fic: good morning
Title: Good Morning
Author: Malcolm St. James
Rating: PG
Word Count: 640
Summary: Mornings are hard, especially when nature gets all up in your face.
Life, Dean reflected as he hauled ass across a field in just his boxers, undershirt, and right sock, was strange.
That morning, Dean and Sam had woken up to the sun peeking through their window, which, in this case, was not a figure of speech at all. Oh no, not in his line of work. There was actually a sun (Dean had no idea if it was the sun, though the sky was still pitch black at high noon) peering in at them, glass melting under its big fiery hands. Sam had been sleepy and confused, and Dean had been sleepy and confused and maybe a little grumpy, but they’d still managed to fling themselves out of bed and out the door.
That had been about three hours ago, and since then they’d been playing hide and seek with the damn thing, as it rolled around setting things on fire and chuckling, heh heh heh.
Sam was about ten feet ahead of him, long stupid legs not quite as stupid now, when the skill of running away very fast was useful. His hair was blown back and streaming off his giant head like a mane or something, and Dean almost laughed, except for the fact that he was pretty sure that if he did, he’d fall and turn into Dean-B-Q.
“We gotta stop it,” Sam hollered.
“Duh,” Dean yelled back, voice cracked and raspy from all the friggin’ exercise. They’d been having this discussion all morning, and this was about as far as they’d got.
Sam dove behind some boulders and Dean skittered in behind him. The sun rolled by, still making those freakily happy noises, and they breathed a sigh of relief.
“I hate nature,” Dean said.
Sam rolled his eyes. “And it apparently hates you back. Now how are we going to get rid of it?”
The sun was on its way back, rolling haphazardly over some rocks and managing to set them on fire. Dean wondered what it would do to them. He knew hair burned pretty well, so chances were good Sam’d go up in flames pretty damn fast.
“All right,” Dean said, straightening up. “I have a plan.”
He left Sam spluttering behind the boulders and strode out into the path of the sun. “Halt,” he said, injecting his voice with some authority juice. And what do you know, the sun rolled to a stop. “What do you want?”
“Well Dean,” the sun rumbled, “I noticed you haven’t been getting enough fibre lately.”
Dean felt his face grow warm - it totally was not a blush, it was the heat of the sun, okay?
But the sun was continuing. “So, in order to promote regularity, I thought I’d remind you that Raisin Bran has 7 g of fibre in every bowl! There’s TWO SCOOPS OF RAISINS IN KELLOGG’S RAISIN BRAN!”
It hummed a merry tune and flung some burning raisins around. Sam, who’d stood up to watch his brother get burned to a crisp, got a raisin in the cheek. Dean would’ve mocked him, but he was pretty busy being highly disturbed.
Fiery raisin dance apparently over, the sun beamed at him and leapt back into the sky, leaving behind a box of Raisin Bran.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean said wonderingly, and picked it up. Sam emerged from behind the boulders, cheek a little red, and picked his way across the smouldering raisins to stand beside him.
“Well,” he sighed, forehead bunched up, “that was interesting.”
“Dude,” Dean said. “I think we’d better stick to Raisin Bran for breakfast from now on.”
“Deal,” Sam said.
So Dean and Sam trudged back to the motel and ate some Raisin Bran, and the sun stayed in the sky and didn’t try to force any more product placement on them, and Dean never had a problem with fibre again.
The End.