DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don't Have To
Title - DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don't Have To
Author - ZanneS
Genre - Humor/Crossover - Supernatural/Grey's Anatomy
Rating - PG (bad language - John's got a dirty mouth)
Characters - John Winchester & Denny Duquette
Summary - John and Denny meet up in the afterlife. John wins 'cause he's a bad-ass (who may be morally challenged - what? I still love the man).
Author's Note - Thanks again to the awesome
tigriswolf. The charming tigriswolf was my go-to person for all Denny-related information. Tigriswolf at least saw all the Denny episodes; all I saw was the one where he was already dead. Kripke owns John Winchester and...the person who owns Grey's Anatomy owns Denny Duquette. The only reason this story exists is because I am trying to get John Winchester out of Hell - this was idea #3.
DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don’t Have To
Denny shifted uncomfortably in his seat, surprisingly stiff…for a stiff. He snorted to himself at the unintentional pun, rolling his shoulders and then his head to stretch out his aching muscles, arching his back for a moment’s release. He’d been sitting here damn near forever and it was getting more than a little dull. There weren’t even any cute…whatevers to flirt with, though - after being here for so long - he was starting to think that slinky, little yellow thing with the four breasts and bat wings was sort of appealing.
Tearing his gaze away from the bountiful cleavage of the aforementioned yellow…thing, he watched the strange creatures with their barbed tails and the occasional curving horn or two scurrying about in their drab brown uniforms, dragging people to and fro - a whole lot of bustle with very little purpose, it seemed - a lot like Seattle Grace. One of the mid-size orange variety came over and deposited a burly man into the seat next to him, not even bothering to acknowledge Denny before he clamped a tag on the man’s wrist and rushed off.
The new arrival groaned, squinting fuzzily up at the blinking fluorescent lights before focusing on the man seated beside him. He tensed, hands clenching before he realized they were restrained with generous amounts of packing tape.
Narrowing his eyes, he growled warningly at Denny, “Who the fuck are you?”
Denny smiled, awkwardly holding out his hand despite the packing tape tying his own wrists together. “#24, apparently,” he said, flicking his dangling wrist tag with a twist of his hands. “Denny Duquette.”
The new arrival just stared at Denny’s proffered hand suspiciously as he started gnawing at the tape on his wrists, attempting to tear through it with his teeth. Denny slowly lowered his hands, arching an eyebrow curiously. “Well…” Denny flicked his eyes towards the tag on his companion’s wrist, “…#66? Should I just call you ‘One 6 short of Satan’ or do you have an actual name?”
What might have been the start of a grin made the man’s lip quirk, and he paused in trying to free himself. “John Winchester.”
“You’re an extremely handsome man, John Winchester,” Denny said conversationally, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
John allowed a gruff chuckle to escape at that, his hands dropping to his lap when he realized the tape was teeth-proof. “I noticed the resemblance. You a skin-walker? Shape-shifter maybe?”
Denny blinked and reminded the crazy man kindly, “I’m a Denny…Denny Duquette. Remember?”
John just eyed him warily, taking in as much of the room as he could with his peripheral vision. There were far too many unknowns here for his liking. “Where are we?”
Denny pointed up at the wall that cheerfully informed in brightly colored paint - DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don’t Have To. “I’m guessing Hell - the post office has never been my idea of Heaven.”
“Not Hell,” a short, purple demon snapped as it rushed by. “Soul distribution center.”
John looked almost relieved, slumping momentarily into his chair with a sharp exhalation.
“So…” Denny began, “I take it you’re dead?”
John glowered at him from the corner of his eye, slightly annoyed at the man’s constant cheerfulness. “No, just vacationing,” he replied with that subtle Winchester sarcasm.
Denny grinned. “Looks like we got some time to kill. Wanna play Scrabble?”
~~~~~Several Hours Later~~~~~
“Good God, man. Just shut the fuck up!”
John’s voice cut through the din of the room, causing a momentary lull in the hustle and bustle of deliveries as the odd assortment of eyes, feelers and what may have been tentacles swept in their direction. He sent silent apologies to any and all people he may have inadvertently bored with endless stories of Mary.
“I don’t fuckin’ care if angels shoot out of her ass! I don’t want to hear another fuckin’ word about her!”
Denny frowned, his soft eyes looking wounded. “You’re just a joy to be around, you know that?”
When John refused to speak to him - which was a kindness since, if the man weren’t already dead, John may have had to kill him - Denny just rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position to take a nap. “It’s a wonder anyone would have the balls to admit to knowing you,” Denny muttered pointedly over his shoulder.
A few minutes later a soft snoring could be heard and, for the first time, John felt a moment of contentment. “Hallelujah,” he grumbled. “I believe in miracles again.”
A large chartreuse demon stuck his head out from the back room and called out to the front desk, “God-dammit! #24 is a return. I hate interdepartmental fuck-ups! He’s supposed to be haunting a hospital in Seattle!”
John perked up at this news as another reddish one replied off-handedly, “#66 needs a signature when delivered. He’s registered. Tell the carrier so we don’t get our asses in a sling with that particular customer again. You do not want to get on his bad side.”
John glanced down at his wrist tag and then over at Denny’s, hanging teasingly over the arm of the chair where his hands splayed out limply. With his eyes kept straight, John covertly reached over, disentangling the tag as he clumsily slipped his on in its place.
With a small grunt of satisfaction, John awkwardly snapped #24 onto his own wrist just as a gnarled blue creature came up to him with a clipboard. “#24? Ahh, yes.” He grabbed John’s shirt and yanked him forward, firmly stamping Return to Sender on his forehead, the red ink bright against the pallor of his skin. “Sorry for the mistake. Some idiot filled out the wrong form.” The demon shrugged dismissively. “What can ya do?”
“Bureaucracy. No way to fight it, “ John agreed affably, not even glancing at the still sleeping Denny. “Time for me to go?”
“Yep! You’ll be picked up again in a few months to be taken to your final destination. Some sort of work-release program they’ve started up.”
“Fantastic,” John grinned cheerfully. “I can’t wait.” He casually followed the little blue demon deeper into the service center, leaving the yellow-eyed Demon the pleasure of meeting John Winchester’s new best friend.
Author - ZanneS
Genre - Humor/Crossover - Supernatural/Grey's Anatomy
Rating - PG (bad language - John's got a dirty mouth)
Characters - John Winchester & Denny Duquette
Summary - John and Denny meet up in the afterlife. John wins 'cause he's a bad-ass (who may be morally challenged - what? I still love the man).
Author's Note - Thanks again to the awesome
tigriswolf. The charming tigriswolf was my go-to person for all Denny-related information. Tigriswolf at least saw all the Denny episodes; all I saw was the one where he was already dead. Kripke owns John Winchester and...the person who owns Grey's Anatomy owns Denny Duquette. The only reason this story exists is because I am trying to get John Winchester out of Hell - this was idea #3.
DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don’t Have To
Denny shifted uncomfortably in his seat, surprisingly stiff…for a stiff. He snorted to himself at the unintentional pun, rolling his shoulders and then his head to stretch out his aching muscles, arching his back for a moment’s release. He’d been sitting here damn near forever and it was getting more than a little dull. There weren’t even any cute…whatevers to flirt with, though - after being here for so long - he was starting to think that slinky, little yellow thing with the four breasts and bat wings was sort of appealing.
Tearing his gaze away from the bountiful cleavage of the aforementioned yellow…thing, he watched the strange creatures with their barbed tails and the occasional curving horn or two scurrying about in their drab brown uniforms, dragging people to and fro - a whole lot of bustle with very little purpose, it seemed - a lot like Seattle Grace. One of the mid-size orange variety came over and deposited a burly man into the seat next to him, not even bothering to acknowledge Denny before he clamped a tag on the man’s wrist and rushed off.
The new arrival groaned, squinting fuzzily up at the blinking fluorescent lights before focusing on the man seated beside him. He tensed, hands clenching before he realized they were restrained with generous amounts of packing tape.
Narrowing his eyes, he growled warningly at Denny, “Who the fuck are you?”
Denny smiled, awkwardly holding out his hand despite the packing tape tying his own wrists together. “#24, apparently,” he said, flicking his dangling wrist tag with a twist of his hands. “Denny Duquette.”
The new arrival just stared at Denny’s proffered hand suspiciously as he started gnawing at the tape on his wrists, attempting to tear through it with his teeth. Denny slowly lowered his hands, arching an eyebrow curiously. “Well…” Denny flicked his eyes towards the tag on his companion’s wrist, “…#66? Should I just call you ‘One 6 short of Satan’ or do you have an actual name?”
What might have been the start of a grin made the man’s lip quirk, and he paused in trying to free himself. “John Winchester.”
“You’re an extremely handsome man, John Winchester,” Denny said conversationally, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
John allowed a gruff chuckle to escape at that, his hands dropping to his lap when he realized the tape was teeth-proof. “I noticed the resemblance. You a skin-walker? Shape-shifter maybe?”
Denny blinked and reminded the crazy man kindly, “I’m a Denny…Denny Duquette. Remember?”
John just eyed him warily, taking in as much of the room as he could with his peripheral vision. There were far too many unknowns here for his liking. “Where are we?”
Denny pointed up at the wall that cheerfully informed in brightly colored paint - DeadEx: We Get Your Soul There So You Don’t Have To. “I’m guessing Hell - the post office has never been my idea of Heaven.”
“Not Hell,” a short, purple demon snapped as it rushed by. “Soul distribution center.”
John looked almost relieved, slumping momentarily into his chair with a sharp exhalation.
“So…” Denny began, “I take it you’re dead?”
John glowered at him from the corner of his eye, slightly annoyed at the man’s constant cheerfulness. “No, just vacationing,” he replied with that subtle Winchester sarcasm.
Denny grinned. “Looks like we got some time to kill. Wanna play Scrabble?”
~~~~~Several Hours Later~~~~~
“Good God, man. Just shut the fuck up!”
John’s voice cut through the din of the room, causing a momentary lull in the hustle and bustle of deliveries as the odd assortment of eyes, feelers and what may have been tentacles swept in their direction. He sent silent apologies to any and all people he may have inadvertently bored with endless stories of Mary.
“I don’t fuckin’ care if angels shoot out of her ass! I don’t want to hear another fuckin’ word about her!”
Denny frowned, his soft eyes looking wounded. “You’re just a joy to be around, you know that?”
When John refused to speak to him - which was a kindness since, if the man weren’t already dead, John may have had to kill him - Denny just rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position to take a nap. “It’s a wonder anyone would have the balls to admit to knowing you,” Denny muttered pointedly over his shoulder.
A few minutes later a soft snoring could be heard and, for the first time, John felt a moment of contentment. “Hallelujah,” he grumbled. “I believe in miracles again.”
A large chartreuse demon stuck his head out from the back room and called out to the front desk, “God-dammit! #24 is a return. I hate interdepartmental fuck-ups! He’s supposed to be haunting a hospital in Seattle!”
John perked up at this news as another reddish one replied off-handedly, “#66 needs a signature when delivered. He’s registered. Tell the carrier so we don’t get our asses in a sling with that particular customer again. You do not want to get on his bad side.”
John glanced down at his wrist tag and then over at Denny’s, hanging teasingly over the arm of the chair where his hands splayed out limply. With his eyes kept straight, John covertly reached over, disentangling the tag as he clumsily slipped his on in its place.
With a small grunt of satisfaction, John awkwardly snapped #24 onto his own wrist just as a gnarled blue creature came up to him with a clipboard. “#24? Ahh, yes.” He grabbed John’s shirt and yanked him forward, firmly stamping Return to Sender on his forehead, the red ink bright against the pallor of his skin. “Sorry for the mistake. Some idiot filled out the wrong form.” The demon shrugged dismissively. “What can ya do?”
“Bureaucracy. No way to fight it, “ John agreed affably, not even glancing at the still sleeping Denny. “Time for me to go?”
“Yep! You’ll be picked up again in a few months to be taken to your final destination. Some sort of work-release program they’ve started up.”
“Fantastic,” John grinned cheerfully. “I can’t wait.” He casually followed the little blue demon deeper into the service center, leaving the yellow-eyed Demon the pleasure of meeting John Winchester’s new best friend.