[Fic] Supernatural - Battle Ballet
Title: Battle Ballet
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: The characters belong to their copyright holder, not me.
Summary: AU where Hunters battle-dance monsters and the boys specialize in battle ballet.
Spoilers: None. Based on the first episode.
Word Count: 963
Author's Notes: I have issues. This is un-beta'd because WHO WOULD BETA THIS CRACK?!
Pencil sketch of the Boys follows the story
---
It was hard getting back into the swing of Hunting with Sammy. Before Sam had quit and gone to Juilliard to focus exclusively on regular, boring, ballet Dean had been the danseur and Sammy had been the danseuse; but now, looking up at the monster of a man his brother had become, Dean knew their roles would be reversed for the pas de deux coupe de grâce their father had taught them.
Dean wasn't sure he was ready to wear the tutu in this partnership.
"Dude," Sam said with disgust, "Why is there a landfill's worth of cheeseburger wrappers back here?"
"I like cheeseburgers?"
"You shouldn't eat this garbage, you'll get fat."
"Excuse you? Have you stepped on a scale lately?" Dean knew it was a low blow, what with the way his brother had always been a calorie counter. Dean couldn't help it if his metabolism was fast enough to burn through the junk he fed it.
"I'm. Not. Fat." Sam ground the words out through his teeth. "Oh, wait a minute. I see what's going on here." Sam poked Dean in the chest, "This is about Julliard, isn't it? I went to a fancy dance school and now you're worried I'm going to better at dance-battling monsters."
Dean rolled his eyes and opened the Impala's door, "Yeah, that's it. Because I'm sure you really got good. Uh-huh."
Sam pushed the door shut again and loomed over Dean, "I am really good, Dean. Full scholarship, remember?"
"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled. "You probably got soft. It's all battements now instead of battle-ments."
"Dude! What is your problem? You haven't even seen me dance-battle yet and already you're passing judgement?" Sam paused and looked at Dean's face for a long minute. "Let's find a damn monster and I'll show you how I can pirouette à la seconde, grande it right in the ass."
They drove for hours in strained silence. Dean's mind kept turning over Sammy's mention of the pirouette à la seconde, grande; a pirouette usually performed by a male dancer. Dammit! If Sammy was already taking the role of danseur in his head what was going to happen when it came to the real deal?
"Hey, Dean. Pull over."
"Why? You gotta whiz?"
"No! Geez, just pull over."
The black Impala smoothly pulled over the shoulder of the road and rolled to a stop. Both doors opened but Sam reached the trunk first. He jerked the trunk open just as Dean threw himself on it to keep it shut. "No!"
"We should practice, Dean! We haven't battle-danced together in years!"
"We'll be fine!"
Sam stared at his brother who was half-lying across the trunk. The moment drew out and became uncomfortable as Sam tried to figure out what was going on. Suddenly comprehension dawned in Sam's eyes, "You... I... I'm bigger than you now! We can't dance-battle like we used to."
"D-don't be stupid, Sammy."
Sam stalked back and forth, always moving when he thinks. "There's no way you can lift me for the adagio for the pas de deux destruction massive." Sam stopped pacing and faced his brother, "I have to be the danseur; your cavalier!"
Dean shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, Sammy. I haven't fought as a danseuse since I was a kid! Dad was my cavalier, how can I..."
"You're going to have to trust me, Dean."
Dean slid off the trunk and sat on the ground. Trust his little brother? The guy who took years to master the arabesque? Maybe Julliard did up his dance-battle skills, and if it did then it would be stupid not to let him use them. Even if it meant swallowing his pride and taking on the 'girl' role in their duo.
"Fine. I admit you're too big for me to lift now so, we'll, try switching. But..."
"Oh yeah," Sam smirked and crossed his arms; a sign he didn't intend to budge on what came next. "You have to wear the tutu."
"I'm not wearing no damn tutu!"
"Dude! It was your stupid rule and you made me wear it ALL THE TIME!"
"No!"
"Wear the tutu or I'm going back to Jess and you can find Dad all by your lonesome. I hope you've been practicing your solo routine."
"Augh! Fine! I'll wear the damn tutu!" Dean stood up and flung the trunk open revealing the secret stash of weapons and dance wear. A frilly pink tutu was smushed into the corner of the
compartment. Dean shuddered when he touched it. What had seemed like an awesome joke on his little brother was now a horrible nightmare. "But we have to make sure we kill our targets. If word gets out to other Hunters I'm wearing this thing..."
"You know, it wouldn't be half as humiliating if dad hadn't been such a traditionalist. Ballet? Hunters can use any style of battle-dance. What about I show you some Kamikaze Polka I learned? Or we find someone to teach us some Two Step Shoot? Maybe Bobby has some moves he can show us."
"No," Dean growled. "We do it dad's way. Ballet is versatile, effective, and proven to work. We're not risking our lives trying out some new Hip-Hop-Chop or Square Dance Assassin move. We're danseurs, Sam. Battle Ballet is our life. End of discussion."
The silence was strained between them. Sam's desire to try new dance styles is what had ripped thier little family, company, apart. It was hard to hear the same argument when their father was missing.
"Fine," Sam said. "I don't want to fight about this. Let's just practice."
"Fine." Dean adjusted the tutu over his jeans. He looked a damn fool, he thought grimly, but at least they were back in business.
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: The characters belong to their copyright holder, not me.
Summary: AU where Hunters battle-dance monsters and the boys specialize in battle ballet.
Spoilers: None. Based on the first episode.
Word Count: 963
Author's Notes: I have issues. This is un-beta'd because WHO WOULD BETA THIS CRACK?!
Pencil sketch of the Boys follows the story
---
It was hard getting back into the swing of Hunting with Sammy. Before Sam had quit and gone to Juilliard to focus exclusively on regular, boring, ballet Dean had been the danseur and Sammy had been the danseuse; but now, looking up at the monster of a man his brother had become, Dean knew their roles would be reversed for the pas de deux coupe de grâce their father had taught them.
Dean wasn't sure he was ready to wear the tutu in this partnership.
"Dude," Sam said with disgust, "Why is there a landfill's worth of cheeseburger wrappers back here?"
"I like cheeseburgers?"
"You shouldn't eat this garbage, you'll get fat."
"Excuse you? Have you stepped on a scale lately?" Dean knew it was a low blow, what with the way his brother had always been a calorie counter. Dean couldn't help it if his metabolism was fast enough to burn through the junk he fed it.
"I'm. Not. Fat." Sam ground the words out through his teeth. "Oh, wait a minute. I see what's going on here." Sam poked Dean in the chest, "This is about Julliard, isn't it? I went to a fancy dance school and now you're worried I'm going to better at dance-battling monsters."
Dean rolled his eyes and opened the Impala's door, "Yeah, that's it. Because I'm sure you really got good. Uh-huh."
Sam pushed the door shut again and loomed over Dean, "I am really good, Dean. Full scholarship, remember?"
"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled. "You probably got soft. It's all battements now instead of battle-ments."
"Dude! What is your problem? You haven't even seen me dance-battle yet and already you're passing judgement?" Sam paused and looked at Dean's face for a long minute. "Let's find a damn monster and I'll show you how I can pirouette à la seconde, grande it right in the ass."
They drove for hours in strained silence. Dean's mind kept turning over Sammy's mention of the pirouette à la seconde, grande; a pirouette usually performed by a male dancer. Dammit! If Sammy was already taking the role of danseur in his head what was going to happen when it came to the real deal?
"Hey, Dean. Pull over."
"Why? You gotta whiz?"
"No! Geez, just pull over."
The black Impala smoothly pulled over the shoulder of the road and rolled to a stop. Both doors opened but Sam reached the trunk first. He jerked the trunk open just as Dean threw himself on it to keep it shut. "No!"
"We should practice, Dean! We haven't battle-danced together in years!"
"We'll be fine!"
Sam stared at his brother who was half-lying across the trunk. The moment drew out and became uncomfortable as Sam tried to figure out what was going on. Suddenly comprehension dawned in Sam's eyes, "You... I... I'm bigger than you now! We can't dance-battle like we used to."
"D-don't be stupid, Sammy."
Sam stalked back and forth, always moving when he thinks. "There's no way you can lift me for the adagio for the pas de deux destruction massive." Sam stopped pacing and faced his brother, "I have to be the danseur; your cavalier!"
Dean shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, Sammy. I haven't fought as a danseuse since I was a kid! Dad was my cavalier, how can I..."
"You're going to have to trust me, Dean."
Dean slid off the trunk and sat on the ground. Trust his little brother? The guy who took years to master the arabesque? Maybe Julliard did up his dance-battle skills, and if it did then it would be stupid not to let him use them. Even if it meant swallowing his pride and taking on the 'girl' role in their duo.
"Fine. I admit you're too big for me to lift now so, we'll, try switching. But..."
"Oh yeah," Sam smirked and crossed his arms; a sign he didn't intend to budge on what came next. "You have to wear the tutu."
"I'm not wearing no damn tutu!"
"Dude! It was your stupid rule and you made me wear it ALL THE TIME!"
"No!"
"Wear the tutu or I'm going back to Jess and you can find Dad all by your lonesome. I hope you've been practicing your solo routine."
"Augh! Fine! I'll wear the damn tutu!" Dean stood up and flung the trunk open revealing the secret stash of weapons and dance wear. A frilly pink tutu was smushed into the corner of the
compartment. Dean shuddered when he touched it. What had seemed like an awesome joke on his little brother was now a horrible nightmare. "But we have to make sure we kill our targets. If word gets out to other Hunters I'm wearing this thing..."
"You know, it wouldn't be half as humiliating if dad hadn't been such a traditionalist. Ballet? Hunters can use any style of battle-dance. What about I show you some Kamikaze Polka I learned? Or we find someone to teach us some Two Step Shoot? Maybe Bobby has some moves he can show us."
"No," Dean growled. "We do it dad's way. Ballet is versatile, effective, and proven to work. We're not risking our lives trying out some new Hip-Hop-Chop or Square Dance Assassin move. We're danseurs, Sam. Battle Ballet is our life. End of discussion."
The silence was strained between them. Sam's desire to try new dance styles is what had ripped thier little family, company, apart. It was hard to hear the same argument when their father was missing.
"Fine," Sam said. "I don't want to fight about this. Let's just practice."
"Fine." Dean adjusted the tutu over his jeans. He looked a damn fool, he thought grimly, but at least they were back in business.