FIC - You Can't Be Serious.
TITLE: You Can’t Be Serious
AUTHOR: Veruca ( verucasalt123)
FANDOM: Supernatural
PROMPT: Mothman
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: ~500
SUMMARY: This is a hunt? For real?
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: Nothing specific.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the “Mothman” prompt in paranormal25. Kind of cracky and very short.
Dean had learned from Sam. Enough that he was capable of handing out a trophy-winning eyeroll, at least. He couldn’t believe that this was a hunt. An honest to Chuck hunt, and they were headed toward it, Sam all serious and looking up everything he could on his no-buttons computer thing, i-Whatever.
“So. Mothman. For real? Mothman?”, Dean asked his brother, not managing to contain his sarcasm.
“Dude, shut up, this is legit. Last sighting at least the 70s, though the real first sighting was in the 60s.”, Sam replied, with his own eyeroll and bitchface, the “Quit being a dick” bitchface, one of Dean’s personal favorites.
“So, let me make sure I’ve got everything clear. This alleged7-foot tall, red-eyed Mothman (another eyeroll) scared some kids back in the 1960s. They saw a dead dog by the side of the road, and assumed the dog was killed by the Mothman. Am I good so far?”
“Yes, but a little less sarcasm would suffice. There are three eyewitness accounts just from that one night. Jerk.”
“Three??? Ohhhhhhhhh, well then, three kids from BFE, West Virginia, this is clearly something exceptionally dangerous and completely credible.”
“There was another sighting in the 1970s, Dean. That one was pretty much the same. Dick.”
“Nothing since then, though, right? No more Point Pleasant headlines of gigantic glow-y eyed mothlike deadly creatures?”
“Exactly!”, replied Sam, wearing his best excited-about-this expression. “This is the first legit sighting of Mothman since then. Which is why we’re checking it out. Ass.”
“So, any of your i-thing research give you a clue about how to kill the thing?”
“Not yet. Still looking. Fucker.”
“Must you end every sentence you say to me with an insult, Sammy? Am I that unbearable? Really?”
“Yes, I must, and yes, you are. Douche.”
Then Dean got a really good idea.
“You know what this reminds me of? The Tick!!!!! Remember The Tick, with his little sidekick Arthur? Dude, if this Mothman thing yells “Spooooooooooooon!” before it goes in for the kill, we’ll be totally prepared. It will give itself away and we can…oh wait, I don’t know what we can do, because you haven’t figured out how to kill it yet.”
“Shut your hole, Dean, I’m trying to figure it out, and you’re not helping. Tool.”
“All right, Sam. We’d like to keep the stray dogs of the rural area outside Point Pleasant, West Virginia safe, and I can totally get behind that. You know I like dogs.”
“I’m going to figure it out, damn it, we won’t be there for another 6 hours anyway, jerk.”
“You’re running out of insults for me and repeating them now, do you realize that?”
“Fuck you. We’re killing Mothman. Shut up and drive.”
Dean just enjoyed the silence for a moment. Just one tiny little moment.
“Poopyhead.”
At the same exact second, they both starting giggling hysterically, and Dean kept driving, and Sam kept clicking (kind of), and all was right with the world.
Until Dean yelled ”SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!”
AUTHOR: Veruca ( verucasalt123)
FANDOM: Supernatural
PROMPT: Mothman
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: ~500
SUMMARY: This is a hunt? For real?
SPOILERS/WARNINGS: Nothing specific.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the “Mothman” prompt in paranormal25. Kind of cracky and very short.
Dean had learned from Sam. Enough that he was capable of handing out a trophy-winning eyeroll, at least. He couldn’t believe that this was a hunt. An honest to Chuck hunt, and they were headed toward it, Sam all serious and looking up everything he could on his no-buttons computer thing, i-Whatever.
“So. Mothman. For real? Mothman?”, Dean asked his brother, not managing to contain his sarcasm.
“Dude, shut up, this is legit. Last sighting at least the 70s, though the real first sighting was in the 60s.”, Sam replied, with his own eyeroll and bitchface, the “Quit being a dick” bitchface, one of Dean’s personal favorites.
“So, let me make sure I’ve got everything clear. This alleged7-foot tall, red-eyed Mothman (another eyeroll) scared some kids back in the 1960s. They saw a dead dog by the side of the road, and assumed the dog was killed by the Mothman. Am I good so far?”
“Yes, but a little less sarcasm would suffice. There are three eyewitness accounts just from that one night. Jerk.”
“Three??? Ohhhhhhhhh, well then, three kids from BFE, West Virginia, this is clearly something exceptionally dangerous and completely credible.”
“There was another sighting in the 1970s, Dean. That one was pretty much the same. Dick.”
“Nothing since then, though, right? No more Point Pleasant headlines of gigantic glow-y eyed mothlike deadly creatures?”
“Exactly!”, replied Sam, wearing his best excited-about-this expression. “This is the first legit sighting of Mothman since then. Which is why we’re checking it out. Ass.”
“So, any of your i-thing research give you a clue about how to kill the thing?”
“Not yet. Still looking. Fucker.”
“Must you end every sentence you say to me with an insult, Sammy? Am I that unbearable? Really?”
“Yes, I must, and yes, you are. Douche.”
Then Dean got a really good idea.
“You know what this reminds me of? The Tick!!!!! Remember The Tick, with his little sidekick Arthur? Dude, if this Mothman thing yells “Spooooooooooooon!” before it goes in for the kill, we’ll be totally prepared. It will give itself away and we can…oh wait, I don’t know what we can do, because you haven’t figured out how to kill it yet.”
“Shut your hole, Dean, I’m trying to figure it out, and you’re not helping. Tool.”
“All right, Sam. We’d like to keep the stray dogs of the rural area outside Point Pleasant, West Virginia safe, and I can totally get behind that. You know I like dogs.”
“I’m going to figure it out, damn it, we won’t be there for another 6 hours anyway, jerk.”
“You’re running out of insults for me and repeating them now, do you realize that?”
“Fuck you. We’re killing Mothman. Shut up and drive.”
Dean just enjoyed the silence for a moment. Just one tiny little moment.
“Poopyhead.”
At the same exact second, they both starting giggling hysterically, and Dean kept driving, and Sam kept clicking (kind of), and all was right with the world.
Until Dean yelled ”SPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!”