The Robert Steven Singer Memorial Home for Superfluous Winchesters (1/?)
So. Um. This is a little ridiculous, and probably not up to standard, but it made me laugh.
Title: The Robert Steven Singer Memorial Home for Superfluous Winchesters (1/?)
Author: fullofowls
Rating: PG
Summary: Bobby's not sure how many more Sams and Deans he can take. And then there's Castiel...
Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue the starving student!
Sam was driving, with Dean sprawled asleep in the backseat. He’d been dozing fitfully for less than four hours, but what Sam saw as he pulled into Bobby’s definitely counted as important enough to wake him up.
“Whaddaya want?” grumbled Dean, rubbing his eyes. “Why aren’t you parking?”
“Our spot’s taken,” said Sam. “Look!”
Dean looked. And looked. And looked as hard as he could, but the view in front of him stubbornly did not change. The Impala’s usual spot was, indeed, taken-by the Impala. Which was trapped in that spot by the Impala and the Impala, along with another Impala haphazardly blocking the driveway crosswise, as though left there in irritation at whoever had left yet another Impala with a giant scratch along its side.
The two of them had encountered enough bizarre things (bizarre even in their line of work) that they could guess pretty well what was going on. Dean hopped out of the car with a grin, surprisingly cheered by this new development.
“Wonder what girl-me looks like,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes. Of course that’s the first thing Dean would think of.
The figure sitting on the porch, however, turned out to be merely another male Dean, indistinguishable from this one except for a post-it on his chest that said #3.
He raised an eyebrow and held out post-its to them, both labeled #8.
“Eight?” said Sam, and turned to quickly count the Impalas.
“A few of ‘em came here with Cas,” Dean #3 explained. “Speaking of which- is yours a Jimmy or a Claire?”
“Um, a Jimmy,” said Sam. He wished he could say this was the strangest conversation he’d ever had, but it wouldn’t be remotely close to true. “Yours?”
“He’s a Jimmy too. There’s only two Claires so far,” replied Dean #3, and added under his breath, “thank god.”
Dean- #8, as he assumed he would have to think of him for now- was studying the post-it with curiosity. “Hey, Sammy,” he said. “Guess who I am?”
“I don’t know. Who?”
Dean began to sing. “I’m Dean the Eighth, I am, I am, I’m Dean the Eighth, I am-”
Sam sighed and went inside, and came face to face with himself.
“Another one?” said a very tall woman, with an eerily familiar face. She threw her hands up in resignation. “Bobby’s gonna be so pissed off when he gets back.”
“Bobby doesn’t know?!”
“No, he knows. It’s just that he should be back with groceries any second now, and we were only up to version four when he left,” she explained. “I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Yeah, um, hi. I’m Sam too,” he said. “Have the rest of you- us- made any headway in figuring out all this?”
“Not really,” she said. “The first few hours were mostly spent freaking out, and then Dee trying to get into her male clones’ pants.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because Dee is Dee even when she’s Dean?”
“Did he- she- actually, you know what, I don’t even want to know the answer to that.”
“Yeah, I kind of want Listerine for my brain now.”
*
Bobby was pretty irritated when he came back with groceries, but luckily he had foreseen the possibility of more Winchesters and had bought extra provisions.
“You!” he snapped. “Fives and sevens! Come unload the car.”
“You go,” said Sam #5 to Sam #4- both male, one with short hair- to which he replied, “Bobby asked you, not me.”
Sam went into the kitchen before he could be drawn into the argument. A Dean without a post-it- the first to arrive, presumably- was digging through the bags Bobby had brought in with him. A blonde girl, about ten years old, stood watching him, head tilted in exactly the same way as the Castiel he knew.
“Here, Cas, catch!” said Dean, turning and throwing her something from the bags.
She examined it. “I have told you already. I do not require food.”
“Yeah, you don’t.” He walked over and bent to speak into her ear. “Hey, Claire,” he called, as though to someone very far away. “Claire, sweetheart, you in there? You want a popsicle?”
Castiel glared at him. “Claire is asleep.”
Dean glared right back, and folded his arms. After a few moments, Castiel reluctantly tore open the plastic wrapper.
“She keeps forgetting she’s wearing a kid,” he said to Sam. They both watched her delicately biting the popsicle, without any regard for brain freeze.
“Our Cas feels pretty bad about Jimmy,” offered Sam. “As far as I can tell, anyway.”
“What happened with him when you guys met Famine?” asked Dean.
“He ate a couple hundred cheeseburgers. Dean always gets fried chicken now.”
Dean grimaced in sympathy. “I think she cleaned out the entire state’s supply of peach Snapple, and didn’t go to the bathroom once. Gave me a stomachache just watching.”
Another Castiel- this one much more familiar- came in. “Why are you eating that?”
“Because my Dean is even more of a dick than yours,” she replied with perfect equanimity. Sam had to fight not to laugh. Apparently all of the Castiels had been picking up Dean’s vocabulary.
The small angel and the big one looked at each other. “Is it very strange, having a penis and testicles?” asked Castiel-in-Claire.
“Aagh!” said Dean, and clapped his hands over his ears in horror. He fled, and Sam followed before Castiel-in-Jimmy could answer.
*
Title: The Robert Steven Singer Memorial Home for Superfluous Winchesters (1/?)
Author: fullofowls
Rating: PG
Summary: Bobby's not sure how many more Sams and Deans he can take. And then there's Castiel...
Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue the starving student!
Sam was driving, with Dean sprawled asleep in the backseat. He’d been dozing fitfully for less than four hours, but what Sam saw as he pulled into Bobby’s definitely counted as important enough to wake him up.
“Whaddaya want?” grumbled Dean, rubbing his eyes. “Why aren’t you parking?”
“Our spot’s taken,” said Sam. “Look!”
Dean looked. And looked. And looked as hard as he could, but the view in front of him stubbornly did not change. The Impala’s usual spot was, indeed, taken-by the Impala. Which was trapped in that spot by the Impala and the Impala, along with another Impala haphazardly blocking the driveway crosswise, as though left there in irritation at whoever had left yet another Impala with a giant scratch along its side.
The two of them had encountered enough bizarre things (bizarre even in their line of work) that they could guess pretty well what was going on. Dean hopped out of the car with a grin, surprisingly cheered by this new development.
“Wonder what girl-me looks like,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes. Of course that’s the first thing Dean would think of.
The figure sitting on the porch, however, turned out to be merely another male Dean, indistinguishable from this one except for a post-it on his chest that said #3.
He raised an eyebrow and held out post-its to them, both labeled #8.
“Eight?” said Sam, and turned to quickly count the Impalas.
“A few of ‘em came here with Cas,” Dean #3 explained. “Speaking of which- is yours a Jimmy or a Claire?”
“Um, a Jimmy,” said Sam. He wished he could say this was the strangest conversation he’d ever had, but it wouldn’t be remotely close to true. “Yours?”
“He’s a Jimmy too. There’s only two Claires so far,” replied Dean #3, and added under his breath, “thank god.”
Dean- #8, as he assumed he would have to think of him for now- was studying the post-it with curiosity. “Hey, Sammy,” he said. “Guess who I am?”
“I don’t know. Who?”
Dean began to sing. “I’m Dean the Eighth, I am, I am, I’m Dean the Eighth, I am-”
Sam sighed and went inside, and came face to face with himself.
“Another one?” said a very tall woman, with an eerily familiar face. She threw her hands up in resignation. “Bobby’s gonna be so pissed off when he gets back.”
“Bobby doesn’t know?!”
“No, he knows. It’s just that he should be back with groceries any second now, and we were only up to version four when he left,” she explained. “I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Yeah, um, hi. I’m Sam too,” he said. “Have the rest of you- us- made any headway in figuring out all this?”
“Not really,” she said. “The first few hours were mostly spent freaking out, and then Dee trying to get into her male clones’ pants.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Because Dee is Dee even when she’s Dean?”
“Did he- she- actually, you know what, I don’t even want to know the answer to that.”
“Yeah, I kind of want Listerine for my brain now.”
*
Bobby was pretty irritated when he came back with groceries, but luckily he had foreseen the possibility of more Winchesters and had bought extra provisions.
“You!” he snapped. “Fives and sevens! Come unload the car.”
“You go,” said Sam #5 to Sam #4- both male, one with short hair- to which he replied, “Bobby asked you, not me.”
Sam went into the kitchen before he could be drawn into the argument. A Dean without a post-it- the first to arrive, presumably- was digging through the bags Bobby had brought in with him. A blonde girl, about ten years old, stood watching him, head tilted in exactly the same way as the Castiel he knew.
“Here, Cas, catch!” said Dean, turning and throwing her something from the bags.
She examined it. “I have told you already. I do not require food.”
“Yeah, you don’t.” He walked over and bent to speak into her ear. “Hey, Claire,” he called, as though to someone very far away. “Claire, sweetheart, you in there? You want a popsicle?”
Castiel glared at him. “Claire is asleep.”
Dean glared right back, and folded his arms. After a few moments, Castiel reluctantly tore open the plastic wrapper.
“She keeps forgetting she’s wearing a kid,” he said to Sam. They both watched her delicately biting the popsicle, without any regard for brain freeze.
“Our Cas feels pretty bad about Jimmy,” offered Sam. “As far as I can tell, anyway.”
“What happened with him when you guys met Famine?” asked Dean.
“He ate a couple hundred cheeseburgers. Dean always gets fried chicken now.”
Dean grimaced in sympathy. “I think she cleaned out the entire state’s supply of peach Snapple, and didn’t go to the bathroom once. Gave me a stomachache just watching.”
Another Castiel- this one much more familiar- came in. “Why are you eating that?”
“Because my Dean is even more of a dick than yours,” she replied with perfect equanimity. Sam had to fight not to laugh. Apparently all of the Castiels had been picking up Dean’s vocabulary.
The small angel and the big one looked at each other. “Is it very strange, having a penis and testicles?” asked Castiel-in-Claire.
“Aagh!” said Dean, and clapped his hands over his ears in horror. He fled, and Sam followed before Castiel-in-Jimmy could answer.
*