless epithet.
"It's narrating everything we're doing! And probably also everything we're thinking," Samuel deduced sombrely, if not without a touch of smugness, for he always prided himself on figuring out the twists in odd situations before his brother - thus making him seem more intelligent. "Hey!" snapped the mopy hunter.
Dean chuckled, and his brother glared at him, "What? It's true! If you brightened up a little, it wouldn't call you that."
"This is surreal," sighed Samuel.
The witch scratched her head, confounded by the spell which she was sure had gotten right. "This can't be right," she muttered, then grumbled, "Oh shut up, you." She really hadn't the time for bothersome hunters and a spell gone wrong when she should be peeling vegetables and cooking children.
"What was that last bit?" inquired Dean.
"Erm… peeling vegetables?" said the witch, embarrassed by the revelation. "Quiet you!" she cried to the heavens.
"I believe it said something about cooking children," said Samuel, already furtively searching for a weapon. "Damn that voice!"
"It said 'looking smitten', 'looking smitten'!" lied the witch. "Curse you, voice!" she jabbed her stick at the offending sky. "You know all too well who I'm talking to!" she yelled dementedly. "Oi!"
The jolly hunter decided to act - "Shut up, shut up!" - and cocked his handgun. But the witch had already sent the gun skidding across the sweet sward by chanting a short spell. Now if she could only find the right page with the right spell, and pray that her dyslexia didn't befuddle things any further.
"Ogok Lylo Smitch Menen Ra Akimbo Lollipop - I mean, Lolirok - Juma Kell!"
Samuel, that mopy bastard - I mean, come on, are you worried the ground is gonna swallow you up at any godforsaken second? - stood rooted like a moron while his brother - another right arrogant bugger - stared at him, his mouth catching flies. At this, he took a hint and shut it quickly.
"Ah… the voice has… erm… changed," noticed Sam, yet again. No shit, Sherlock. Way to state the fucking obvious! Do you think this makes you look any - and I do mean any - smarter? Why don't you put that big brain of yours to solving world hunger or fighting government corruption?
"Okay, I've had enough of this crap," Dean snapped. Oh? And how do you think I feel? You think I like narrating your pathetic lives? Ah Dean… another specimen altogether. I remember narrating you back in Little Red Riding Hood - oh God, mine eyes! Keep your roaming tongue to the bedroom, for God's sake, you la-dee-dah poofter.
All stood aghast as they processed the fucking unbelievable voice, that - gasp - talked back to them in a bloody defiant tone. By the way, you might wanna save some rug rats in the back of her sorry excuse of a house.
The witch furiously flipped through her spell book, seriously wondering since when she had any spells concerning imaginary omniscient voices. You know what? Screw you guys. I'm done doing small-time narration. I wanna hit the big-time and narrate the classics, or The Great American Novel; hell, I might even ditch and go travel in Newspapers across the globe. Hasta la vista, assholes.
[…]
"KOGOLA REGIS DEMENTUM KASIOPEIA!" Dean yelled furiously from the spell book he had wrenched from the witch.
"Much better," sighed Samuel. "Now about those children…"
"You'll never catch me alive!" shrieked the witch.
"Who said anything about you staying alive?" said Dean.
The witch looked from Samuel to Dean, unsure on how to proceed next. Then she took the age old solution every evil person does when nothing seems to have gone to plan, when he or she is stuck in quite the pickle: she ran. Into the chocolate cottage, and hurried to find her broom. But the children had been waiting for her; the girl had freed her brother by picking the lock on his cage, and both schemed a way to make her trip on wire when she came back through the door. The witch had indeed tripped on their liquorice-wire, and stumbled directly into the open oven, screeching in raw agony.
"Burn in Hell, old hag!" cried Gretel.
"Mmf, yesh," concurred her older brother Hansel, who was still munching away on some of the left-over pastries. "Evil gorgon."
The hunters stumbled in on the gory scene. "You guys fried yourselves a witch!" exclaimed the jolly one. "Awesome job!"
Gretel blushed, "Well if it hadn't been for your fortunately timed distraction, we could never have escaped."
Hansel joined in, "Thank you kindly, good sirs."
The hunters were touched by the show of affection and promised to return them to their parents.
"Wait," said Dean, "there must be some loot lying around here. Some retirement fund? I dunno, old hermit ladies always have some hidden cash. It must be here somewhere…" he looked behind the only painting in the house, and indeed found a hole in which was hidden many a treasure.
"Guh… how obvious…" mumbled the hunter.
Both brothers had generously bestowed their findings unto the penniless children. All was coming to a joyous close when Castiel appeared.
"Dean! Sam! I've been waiting for hours already. Come back now. Or Sam… actually… you can stay here; I only need Dean."
Dean blushed and Samuel snorted at the obvious innuendo in that sentence.
"What have you been up to, Cas? Hmm?" Dean asked him.
Castiel gave him a positively saucy grin, "That's for you to find out." Dean's ears reddened even more and Samuel chuckled.
Today, Dean had teased his brother, eaten amazing gourmet weirdness, helped slay a witch, made rich some impoverished family, and he was going to get lucky with an incredible angel. Indeed, life was a fairy tale come true.