dreamwaffles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamwaffles) wrote2009-02-09 08:22 pm
dreamwaffles) wrote2009-02-09 08:22 pm
Entry tags:
Happy (very late) birthday, brainmissing!
So because it worked so well for romanshoes, I offered brainmissing the opportunity to request a fic from me for her birthday. Here it is, um, about two months late. It's Supernatural, gen, and humor. It's also unbetaed, but I think it works fine as it is. I apologize for the title; it was too obvious a pun for me to pass up.
Title: Supersoak Me
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, humor
Warnings: I’ve taken some liberties with the Mesopotamian demon Lamashtu. My version is of a fairly typical SPN demon, except for where she eats unborn babies. I figure that if Kripke can do it, so can I! (Sam Hain, anyone? –cringe-)
Summary: This is very late birthday fic for brainmissing, who requested me to write a fic about supersoakers filled with holy water. I actually did Google “demon who eats babies”. And researched water guns. Extensively.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Dude, we’ve been here a week. If it hasn’t shown by now, it’s probably not going to. It probably skipped town ahead of us. Again.”
Sam huffed a breath from his side of the Impala, fingers drumming on the windowsill as they cruised the streets, on their way to a new town and new motel-again-from a bland suburban neighborhood-again-where they’d interviewed every person in a quarter-mile radius of an obviously demonic murder and found not even the slightest trace of a demonic presence.
Again.
They’d been following the damn thing for almost a month now. Early on in June, Dean had spotted an article about the murder of a pregnant soccer mom who, by the time of the autopsy, had no longer been pregnant.
At the scene of the crime, Sam had found sulfur on the windowsill, but the demon itself was long gone.
So far, five pregnant women had been murdered, never more than one in the same town.
“We were so close last time,” said Sam in frustration, remembering how they’d driven up to the murder scene only half an hour after the woman had been killed and her baby stolen.
“What I still want to know is, what the hell does the demon want with those babies?” snapped Dean, driving his foot down to get through the stoplight before it changed. The Impala growled as she accelerated, echoing the snarl in Dean’s words.
Sam rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “I have no idea. I’ve looked, but…”
“Well, if we can get a name, maybe we can find it faster,” said Dean, suddenly swinging the wheel around and taking a hard right, “Library’s down here, right?”
Sam blinked at Dean. “You’re voluntarily going to do research?” he said, incredulously.
Dean glared at him. “I do research!” he retorted defensively, “Sometimes.” He paused for a moment, then the fight went out of him and his shoulders drooped, just a little.
“Look, I just…I don’t want to go to the motel and turn on the news and find that we’ve missed another murder,” he confessed, turning into the library parking lot and looking for a space.
Sam didn’t call him on it. He could sympathize.
The last victim had been found by her daughter, who was eight. When they’d talked to her, Sam found himself asking most of the questions. Dean liked kids too much to ask them about these things. Sam knew it had upset him more than he let on to talk to the girl.
“Hey. Earth to geek-boy,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face, “Research time!”
An hour later, Sam had, once again, gotten exactly nowhere with the books he was combing through. Part of the problem was the selection; this library, like most libraries in small towns, generally didn’t have a whole lot about demonic lore.
Dean had moved from the table to a nearby computer desk, but Sam could tell by the tense line of his back that he hadn’t found anything. He stood up and wandered over, looking down to see what Dean was searching for.
“I’ve been looking for anything other than a demon that eats babies,” said Dean, rolling his head back to look at Sam and cracking his neck, “I started with demons, but we could be on the wrong track. Which would totally suck.”
“Hm,” said Sam absently, frowning down at the page and clicking back to see Dean’s search history. Upon seeing the first term, he raised an eyebrow.
“You actually Googled ‘demon who eats babies’?” he said, incredulously, clicking back a few times to see the results, “Dean, have you listened to anything I’ve ever said about the Internet?”
“Shut up, it was worth a try,” said Dean defensively, looking back at the page. The top site was something about a demon frog, closely followed by a claim about a demon-possessed Elmo doll.
Sam scrolled down out of morbid curiosity, clicked “Next,” and stopped.
“Huh,” he said, reaching out and pulling another chair closer, “Scoot over.”
Dean moved his chair as Sam sat down and followed the link he’d clicked for a minute, which was something about Mesopotamian mythology. After a few minutes, Sam was totally engrossed and Dean left, rolling his eyes.
“Got it,” said Sam a few minutes later, grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling on it.
“What is it?” asked Dean, looking up from the book he’d been half-heartedly poking through.
“It’s a demon called Lamashtu,” Sam told him, continuing to scribble for a minute, then getting up and coming back to the table, “Basically, she kills pregnant women and eats the unborn babies.”
“Okay,” said Dean, “So we have a name. Can we exorcise it?”
Sam looked at his notes for a minute. “No reason we shouldn’t be able to,” he said, looking back at Dean, “I mean, it still leaves a sulfur trail.”
“Right,” Dean said, then frowned as something dawned on him. “Hang on a second. Sam, why haven’t we found any possession victims? I mean, normally if a demon ditches someone after a murder, they’re left with bloody hands. Literally.”
Sam frowned too. “That is weird,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “What’s weirder is that we didn’t notice.”
“Well, can you blame us?” said Dean, “All those poor kids-“
He stopped dead as Sam whipped his head around to stare at him.
“Dean,” said Sam, slowly, “The mothers were all found by their kids. What if Lamashtu possessed the kids to kill them, cleaned them up, then left the kids to find their moms?”
They stared at one another.
“Dude, that’s sick,” said Dean, and stood up, shoving his chair back so hard it almost fell over. The librarian gave him a reproving look, and he raised his hands placatingly, jerking his head towards the exit.
Sam rose and followed Dean as his brother headed towards the Impala. “You’ve got to admit it fits,” he said, when Dean didn’t speak.
“Oh, I do,” said Dean grimly, unlocking the car door and sliding into the drivers’ seat, “It fits all right. It’s just fucking sick.”
“No argument there,” said Sam, blowing out a long breath, “So, how do we find the kid? It’s not like we can go around and ask to talk to every kid in town just to say ‘Christo’ to them. At least, not without probably being arrested as perverts.”
“Leave that to me,” said Dean, and grinned in the not-exactly-happy way he had when he suddenly got a really good idea. “Look, can you find out if there’s a pregnant moms’, I don’t know, daycare group or something? The age bracket’s been about six to nine.”
“I can do that,” said Sam warily, “Why?”
“Find out when they meet, and where, and it had better be outside,” said Dean.
“What?” said Sam, “Why? Dean, why do they have to meet oustside?”
“Never question a genius, Sammy,” said Dean, and refused to say anything more on the subject. He dropped Sam off at the community center without another word.
“Found anything?” said Dean, when Sam finally got to the motel.
Sam looked at him just long enough to let Dean know that Sam did not appreciate being left out of the planning process. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “There’s a group for moms pregnant a second or third time that meets at the park on Wednesday afternoons so the kids can run around and they can sit and talk.”
“Awesome,” said Dean, and the mad glint that meant he had a Plan was in his eye. Sam knew enough to be very wary of that glint.
“Dean, what the hell are you planning?” he asked, going to sit on his bed, “Just-just tell me already, okay? I’m sick of cryptic utterances.”
“What, your time of the month already?” Dean retorted, unmoved, and reached into his duffel, which looked fuller than usual, to toss something brightly colored and plastic at Sam.
Sam caught it reflexively, and stared at it.
“Dean, why did you throw me a water gun?” he asked, wearily, rubbing his forehead again when he had determined what it was, “And what does this have to do with anything?”
“That isn’t just any water gun, Sammy,” said Dean, pulling out another one from his bag and pumping it twice, “That is a Buzz Bee Water Warriors Renegade. And this one-“ he hefted his-“is a Super Soaker Max Infusion: Defender.”
“And you bought these why?” said Sam, trying to keep his voice patient and rather failing.
“I’m not done,” said Dean, and poked a jug of water by his foot with the toe of his boot. “Check that out.”
Sam looked at the jug, then back at Dean. “Congratulations, you found water,” he said, not getting up.
“It’s holy water, Sammy,” said Dean, beaming a little disturbingly at his brother.
Sam stared at him, then suddenly got it.
“Oh,” he said, “Oh.”
“You got it,” said Dean, saluting him with the Vindicator, “So, we load up, head out to the park, say hello to the mommies, then squirt the kids. The one who screams is our demon.”
“Okay,” said Sam, his mind kicking into gear. “We should go there early, draw some Devil’s Traps-herd the kid into one, then exorcise her as quick as possible.”
“I was thinking more, follow the one home and get her there,” said Dean, with a frown, “We really want to perform an exorcism in public?”
“If we don’t get it right away, Lamashtu’s just going to skip town again,” said Sam, his mind still whirring over the possibilities, “Besides, once it’s gone, it’s gone, and a fainting kid who vomited smoke in a park will get a lot more attention than two dudes with squirt guns.”
“Thus enabling a getaway,” said Dean, slowly. “Okay. Gotcha.”
He smiled again, suddenly. “But do I come up with awesome plans, or what? Squirt guns, Sammy. Squirt guns.”
Sam shook his head, but held his tongue. It would be no use trying to deal with Dean for at least the next week, if they pulled this one off.
They practiced with the guns for a while before going to bed, in order to become accustomed to how they fired. Sam felt a little stupid doing the drills their father had taught them with a brightly colored piece of plastic, but Dean seemed to take an evil glee in shooting Sam in the eye with deadly accuracy as much as possible.
“Dude, my Defender totally beats your Renegade,” he crowed, as they went inside, “It’s got a better pump action and totally doesn’t mist as badly as yours.”
“Mine’s bigger,” Sam retorted before he could stop himself.
Dean chuckled evilly. “Proving once again it’s not size that matters, Sasquatch, but how you use it,” he said, and disappeared into the shower before Sam could retort with something about Dean being short.
He rolled his eyes again instead and went to fill the guns with holy water.
The pregnant moms’ group met after lunch, so Sam and Dean turned up at twelve thirty to make sure they got there in time. The moms were gathered at a picnic table, keeping an eye on the play structures, but not seeming overly concerned about the shrieking coming from the swings and slides.
“So, there are Devil’s Traps…” murmured Dean, as he pumped his Defender, checking the seams for leaks.
“Under the yellow slide, on the merry-go-round, in the hopscotch area, and under all the picnic tables,” said Sam, rolling his eyes, “I was there too, Dean.”
They’d drawn the Devil’s Traps the night before, sneaking in with spray paint to cover all the ways a demon might flee holy water. The red paint wasn’t too noticeable on the bright metal merry-go-round, and it didn’t even look out of place among the bizarre drawings that adorned the area around the hopscotch designs.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Sam muttered, but followed Dean out of the car towards the playground.
It was totally bizarre to be hunting a demon in broad daylight in full view of passers-by. Sam tried to look nonchalant, and concentrated on Dean as they passed the table of moms, nodding politely.
As soon as Sam stepped onto the woodchips, Dean squirted him. Sam yelped and whirled to glare at him, but Dean was already bolting away, cackling as he dodged a group of kids and aimed over his shoulder, apparently haphazardly.
“Sorry!” he yelled when the kids shrieked in surprise, running automatically away from the man who’d squirted them.
Sam took cover behind one of the slides and aimed at Dean, pressurizing his squirt gun, taking aim, and firing. He winced automatically as the water splashed the girls on the tire swing, though that had been the idea.
They had to do this fast. Two grown men having a squirt gun fight wasn’t totally weird, but it was definitely kind of strange for them to do it in the middle of a play structure instead of in the perfectly good, empty soccer field just to the side of it. Sam aimed and squirted again, dropping and rolling as Dean fired back at him.
The demon was in a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven, and she screamed her head off when Dean first squirted her, immediately bolting in the opposite direction. Sam diverted her with another squirt, and the two of them began herding her towards the merry go round.
It worked beautifully. The demon scrambled onto the thing, crawled into the center, and froze as it realized it couldn’t get out.
Dean put down his water gun and went towards the merry-go-round, his hands up, one eye on the moms, who had turned to look at him. “Hey, I’m sorry for squirting you,” he said clearly, “I was trying to hit my brother. Want me to push this for you to make it up to you? I can make it go really fast.”
Sam lowered his own gun, and watched the moms relax as they heard the apology. He gave him his best sheepish smile, shrugging and letting his squirt gun drop.
Lamashtu wasn’t buying it, but Dean jerked his head towards Sam and began pushing the merry-go-round, letting it go when it began to spin at a respectable rate. A few other kids ran towards it and clambered on, so Dean gave it another few spins as Sam took out the paper with the exorcism on it, angled his body so his back was to the moms, and began to read it.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he said clearly, as Dean spun the thing faster, “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio-“
Most of the kids were already shrieking with delight, so when Lamashtu began to scream, it wasn’t immediately noticeable. Sam read as fast as he could, trying to get through the exorcism before anyone else noticed.
When she flung her head back and a column of black smoke streaked into the sky, Dean pretended total surprise and stumbled backwards, shouting, “What the he-what on earth is that?”
Sam followed him back, stuffing the exorcism away as he finished the last word, as the kids began screaming in real terror and the moms flooded towards them. He lunged at the merry-go-round and stopped it, pulling hard, and the rest of the kids poured off it.
“Oh god, Kara!” cried one of the more heavily pregnant moms, and Sam scrambled onto the merry-go-round, turning the little girl over and checking her breathing.
“She’s unconscious!” he said, bending down to check for a heartbeat, “Call 911!”
Upon finding regular breathing and a pulse, he relaxed. “She’s breathing,” he said to the anxious woman standing at the side of the toy, clutching her hands together, “Want me to, er, get her off this thing?”
“Please,” said the woman, “Oh god, please-what was that? What happened?” and Sam picked up the girl and carried her to the picnic table.
When the paramedics got there, Sam and Dean gave them the barest details-“We don’t know what happened; we were just having a squirt gun fight, then this kid fainted-“ before getting the hell away from there.
They stopped at the motel to grab their duffels and check out, then Dean pulled onto the highway and started speeding atrociously.
“Admit it, Sam,” he said, grinning wildly when the Led Zeppelin tape they’d been listening to finally reached the end of one side, “That was awesome. I’m a genius.”
“It did work pretty well,” Sam admitted, “And the squirt guns were a lot more fun than just splashing them with our flasks.”
Dean cackled madly for a minute, then said, “You didn’t wrap yours up. That’s no way to treat the Renegade-it’s plastic, Sam, you can’t just throw it in the trunk like we usually do. Don’t worry, I took care of it.”
Sam stared at him. “You kept it?” he said, finally.
“Of course,” said Dean, giving Sam an incredulous look, “What, you think I’m going to just go back to the flask method?”
Sam groaned, and Dean turned the tape over, and the Impala roared as Dean began singing along to The Immigrant Song.
Fin
Happy birthday, brainmissing!
Title: Supersoak Me
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, humor
Warnings: I’ve taken some liberties with the Mesopotamian demon Lamashtu. My version is of a fairly typical SPN demon, except for where she eats unborn babies. I figure that if Kripke can do it, so can I! (Sam Hain, anyone? –cringe-)
Summary: This is very late birthday fic for brainmissing, who requested me to write a fic about supersoakers filled with holy water. I actually did Google “demon who eats babies”. And researched water guns. Extensively.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Dude, we’ve been here a week. If it hasn’t shown by now, it’s probably not going to. It probably skipped town ahead of us. Again.”
Sam huffed a breath from his side of the Impala, fingers drumming on the windowsill as they cruised the streets, on their way to a new town and new motel-again-from a bland suburban neighborhood-again-where they’d interviewed every person in a quarter-mile radius of an obviously demonic murder and found not even the slightest trace of a demonic presence.
Again.
They’d been following the damn thing for almost a month now. Early on in June, Dean had spotted an article about the murder of a pregnant soccer mom who, by the time of the autopsy, had no longer been pregnant.
At the scene of the crime, Sam had found sulfur on the windowsill, but the demon itself was long gone.
So far, five pregnant women had been murdered, never more than one in the same town.
“We were so close last time,” said Sam in frustration, remembering how they’d driven up to the murder scene only half an hour after the woman had been killed and her baby stolen.
“What I still want to know is, what the hell does the demon want with those babies?” snapped Dean, driving his foot down to get through the stoplight before it changed. The Impala growled as she accelerated, echoing the snarl in Dean’s words.
Sam rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “I have no idea. I’ve looked, but…”
“Well, if we can get a name, maybe we can find it faster,” said Dean, suddenly swinging the wheel around and taking a hard right, “Library’s down here, right?”
Sam blinked at Dean. “You’re voluntarily going to do research?” he said, incredulously.
Dean glared at him. “I do research!” he retorted defensively, “Sometimes.” He paused for a moment, then the fight went out of him and his shoulders drooped, just a little.
“Look, I just…I don’t want to go to the motel and turn on the news and find that we’ve missed another murder,” he confessed, turning into the library parking lot and looking for a space.
Sam didn’t call him on it. He could sympathize.
The last victim had been found by her daughter, who was eight. When they’d talked to her, Sam found himself asking most of the questions. Dean liked kids too much to ask them about these things. Sam knew it had upset him more than he let on to talk to the girl.
“Hey. Earth to geek-boy,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face, “Research time!”
An hour later, Sam had, once again, gotten exactly nowhere with the books he was combing through. Part of the problem was the selection; this library, like most libraries in small towns, generally didn’t have a whole lot about demonic lore.
Dean had moved from the table to a nearby computer desk, but Sam could tell by the tense line of his back that he hadn’t found anything. He stood up and wandered over, looking down to see what Dean was searching for.
“I’ve been looking for anything other than a demon that eats babies,” said Dean, rolling his head back to look at Sam and cracking his neck, “I started with demons, but we could be on the wrong track. Which would totally suck.”
“Hm,” said Sam absently, frowning down at the page and clicking back to see Dean’s search history. Upon seeing the first term, he raised an eyebrow.
“You actually Googled ‘demon who eats babies’?” he said, incredulously, clicking back a few times to see the results, “Dean, have you listened to anything I’ve ever said about the Internet?”
“Shut up, it was worth a try,” said Dean defensively, looking back at the page. The top site was something about a demon frog, closely followed by a claim about a demon-possessed Elmo doll.
Sam scrolled down out of morbid curiosity, clicked “Next,” and stopped.
“Huh,” he said, reaching out and pulling another chair closer, “Scoot over.”
Dean moved his chair as Sam sat down and followed the link he’d clicked for a minute, which was something about Mesopotamian mythology. After a few minutes, Sam was totally engrossed and Dean left, rolling his eyes.
“Got it,” said Sam a few minutes later, grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling on it.
“What is it?” asked Dean, looking up from the book he’d been half-heartedly poking through.
“It’s a demon called Lamashtu,” Sam told him, continuing to scribble for a minute, then getting up and coming back to the table, “Basically, she kills pregnant women and eats the unborn babies.”
“Okay,” said Dean, “So we have a name. Can we exorcise it?”
Sam looked at his notes for a minute. “No reason we shouldn’t be able to,” he said, looking back at Dean, “I mean, it still leaves a sulfur trail.”
“Right,” Dean said, then frowned as something dawned on him. “Hang on a second. Sam, why haven’t we found any possession victims? I mean, normally if a demon ditches someone after a murder, they’re left with bloody hands. Literally.”
Sam frowned too. “That is weird,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “What’s weirder is that we didn’t notice.”
“Well, can you blame us?” said Dean, “All those poor kids-“
He stopped dead as Sam whipped his head around to stare at him.
“Dean,” said Sam, slowly, “The mothers were all found by their kids. What if Lamashtu possessed the kids to kill them, cleaned them up, then left the kids to find their moms?”
They stared at one another.
“Dude, that’s sick,” said Dean, and stood up, shoving his chair back so hard it almost fell over. The librarian gave him a reproving look, and he raised his hands placatingly, jerking his head towards the exit.
Sam rose and followed Dean as his brother headed towards the Impala. “You’ve got to admit it fits,” he said, when Dean didn’t speak.
“Oh, I do,” said Dean grimly, unlocking the car door and sliding into the drivers’ seat, “It fits all right. It’s just fucking sick.”
“No argument there,” said Sam, blowing out a long breath, “So, how do we find the kid? It’s not like we can go around and ask to talk to every kid in town just to say ‘Christo’ to them. At least, not without probably being arrested as perverts.”
“Leave that to me,” said Dean, and grinned in the not-exactly-happy way he had when he suddenly got a really good idea. “Look, can you find out if there’s a pregnant moms’, I don’t know, daycare group or something? The age bracket’s been about six to nine.”
“I can do that,” said Sam warily, “Why?”
“Find out when they meet, and where, and it had better be outside,” said Dean.
“What?” said Sam, “Why? Dean, why do they have to meet oustside?”
“Never question a genius, Sammy,” said Dean, and refused to say anything more on the subject. He dropped Sam off at the community center without another word.
“Found anything?” said Dean, when Sam finally got to the motel.
Sam looked at him just long enough to let Dean know that Sam did not appreciate being left out of the planning process. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “There’s a group for moms pregnant a second or third time that meets at the park on Wednesday afternoons so the kids can run around and they can sit and talk.”
“Awesome,” said Dean, and the mad glint that meant he had a Plan was in his eye. Sam knew enough to be very wary of that glint.
“Dean, what the hell are you planning?” he asked, going to sit on his bed, “Just-just tell me already, okay? I’m sick of cryptic utterances.”
“What, your time of the month already?” Dean retorted, unmoved, and reached into his duffel, which looked fuller than usual, to toss something brightly colored and plastic at Sam.
Sam caught it reflexively, and stared at it.
“Dean, why did you throw me a water gun?” he asked, wearily, rubbing his forehead again when he had determined what it was, “And what does this have to do with anything?”
“That isn’t just any water gun, Sammy,” said Dean, pulling out another one from his bag and pumping it twice, “That is a Buzz Bee Water Warriors Renegade. And this one-“ he hefted his-“is a Super Soaker Max Infusion: Defender.”
“And you bought these why?” said Sam, trying to keep his voice patient and rather failing.
“I’m not done,” said Dean, and poked a jug of water by his foot with the toe of his boot. “Check that out.”
Sam looked at the jug, then back at Dean. “Congratulations, you found water,” he said, not getting up.
“It’s holy water, Sammy,” said Dean, beaming a little disturbingly at his brother.
Sam stared at him, then suddenly got it.
“Oh,” he said, “Oh.”
“You got it,” said Dean, saluting him with the Vindicator, “So, we load up, head out to the park, say hello to the mommies, then squirt the kids. The one who screams is our demon.”
“Okay,” said Sam, his mind kicking into gear. “We should go there early, draw some Devil’s Traps-herd the kid into one, then exorcise her as quick as possible.”
“I was thinking more, follow the one home and get her there,” said Dean, with a frown, “We really want to perform an exorcism in public?”
“If we don’t get it right away, Lamashtu’s just going to skip town again,” said Sam, his mind still whirring over the possibilities, “Besides, once it’s gone, it’s gone, and a fainting kid who vomited smoke in a park will get a lot more attention than two dudes with squirt guns.”
“Thus enabling a getaway,” said Dean, slowly. “Okay. Gotcha.”
He smiled again, suddenly. “But do I come up with awesome plans, or what? Squirt guns, Sammy. Squirt guns.”
Sam shook his head, but held his tongue. It would be no use trying to deal with Dean for at least the next week, if they pulled this one off.
They practiced with the guns for a while before going to bed, in order to become accustomed to how they fired. Sam felt a little stupid doing the drills their father had taught them with a brightly colored piece of plastic, but Dean seemed to take an evil glee in shooting Sam in the eye with deadly accuracy as much as possible.
“Dude, my Defender totally beats your Renegade,” he crowed, as they went inside, “It’s got a better pump action and totally doesn’t mist as badly as yours.”
“Mine’s bigger,” Sam retorted before he could stop himself.
Dean chuckled evilly. “Proving once again it’s not size that matters, Sasquatch, but how you use it,” he said, and disappeared into the shower before Sam could retort with something about Dean being short.
He rolled his eyes again instead and went to fill the guns with holy water.
The pregnant moms’ group met after lunch, so Sam and Dean turned up at twelve thirty to make sure they got there in time. The moms were gathered at a picnic table, keeping an eye on the play structures, but not seeming overly concerned about the shrieking coming from the swings and slides.
“So, there are Devil’s Traps…” murmured Dean, as he pumped his Defender, checking the seams for leaks.
“Under the yellow slide, on the merry-go-round, in the hopscotch area, and under all the picnic tables,” said Sam, rolling his eyes, “I was there too, Dean.”
They’d drawn the Devil’s Traps the night before, sneaking in with spray paint to cover all the ways a demon might flee holy water. The red paint wasn’t too noticeable on the bright metal merry-go-round, and it didn’t even look out of place among the bizarre drawings that adorned the area around the hopscotch designs.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Sam muttered, but followed Dean out of the car towards the playground.
It was totally bizarre to be hunting a demon in broad daylight in full view of passers-by. Sam tried to look nonchalant, and concentrated on Dean as they passed the table of moms, nodding politely.
As soon as Sam stepped onto the woodchips, Dean squirted him. Sam yelped and whirled to glare at him, but Dean was already bolting away, cackling as he dodged a group of kids and aimed over his shoulder, apparently haphazardly.
“Sorry!” he yelled when the kids shrieked in surprise, running automatically away from the man who’d squirted them.
Sam took cover behind one of the slides and aimed at Dean, pressurizing his squirt gun, taking aim, and firing. He winced automatically as the water splashed the girls on the tire swing, though that had been the idea.
They had to do this fast. Two grown men having a squirt gun fight wasn’t totally weird, but it was definitely kind of strange for them to do it in the middle of a play structure instead of in the perfectly good, empty soccer field just to the side of it. Sam aimed and squirted again, dropping and rolling as Dean fired back at him.
The demon was in a girl who couldn’t have been more than seven, and she screamed her head off when Dean first squirted her, immediately bolting in the opposite direction. Sam diverted her with another squirt, and the two of them began herding her towards the merry go round.
It worked beautifully. The demon scrambled onto the thing, crawled into the center, and froze as it realized it couldn’t get out.
Dean put down his water gun and went towards the merry-go-round, his hands up, one eye on the moms, who had turned to look at him. “Hey, I’m sorry for squirting you,” he said clearly, “I was trying to hit my brother. Want me to push this for you to make it up to you? I can make it go really fast.”
Sam lowered his own gun, and watched the moms relax as they heard the apology. He gave him his best sheepish smile, shrugging and letting his squirt gun drop.
Lamashtu wasn’t buying it, but Dean jerked his head towards Sam and began pushing the merry-go-round, letting it go when it began to spin at a respectable rate. A few other kids ran towards it and clambered on, so Dean gave it another few spins as Sam took out the paper with the exorcism on it, angled his body so his back was to the moms, and began to read it.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he said clearly, as Dean spun the thing faster, “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio-“
Most of the kids were already shrieking with delight, so when Lamashtu began to scream, it wasn’t immediately noticeable. Sam read as fast as he could, trying to get through the exorcism before anyone else noticed.
When she flung her head back and a column of black smoke streaked into the sky, Dean pretended total surprise and stumbled backwards, shouting, “What the he-what on earth is that?”
Sam followed him back, stuffing the exorcism away as he finished the last word, as the kids began screaming in real terror and the moms flooded towards them. He lunged at the merry-go-round and stopped it, pulling hard, and the rest of the kids poured off it.
“Oh god, Kara!” cried one of the more heavily pregnant moms, and Sam scrambled onto the merry-go-round, turning the little girl over and checking her breathing.
“She’s unconscious!” he said, bending down to check for a heartbeat, “Call 911!”
Upon finding regular breathing and a pulse, he relaxed. “She’s breathing,” he said to the anxious woman standing at the side of the toy, clutching her hands together, “Want me to, er, get her off this thing?”
“Please,” said the woman, “Oh god, please-what was that? What happened?” and Sam picked up the girl and carried her to the picnic table.
When the paramedics got there, Sam and Dean gave them the barest details-“We don’t know what happened; we were just having a squirt gun fight, then this kid fainted-“ before getting the hell away from there.
They stopped at the motel to grab their duffels and check out, then Dean pulled onto the highway and started speeding atrociously.
“Admit it, Sam,” he said, grinning wildly when the Led Zeppelin tape they’d been listening to finally reached the end of one side, “That was awesome. I’m a genius.”
“It did work pretty well,” Sam admitted, “And the squirt guns were a lot more fun than just splashing them with our flasks.”
Dean cackled madly for a minute, then said, “You didn’t wrap yours up. That’s no way to treat the Renegade-it’s plastic, Sam, you can’t just throw it in the trunk like we usually do. Don’t worry, I took care of it.”
Sam stared at him. “You kept it?” he said, finally.
“Of course,” said Dean, giving Sam an incredulous look, “What, you think I’m going to just go back to the flask method?”
Sam groaned, and Dean turned the tape over, and the Impala roared as Dean began singing along to The Immigrant Song.
Fin
Happy birthday, brainmissing!
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I feel like it would be better for a bit of a rewrite, but I'm pretty happy with it as is and it's horribly horribly late anyway.
I'm glad you liked it. And I really think that Dean would be super serious about the squirt guns. Make, model...I didn't put in the year because it made the flow weird. But as it is...haha, RENEGADE. :D
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I'm so proud of you! And it was GOOD! I'm just going to go be happy for a while...
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And you realize, of course, that what's next is hoop skirt.
Mind you, I have a paper to write this week so you might not get it for a bit, but...hoop skirt is next.
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THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! *huggleglomp*
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I'm glad you liked the fetus-nomming demon. I was a bit unsure about that one, but I figured that I needed something serious enough to counterweight the supersoakers so that it didn't go spinning off into the Void of Silly or something.
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