SPN: "And Justice For All"
Category: Supernatural
Title: Conversation Pieces: "And Justice For All"
Words: 628
Spoilers: Through 8.13
Summary: There are things out there that even Dean Winchester can't handle--to Sam's amusement.
Yes, it actually exists. If you've never seen it, you really should.
And no. I really don't have any idea what's wrong with my brain. I'm pretty sure none of my diagnoses cover this.
"Oh. My. God."
Sam looked up from his book, concerned. He was not using to hearing horror in Dean's voice, and considering everything they'd been through, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it would take to horrify Dean. Especially after a year in Purgatory. "New hentai not up to Dean Winchester's lofty standards?"
"No--it--I--that--it--" Dean was reduced to noises and weird gestures. Sam couldn't tell if he was trying to reach in and strangle the Internet or fly south for the winter.
"Dean! What the hell are you doing?"
"I--it--"
"Dammit, Dean, focus."
"I lost my copy of the Black Album and I figured if I downloaded it, you could burn a CD and then I could make a new tape for the car, so I went looking and I found this thing about 'Enter Sandman' and it--it's fucking kittens!"
Sam blinked. "Kittens?" And then, because he couldn't resist, "So, they're Metallicats?"
"SAM!" Dean's anguished voice echoed impressively through the bunker. Really, the acoustics in here were fantastic. "It's those stupid captioned cats that are everywhere! This is fucking Metallica! There are no kittens in Metallica!"
"And there's no crying in baseball," Sam replied, turning back to his book. "Dean, you've been on the Internet before, you know the rules. If it exists, there's porn and lolcats of it." Dean made a strangled whimpering noise. "Oh, for the love of Christ, Dean, it can't be that bad." He reached across the table and turned the laptop around--and nearly choked.
"Enter Sandman." Done in lolcats. Done completely in lolcats--there was even a cat with a guitar to represent the guitar solo. It was very well done, actually; a screencap of an old forum thread. Shit, those people were brilliant.
"Sam," Dean said warningly.
The laughter bubbled free. "Come on, this is hilarious, Dean. Loosen up."
"This is blasphemy."
"I'll make sure to tell Cas next time we see him. Blasphemy's his department." Sam shoved the laptop back at Dean and went back to his book.
Dean slammed it shut with complete disregard for the niceties of property rights and shoved away from the table. "I'm going to bed, and I hope I don't have fucking nightmares about this thing," he grumbled. He took a bottle of Scotch from the liquor cabinet.
"Don't forget to bring the glass back out and wash it," Sam said mildly. Dean made another one of those strangled noises--probably fighting the urge to smash said Scotch over Sam's head--and stalked off to his room.
Sam waited for him to be gone, and reached for the laptop. Dean hadn't closed the browser, of course, so the picture was still on screen. Sam saved a copy to the drive, just to have it to torment Dean with later--and then his eye fell on the printer.
The bunker had state-of-the-art tech for the late 50s, of course, so anything more recent, they'd had to install, and a really good printer had been the first thing Sam bought with the money they'd been saving on motels. He had vague plans of assembling some reference books from the better sources out there, and maybe typing in the stacks of handwritten notes they'd acquired.
Didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with it too. With all that Scotch, Dean was going to sleep pretty soundly tonight.
And Sam seriously owed him for the disaster Dean had made out of the spell-component storeroom.
Sam was fixing breakfast when Dean woke up.
The scream of sheer terror that greeted the lolcats Sam had taped to the ceiling, right where Dean would see them when he forced his eyes open, made the whole night of printer-wrestling and Scotch-taping worth it.
Title: Conversation Pieces: "And Justice For All"
Words: 628
Spoilers: Through 8.13
Summary: There are things out there that even Dean Winchester can't handle--to Sam's amusement.
Yes, it actually exists. If you've never seen it, you really should.
And no. I really don't have any idea what's wrong with my brain. I'm pretty sure none of my diagnoses cover this.
"Oh. My. God."
Sam looked up from his book, concerned. He was not using to hearing horror in Dean's voice, and considering everything they'd been through, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it would take to horrify Dean. Especially after a year in Purgatory. "New hentai not up to Dean Winchester's lofty standards?"
"No--it--I--that--it--" Dean was reduced to noises and weird gestures. Sam couldn't tell if he was trying to reach in and strangle the Internet or fly south for the winter.
"Dean! What the hell are you doing?"
"I--it--"
"Dammit, Dean, focus."
"I lost my copy of the Black Album and I figured if I downloaded it, you could burn a CD and then I could make a new tape for the car, so I went looking and I found this thing about 'Enter Sandman' and it--it's fucking kittens!"
Sam blinked. "Kittens?" And then, because he couldn't resist, "So, they're Metallicats?"
"SAM!" Dean's anguished voice echoed impressively through the bunker. Really, the acoustics in here were fantastic. "It's those stupid captioned cats that are everywhere! This is fucking Metallica! There are no kittens in Metallica!"
"And there's no crying in baseball," Sam replied, turning back to his book. "Dean, you've been on the Internet before, you know the rules. If it exists, there's porn and lolcats of it." Dean made a strangled whimpering noise. "Oh, for the love of Christ, Dean, it can't be that bad." He reached across the table and turned the laptop around--and nearly choked.
"Enter Sandman." Done in lolcats. Done completely in lolcats--there was even a cat with a guitar to represent the guitar solo. It was very well done, actually; a screencap of an old forum thread. Shit, those people were brilliant.
"Sam," Dean said warningly.
The laughter bubbled free. "Come on, this is hilarious, Dean. Loosen up."
"This is blasphemy."
"I'll make sure to tell Cas next time we see him. Blasphemy's his department." Sam shoved the laptop back at Dean and went back to his book.
Dean slammed it shut with complete disregard for the niceties of property rights and shoved away from the table. "I'm going to bed, and I hope I don't have fucking nightmares about this thing," he grumbled. He took a bottle of Scotch from the liquor cabinet.
"Don't forget to bring the glass back out and wash it," Sam said mildly. Dean made another one of those strangled noises--probably fighting the urge to smash said Scotch over Sam's head--and stalked off to his room.
Sam waited for him to be gone, and reached for the laptop. Dean hadn't closed the browser, of course, so the picture was still on screen. Sam saved a copy to the drive, just to have it to torment Dean with later--and then his eye fell on the printer.
The bunker had state-of-the-art tech for the late 50s, of course, so anything more recent, they'd had to install, and a really good printer had been the first thing Sam bought with the money they'd been saving on motels. He had vague plans of assembling some reference books from the better sources out there, and maybe typing in the stacks of handwritten notes they'd acquired.
Didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with it too. With all that Scotch, Dean was going to sleep pretty soundly tonight.
And Sam seriously owed him for the disaster Dean had made out of the spell-component storeroom.
Sam was fixing breakfast when Dean woke up.
The scream of sheer terror that greeted the lolcats Sam had taped to the ceiling, right where Dean would see them when he forced his eyes open, made the whole night of printer-wrestling and Scotch-taping worth it.