SPN Fanfic: Sacrosanct
Title: Sacrosanct
Rating: GEN, PG
Word Count: 500
Warnings: mild crack
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Icon-Meme Fic #5 - There are some things you just don't screw around with.
A/N: Lj-Only for now.
-
Sacrosanct
by CaffieneKitty
-
"Think about it, Sam. Children's TV has always been messed up."
Sam shook off his bemusement and turned off the TV in self-defense. "Never as messed up as the Teletubbies. It's like anything that insipid has to be secretly evil."
Dean nodded. "If those things were real, they'd be hunted."
"You think hunters would go after the Teletubbies?"
"Hell yeah." Dean peered through a gun barrel, swab in hand. "Half the stuff on kids' TV would wind up being hunted if it really existed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Smurfs?"
"Obviously some kind of fey creatures. Secret smurf-berry plots." Dean pointed at Sam with a swabbing rod. "Toadstools. Dead giveaway."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Carebears?"
Dean fake-glared, mouth quirking up. "That stare thing they do, influencing people's emotions? Mind control is never a good thing."
Sam grinned. "Fraggles."
Dean tensed, face freezing.
"Fraggles?" Sam prompted, still grinning.
Dean's jaw clenched. "We aren't discussing hunting Fraggles, Sam. At all. Ever. Don't even joke about it."
Sam blinked at Dean's sudden change in demeanor. "What? Why not?"
"We are not hunting Fraggles, okay? Fraggles are off limits."
"Come on, Dean," Sam prodded. "Weird little monster things that live underground and can sneak into anywhere? They've gotta be up to-"
"They eat radishes for fuck's sake!" Dean snapped, glaring. "They steal postcards out of one guy's trash and piss off his dog! There is not, nor will there ever be any need to hunt Fraggles!"
Sam raised his hands. "Okay, Dean! Calm down!"
"I'm calm, alright? Just-" Dean shook his head and picked up a barrel brush. "Just lay off the Fraggles, Sam. This is a stupid discussion anyway."
"But you started it..."
Dean glared down at the gun he was cleaning like he was trying to activate laser-vision to burn off the residue.
Wow. thought Sam. What the hell was that about? He turned to the laptop and looked up the Wiki page on the old Jim Henson show. It had originally aired on HBO between January 1983 and March 1987...
The show had started airing the year mom had died. Dean might not have seen it until they started staying in hotels, which got HBO. Sam clearly remembered the colorful, fuzzy underground creatures, but he must have seen it later, in syndication. He'd been just shy of five years old when the finale originally aired.
Sam did remember something hazily from back then though. He'd been about five, and wanted to try to read everything with letters on it. As they were leaving one hotel he'd picked a postcard out of the hotel room trash. When he asked Dean to read it for him, Dean had gotten mad. He'd taken the card from his little brother's hands and placed it carefully back into the trash, glossy photo of the hotel face-up. At the time, Sam couldn't read most of it, just the 'Dear Mom,' written at the top.
Sam shut the laptop and cleared his throat. "Hey."
"What?"
"I, uh... I always liked Red."
Dean glanced up from the weapon he was cleaning and back down. "Red had spunk."
"You're kind of like Red."
Dean snorted. "No way. Red was cool, but she was a flake. If I'm a Fraggle, I'm Gobol. Charismatic leader-type. You're Boober."
"I am not."
Dean half-shrugged, not looking up from the weapon he was cleaning. "Except for the sock fetish and paranoia. When you start moping around about something, you're totally Boober."
Sam picked up a rag and some gun oil. "You remember the ones with the Minstrel?
"Yeah." Dean grinned. "The Minstrel was awesome."
"Yeah." Sam smiled and started cleaning a shotgun.
- - -
(that's it, back to the drabble meme)
Rating: GEN, PG
Word Count: 500
Warnings: mild crack
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Icon-Meme Fic #5 - There are some things you just don't screw around with.
A/N: Lj-Only for now.
-
Sacrosanct
by CaffieneKitty
-
"Think about it, Sam. Children's TV has always been messed up."
Sam shook off his bemusement and turned off the TV in self-defense. "Never as messed up as the Teletubbies. It's like anything that insipid has to be secretly evil."
Dean nodded. "If those things were real, they'd be hunted."
"You think hunters would go after the Teletubbies?"
"Hell yeah." Dean peered through a gun barrel, swab in hand. "Half the stuff on kids' TV would wind up being hunted if it really existed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Smurfs?"
"Obviously some kind of fey creatures. Secret smurf-berry plots." Dean pointed at Sam with a swabbing rod. "Toadstools. Dead giveaway."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Carebears?"
Dean fake-glared, mouth quirking up. "That stare thing they do, influencing people's emotions? Mind control is never a good thing."
Sam grinned. "Fraggles."
Dean tensed, face freezing.
"Fraggles?" Sam prompted, still grinning.
Dean's jaw clenched. "We aren't discussing hunting Fraggles, Sam. At all. Ever. Don't even joke about it."
Sam blinked at Dean's sudden change in demeanor. "What? Why not?"
"We are not hunting Fraggles, okay? Fraggles are off limits."
"Come on, Dean," Sam prodded. "Weird little monster things that live underground and can sneak into anywhere? They've gotta be up to-"
"They eat radishes for fuck's sake!" Dean snapped, glaring. "They steal postcards out of one guy's trash and piss off his dog! There is not, nor will there ever be any need to hunt Fraggles!"
Sam raised his hands. "Okay, Dean! Calm down!"
"I'm calm, alright? Just-" Dean shook his head and picked up a barrel brush. "Just lay off the Fraggles, Sam. This is a stupid discussion anyway."
"But you started it..."
Dean glared down at the gun he was cleaning like he was trying to activate laser-vision to burn off the residue.
Wow. thought Sam. What the hell was that about? He turned to the laptop and looked up the Wiki page on the old Jim Henson show. It had originally aired on HBO between January 1983 and March 1987...
The show had started airing the year mom had died. Dean might not have seen it until they started staying in hotels, which got HBO. Sam clearly remembered the colorful, fuzzy underground creatures, but he must have seen it later, in syndication. He'd been just shy of five years old when the finale originally aired.
Sam did remember something hazily from back then though. He'd been about five, and wanted to try to read everything with letters on it. As they were leaving one hotel he'd picked a postcard out of the hotel room trash. When he asked Dean to read it for him, Dean had gotten mad. He'd taken the card from his little brother's hands and placed it carefully back into the trash, glossy photo of the hotel face-up. At the time, Sam couldn't read most of it, just the 'Dear Mom,' written at the top.
Sam shut the laptop and cleared his throat. "Hey."
"What?"
"I, uh... I always liked Red."
Dean glanced up from the weapon he was cleaning and back down. "Red had spunk."
"You're kind of like Red."
Dean snorted. "No way. Red was cool, but she was a flake. If I'm a Fraggle, I'm Gobol. Charismatic leader-type. You're Boober."
"I am not."
Dean half-shrugged, not looking up from the weapon he was cleaning. "Except for the sock fetish and paranoia. When you start moping around about something, you're totally Boober."
Sam picked up a rag and some gun oil. "You remember the ones with the Minstrel?
"Yeah." Dean grinned. "The Minstrel was awesome."
"Yeah." Sam smiled and started cleaning a shotgun.
- - -
(that's it, back to the drabble meme)