Fic: Hunters, Slayers and Nutcases in Tights (1/1)
Fic: Hunters, Slayers and Nutcases in Tights (1/1)
Story by: Pen37
Summary: Three groups fighting evil. Shouldn't they work togeather.
Author: pen37
Beta: clarksmuse
Fandom: Supernatural, Smallville, Buffy
Classification: Gen
pairings: None
Rating: G
“Would you check out all these babes?” Dean looked like a kid on Christmas morning as his head darted around. His eyes were all lit up with eagerness, and if his grin were any wider, his head would split in half.
Sam looked around the room warily. Over half of the people in here were of the female persuasion, but most of them were underage.
“’Babes’ is the right word,” Sam said. “Dean, most of these girls are Jail bait.”
“No they're not,” Dean scoffed.
“Dean, I think one of them is nine.” He raised his eyebrows. “This has got to be a mistake. They can't all be soldiers against evil.”
“Dude, why would Bobby and Ellen hook us up with teenage girls?” Dean shook his head.
The job was supposed to be straightforward. At some point recently, someone noticed that there were three distinct groups independently fighting evil: hunters, slayers and vigilantes. Once the three groups were aware of each other, it seemed stupid not to pool resources.
So someone from the Scooby Council (no dogs involved) remembered that her cousin Bobby had a lot of old, dusty books (which seemed to be a code word for hunter in the way that old houses settle was code for poltergeist). And someone else knew someone else who actually chased down Wonder Woman.
The result was this was a conference, where hunters, costumed vigilantes and slayers would meet to hammer out some kind of agreement for working together.
Ellen and Bobby had agreed that Sam - with his degree and experience in the art of “normalcy” - was a better representative for the hunters than someone fanatical like Gordon Walker. The costumed nut jobs hadn't put in an appearance, but the Slayers were obviously overrepresented.
Sam scanned the room for someone who knew what was going on. With his extra height, he stood over the girls like a lighthouse on a cliff.
He spotted a petite blonde in a business suit standing across the room and looking at all the teenagers with faint amusement. Based on her attire and professional hairstyle, Sam figured she was probably out of her teens, and therefore possibly in charge.
Sam made a beeline for the blonde. Around him, adolescent girls parted like an ice breaker through Lake Michigan, towing Dean in his wake.
“Dude - Don't get us throw out!” Dean protested.
“I'm not, Jerk!”
“Biii'd better not say that in a room full of women who could probably kick my ass,” Dean muttered.
“You're not afraid, are you?” Sam grinned at the though of his older brother intimidated by teenage girls.
“I think so,” Dean said.
Just then they reached the short blonde girl. “Excuse me,” Sam cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned and quirked an eyebrow at them in question.
“You in charge here?” Dean cut in.
“Do I look like I'm in charge?”
Sam looked her up and down appraisingly. She had that vaguely distracted, slightly worried look that most teachers got when Dad got called in for a conference over something Dean did in high school.
“Could be.”
“Ha! No.” She shook her head. “Call me Watchtower. I'm with the League.”
“Wait a sec!” Dean said incredulously. “You're one of the nut jobs in tights?”
She turned the full force of a scowl on Dean, and Sam was forced to hide his smile behind a cough.
“You got a problem with me?” She raised her eyebrows at him, put a hand on a hip, and leaned forward.
“It's just that you're --” Dean gave her the kind of searching look that made Sam want to take a shower. He grinned wolfishly. “Kinda short.”
“Well, we can't all be Wonder Woman,” she grumbled.
“Don't get me wrong, sweetheart,” Dean said. “I’m not sorry to see you. I just expected --”
“Tights,” Watchtower muttered.
“God yes,” he grinned at her.
“The costumes are for the front liners.” Her smirk was an echo of Dean's own. Sam blinked in astonishment at that. She was flirting with him. Honest-to-God flirting. He looked at her with wide eyes as she continued. “A few of us, like me, work in a support capacity.”
“So, are you like a lawyer?” Sam asked.
She snorted again in amusement. “If I was a lawyer, they'd pay me for this. Think of me as a highly placed hacker with communications skills.”
“So you're basically a secretary.”
The look she gave him would have frozen fire. If they could have packaged that look inside a shotgun shell, they could have used it against the crossroad demon and not have spent so much time re-creating Sam Colt's magic bullets.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly as she brushed passed them.
Dean stared after her in askance. “What?”
“Dude.” Sam shook his head.
“What?”
“They're called Administrative Assistants these days,” Sam said.
“Whatever,” Dean shrugged. “You think she likes me?”
“How old are you again?” Sam grinned. “I mean, mentally?”
“Shut up!”
* * *
Although to Dean, it seemed that Social hour would drag on forever, Eventually Batman, The Green Arrow, and a big green alien joined Watchtower on the floor. Shortly after that, the head slayer (some chick with a beauty-queen/suburban princess name) showed up with her crew.
They set up around a table - with the tights-wearing nut jobs on one end, the Slayers on the other and Sam and Dean in the middle.
Batman and the Slayer mixed like high explosives. The Batman was determined to keep Slayers out of his city, and the Slayer wanted to send someone named Faith there, just to piss him (and judging by Faith's face, her as well) off.
The whole thing would have degenerated at that point, if Sam and the little blonde Watchtower hadn't jumped in. The two of them and a guy in tweed and glasses put their heads together at the point of the table. Dean was about to muscle his way into that huddle - mainly to hear what Watchtower was saying - when Sam stuck his head up and gave him a look that said Dude, keep people distracted.
Dean nodded, and started full-on chatting up Faith. That got her boyfriend mad, and before Dean knew it, he was ducking the dude's fist.
Somehow - Dean would later swear that it was totally on purpose - Faith took a swing at him, missed and hit Batman instead.
At that point, half the teenage girls jumped in.
Dean ended up at the bottom of a pile of half-dressed, leather-wearing teenage slayers.
Not that he was complaining.
By the time the dust-up was sorted out, Sam, Mr. Tweed and Watchtower had emerged from their huddle with satisfied smiles.
* * *
There were more Slayers there, so they got to name the treaty.
Personally, Dean thought that The Accords of the Good wasn't nearly as cool as The Agreement for Righteous Ass-Kickers, but he got shot down pretty fast on that one.
The agreement was basic - Sam said that the finer points could be hammered out on a case-by-case basis. But certain territories were carved up for certain crime fighters. Star City, Metropolis, and Gotham were hero cities. Cleveland and other Hellmouths were Slayer cities. New Orleans, Memphis, Savanna, parts of Nebraska and South Dakota were for hunters.
Additionally, each of the three groups would be tolerated by the others and there would be a concerted effort by the brain-trust (watchers, researchers like Sam, and diggers like Watchtower) to share information.
The meeting broke up with we'll be in touch all around. Dean and Sam found their way to the Impala, only to find the little Blonde sitting on the hood.
“Darlin', I know I'm irresistible,” Dean grinned at her, “but you can't follow us home.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I'm the player to be named later.”
“Wha?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“It's a line from Bull Durham, Jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes. “She's saying she's been traded.”
“On loan, actually,” Watchtower said. “I'm going to be with you guys while I learn hunter lore and add it to our database.”
“What? No. We work alone,” Dean protested.
“Well, it was either me or Cyborg, and I weigh less. With all the hardwire that he totes around - you'd be replacing your suspension in under a month. But if you don't want me.” She shrugged. “I could always stay and help out the techno-pagans.”
“Oh sweetheart, I definitely want you,” he smirked at her. “Question is, can you handle me?”
She quirked an eyebrow and leaned into his personal space.
“Dean Winchester?” she whispered his name. Her lips hovered inches from his.
“Yeah?” he whispered back.
“Keep it in your pants, and we'll be just fine.” She dropped her luggage at his feet, turned and climbed into the backseat. “Let's go, Butch and Sundance. Daylight's burning.”
Dean glared up at Sam's smirking face. “I'm either going to kill her, or I'm starting to like her.”
“Whatever, Sundance.”
“I'm not Sundance. I'm Butch.”
“No way. Butch was the brains of the operation.”
“You sayin' I'm not?” Dean asked.
“Ladies,” Watchtower stuck her head out the window and glared at them. “Any day now.”
Still insulting each other with their eyes Sam and Dean got in the Impala. and drove away.
***
A/N: If this fic seems like an alternate beginning to Special Projects, that's probably because I wrote it about the same time as I started that series. I knew I wanted to write a 'Chloe rides with the Winchesters' fic, and Clarksmuse and Xtremeroswellia had already been writing Those Three Words. So I abandoned this because I wanted to do something different.
Story by: Pen37
Summary: Three groups fighting evil. Shouldn't they work togeather.
Author: pen37
Beta: clarksmuse
Fandom: Supernatural, Smallville, Buffy
Classification: Gen
pairings: None
Rating: G
“Would you check out all these babes?” Dean looked like a kid on Christmas morning as his head darted around. His eyes were all lit up with eagerness, and if his grin were any wider, his head would split in half.
Sam looked around the room warily. Over half of the people in here were of the female persuasion, but most of them were underage.
“’Babes’ is the right word,” Sam said. “Dean, most of these girls are Jail bait.”
“No they're not,” Dean scoffed.
“Dean, I think one of them is nine.” He raised his eyebrows. “This has got to be a mistake. They can't all be soldiers against evil.”
“Dude, why would Bobby and Ellen hook us up with teenage girls?” Dean shook his head.
The job was supposed to be straightforward. At some point recently, someone noticed that there were three distinct groups independently fighting evil: hunters, slayers and vigilantes. Once the three groups were aware of each other, it seemed stupid not to pool resources.
So someone from the Scooby Council (no dogs involved) remembered that her cousin Bobby had a lot of old, dusty books (which seemed to be a code word for hunter in the way that old houses settle was code for poltergeist). And someone else knew someone else who actually chased down Wonder Woman.
The result was this was a conference, where hunters, costumed vigilantes and slayers would meet to hammer out some kind of agreement for working together.
Ellen and Bobby had agreed that Sam - with his degree and experience in the art of “normalcy” - was a better representative for the hunters than someone fanatical like Gordon Walker. The costumed nut jobs hadn't put in an appearance, but the Slayers were obviously overrepresented.
Sam scanned the room for someone who knew what was going on. With his extra height, he stood over the girls like a lighthouse on a cliff.
He spotted a petite blonde in a business suit standing across the room and looking at all the teenagers with faint amusement. Based on her attire and professional hairstyle, Sam figured she was probably out of her teens, and therefore possibly in charge.
Sam made a beeline for the blonde. Around him, adolescent girls parted like an ice breaker through Lake Michigan, towing Dean in his wake.
“Dude - Don't get us throw out!” Dean protested.
“I'm not, Jerk!”
“Biii'd better not say that in a room full of women who could probably kick my ass,” Dean muttered.
“You're not afraid, are you?” Sam grinned at the though of his older brother intimidated by teenage girls.
“I think so,” Dean said.
Just then they reached the short blonde girl. “Excuse me,” Sam cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned and quirked an eyebrow at them in question.
“You in charge here?” Dean cut in.
“Do I look like I'm in charge?”
Sam looked her up and down appraisingly. She had that vaguely distracted, slightly worried look that most teachers got when Dad got called in for a conference over something Dean did in high school.
“Could be.”
“Ha! No.” She shook her head. “Call me Watchtower. I'm with the League.”
“Wait a sec!” Dean said incredulously. “You're one of the nut jobs in tights?”
She turned the full force of a scowl on Dean, and Sam was forced to hide his smile behind a cough.
“You got a problem with me?” She raised her eyebrows at him, put a hand on a hip, and leaned forward.
“It's just that you're --” Dean gave her the kind of searching look that made Sam want to take a shower. He grinned wolfishly. “Kinda short.”
“Well, we can't all be Wonder Woman,” she grumbled.
“Don't get me wrong, sweetheart,” Dean said. “I’m not sorry to see you. I just expected --”
“Tights,” Watchtower muttered.
“God yes,” he grinned at her.
“The costumes are for the front liners.” Her smirk was an echo of Dean's own. Sam blinked in astonishment at that. She was flirting with him. Honest-to-God flirting. He looked at her with wide eyes as she continued. “A few of us, like me, work in a support capacity.”
“So, are you like a lawyer?” Sam asked.
She snorted again in amusement. “If I was a lawyer, they'd pay me for this. Think of me as a highly placed hacker with communications skills.”
“So you're basically a secretary.”
The look she gave him would have frozen fire. If they could have packaged that look inside a shotgun shell, they could have used it against the crossroad demon and not have spent so much time re-creating Sam Colt's magic bullets.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly as she brushed passed them.
Dean stared after her in askance. “What?”
“Dude.” Sam shook his head.
“What?”
“They're called Administrative Assistants these days,” Sam said.
“Whatever,” Dean shrugged. “You think she likes me?”
“How old are you again?” Sam grinned. “I mean, mentally?”
“Shut up!”
* * *
Although to Dean, it seemed that Social hour would drag on forever, Eventually Batman, The Green Arrow, and a big green alien joined Watchtower on the floor. Shortly after that, the head slayer (some chick with a beauty-queen/suburban princess name) showed up with her crew.
They set up around a table - with the tights-wearing nut jobs on one end, the Slayers on the other and Sam and Dean in the middle.
Batman and the Slayer mixed like high explosives. The Batman was determined to keep Slayers out of his city, and the Slayer wanted to send someone named Faith there, just to piss him (and judging by Faith's face, her as well) off.
The whole thing would have degenerated at that point, if Sam and the little blonde Watchtower hadn't jumped in. The two of them and a guy in tweed and glasses put their heads together at the point of the table. Dean was about to muscle his way into that huddle - mainly to hear what Watchtower was saying - when Sam stuck his head up and gave him a look that said Dude, keep people distracted.
Dean nodded, and started full-on chatting up Faith. That got her boyfriend mad, and before Dean knew it, he was ducking the dude's fist.
Somehow - Dean would later swear that it was totally on purpose - Faith took a swing at him, missed and hit Batman instead.
At that point, half the teenage girls jumped in.
Dean ended up at the bottom of a pile of half-dressed, leather-wearing teenage slayers.
Not that he was complaining.
By the time the dust-up was sorted out, Sam, Mr. Tweed and Watchtower had emerged from their huddle with satisfied smiles.
* * *
There were more Slayers there, so they got to name the treaty.
Personally, Dean thought that The Accords of the Good wasn't nearly as cool as The Agreement for Righteous Ass-Kickers, but he got shot down pretty fast on that one.
The agreement was basic - Sam said that the finer points could be hammered out on a case-by-case basis. But certain territories were carved up for certain crime fighters. Star City, Metropolis, and Gotham were hero cities. Cleveland and other Hellmouths were Slayer cities. New Orleans, Memphis, Savanna, parts of Nebraska and South Dakota were for hunters.
Additionally, each of the three groups would be tolerated by the others and there would be a concerted effort by the brain-trust (watchers, researchers like Sam, and diggers like Watchtower) to share information.
The meeting broke up with we'll be in touch all around. Dean and Sam found their way to the Impala, only to find the little Blonde sitting on the hood.
“Darlin', I know I'm irresistible,” Dean grinned at her, “but you can't follow us home.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I'm the player to be named later.”
“Wha?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“It's a line from Bull Durham, Jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes. “She's saying she's been traded.”
“On loan, actually,” Watchtower said. “I'm going to be with you guys while I learn hunter lore and add it to our database.”
“What? No. We work alone,” Dean protested.
“Well, it was either me or Cyborg, and I weigh less. With all the hardwire that he totes around - you'd be replacing your suspension in under a month. But if you don't want me.” She shrugged. “I could always stay and help out the techno-pagans.”
“Oh sweetheart, I definitely want you,” he smirked at her. “Question is, can you handle me?”
She quirked an eyebrow and leaned into his personal space.
“Dean Winchester?” she whispered his name. Her lips hovered inches from his.
“Yeah?” he whispered back.
“Keep it in your pants, and we'll be just fine.” She dropped her luggage at his feet, turned and climbed into the backseat. “Let's go, Butch and Sundance. Daylight's burning.”
Dean glared up at Sam's smirking face. “I'm either going to kill her, or I'm starting to like her.”
“Whatever, Sundance.”
“I'm not Sundance. I'm Butch.”
“No way. Butch was the brains of the operation.”
“You sayin' I'm not?” Dean asked.
“Ladies,” Watchtower stuck her head out the window and glared at them. “Any day now.”
Still insulting each other with their eyes Sam and Dean got in the Impala. and drove away.
***
A/N: If this fic seems like an alternate beginning to Special Projects, that's probably because I wrote it about the same time as I started that series. I knew I wanted to write a 'Chloe rides with the Winchesters' fic, and Clarksmuse and Xtremeroswellia had already been writing Those Three Words. So I abandoned this because I wanted to do something different.