SPN FIC - Trick or Treat
Have another! Thompson Lake, 2011. Community trick-or-treating, Indiana Jones and the Littlest Witch. Inspiration once again thanks to Steve Hanks.
CHARACTERS: Dean, Morgan, Lizzie
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 698 words
TRICK OR TREAT
By Carol Davis
"You goin' for some kind of a Torture Me theme, here?" Dean groans, shaking his head, as if that will do anything to dispel the images that are popping into his head like flash cards. "You couldn't dress her up as Princess Leia, or Kermit the Frog, or something?"
There are two little outfits laid out on the bed: one white, one black. An angel and a witch.
"They're the ones she picked," Morgan says.
"So it's her that's trying to give me stomach cramps? Come on - who's the grown-up here?"
Morgan hikes a brow. Obviously, she thinks it's someone other than him. "It's a couple of hours of trick-or-treating." After a tick or two of silence, she adds, "Maybe it's a chance for you to…work on your issues."
"You were gonna say 'face your demons', weren't you?"
"It's trick-or-treating."
"See, this here," he says, and plucks the filmy white dress up off the comforter. "You do her hair up in those hockey-puck things, and she's Princess Leia. Teach her to go up to people's door and say, 'Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope,' and people 're gonna fall all over her. They'll be chucking candy at her."
He gives her his best Earnest look.
For a moment, she doesn't react. Then she says quietly, "You know, if you want to talk it out - if you want to talk anything out - I'm here."
"I know," he mutters.
Smiling, she reaches out to him. Touches a finger to the brim of his borrowed fedora and pats his jacket with the palms of both hands. She leaves her hands resting there, on either side of his chest. "You do make a reasonably passable, but very hot, Indiana Jones."
"That gonna get me any treats?"
"We'll see."
He's about to try that out, is leaning in for a kiss, when a whirlwind in red cowboy boots bursts into the room and vaults up onto the bed. How Liz can do that in one hop, he's never been able to figure out, because it's one of those thick mattresses that puts the bed-top a good mile and a half above the floor. Kid's got legs like a jackrabbit, he figures. "THIS ONE!" she shrieks, and lunges for the black outfit, the little dress with its gold trim and matching pointy hat.
The witch.
Things could be worse, but he isn't sure how.
After Morgan has helped her pull the dress on over her undershirt and leggings, she scrambles back down to the floor and does a twirl.
Then she seizes Dean's hand and announces, "Wanna go now."
Luckily, she doesn't drag him on out; she plunges out of the room without him, giving him one last moment to put aside lingering thoughts of scheming women and dead rabbits and disgusting bodily fluids.
"So we're not going with Princess Leia?" he tries one last time.
Morgan chuckles softly at him and gives him a farewell pat on the chest. "Go forth, my champion - ye who have battled dragons and returned bleeding but victorious - and bring me back some Reese's cups."
"NOWWWWWWW!" Liz trumpets from downstairs.
He moves in that direction, but slowly, with Morgan following along behind. When he reaches the top of the staircase, he can see his miniature witch down in the foyer, extravagantly posing for her grandmother's camera.
"You good?" Morgan asks him, in a tone that would allow for his saying, "Not really."
Instead, he offers her a shrug and a sheepish smile and heads on down the stairs. It's been a long time since he's done this trick-or-treat thing, and he's never done it without counting the minutes until full dark, when he could soap and egg and TP to his heart's content, with no worry of being caught - not because his neighbors weren't watchful, but because he was…well, DEAN. But he's a quick study, right? He can do this, particularly when his partner is a little bitty witch in red cowboy boots - a little bitty witch who beams up at him like he's the coolest darn thing she's ever seen.
Things could be worse, he figures.
But it's hard to imagine how they could get any better.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean, Morgan, Lizzie
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 698 words
TRICK OR TREAT
By Carol Davis
"You goin' for some kind of a Torture Me theme, here?" Dean groans, shaking his head, as if that will do anything to dispel the images that are popping into his head like flash cards. "You couldn't dress her up as Princess Leia, or Kermit the Frog, or something?"
There are two little outfits laid out on the bed: one white, one black. An angel and a witch.
"They're the ones she picked," Morgan says.
"So it's her that's trying to give me stomach cramps? Come on - who's the grown-up here?"
Morgan hikes a brow. Obviously, she thinks it's someone other than him. "It's a couple of hours of trick-or-treating." After a tick or two of silence, she adds, "Maybe it's a chance for you to…work on your issues."
"You were gonna say 'face your demons', weren't you?"
"It's trick-or-treating."
"See, this here," he says, and plucks the filmy white dress up off the comforter. "You do her hair up in those hockey-puck things, and she's Princess Leia. Teach her to go up to people's door and say, 'Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope,' and people 're gonna fall all over her. They'll be chucking candy at her."
He gives her his best Earnest look.
For a moment, she doesn't react. Then she says quietly, "You know, if you want to talk it out - if you want to talk anything out - I'm here."
"I know," he mutters.
Smiling, she reaches out to him. Touches a finger to the brim of his borrowed fedora and pats his jacket with the palms of both hands. She leaves her hands resting there, on either side of his chest. "You do make a reasonably passable, but very hot, Indiana Jones."
"That gonna get me any treats?"
"We'll see."
He's about to try that out, is leaning in for a kiss, when a whirlwind in red cowboy boots bursts into the room and vaults up onto the bed. How Liz can do that in one hop, he's never been able to figure out, because it's one of those thick mattresses that puts the bed-top a good mile and a half above the floor. Kid's got legs like a jackrabbit, he figures. "THIS ONE!" she shrieks, and lunges for the black outfit, the little dress with its gold trim and matching pointy hat.
The witch.
Things could be worse, but he isn't sure how.
After Morgan has helped her pull the dress on over her undershirt and leggings, she scrambles back down to the floor and does a twirl.
Then she seizes Dean's hand and announces, "Wanna go now."
Luckily, she doesn't drag him on out; she plunges out of the room without him, giving him one last moment to put aside lingering thoughts of scheming women and dead rabbits and disgusting bodily fluids.
"So we're not going with Princess Leia?" he tries one last time.
Morgan chuckles softly at him and gives him a farewell pat on the chest. "Go forth, my champion - ye who have battled dragons and returned bleeding but victorious - and bring me back some Reese's cups."
"NOWWWWWWW!" Liz trumpets from downstairs.
He moves in that direction, but slowly, with Morgan following along behind. When he reaches the top of the staircase, he can see his miniature witch down in the foyer, extravagantly posing for her grandmother's camera.
"You good?" Morgan asks him, in a tone that would allow for his saying, "Not really."
Instead, he offers her a shrug and a sheepish smile and heads on down the stairs. It's been a long time since he's done this trick-or-treat thing, and he's never done it without counting the minutes until full dark, when he could soap and egg and TP to his heart's content, with no worry of being caught - not because his neighbors weren't watchful, but because he was…well, DEAN. But he's a quick study, right? He can do this, particularly when his partner is a little bitty witch in red cowboy boots - a little bitty witch who beams up at him like he's the coolest darn thing she's ever seen.
Things could be worse, he figures.
But it's hard to imagine how they could get any better.
* * * * *