Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iswayzedthatmother) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ya_assemble2014-11-09 09:57 pm
iswayzedthatmother) wrote in ya_assemble2014-11-09 09:57 pm
Entry tags:
[LN] Dean can have firearms, but not nice things.
The motel that Dean went to sleep in was the same one he woke up in, until he walked outside.
For one thing, he'd gone to sleep at night, and knew he'd been asleep at least a full 8 hours. In defiance of this, the stars were still twinkling. This was doubly odd, because the motel he'd gone to sleep in had been on the outskirts of Chicago, under too much light pollution for any stars at all, but this motel was so far out of any town that the road leading up to it was unpaved.
"What the hell?"
Someone was playing a piss-poor game on him, and nobody ever played games on Dean Winchester for harmless fun. He reached into his coat for a weapon, and found a fully loaded sig sauer right where he'd . . . not actually put it the night before.
And yet there it was in his shoulder holster. Huh. Had he seriously slept with a loaded gun? It wouldn't be the first time, but seriously, how had he forgotten that the night before?
There was no real time to look this gift horse in the mouth, so Dean kept the muzzle of the firearm to the ground as he looked around for a trace of movement, any clue as to what he was not currently doing adjacent to a major city.
For one thing, he'd gone to sleep at night, and knew he'd been asleep at least a full 8 hours. In defiance of this, the stars were still twinkling. This was doubly odd, because the motel he'd gone to sleep in had been on the outskirts of Chicago, under too much light pollution for any stars at all, but this motel was so far out of any town that the road leading up to it was unpaved.
"What the hell?"
Someone was playing a piss-poor game on him, and nobody ever played games on Dean Winchester for harmless fun. He reached into his coat for a weapon, and found a fully loaded sig sauer right where he'd . . . not actually put it the night before.
And yet there it was in his shoulder holster. Huh. Had he seriously slept with a loaded gun? It wouldn't be the first time, but seriously, how had he forgotten that the night before?
There was no real time to look this gift horse in the mouth, so Dean kept the muzzle of the firearm to the ground as he looked around for a trace of movement, any clue as to what he was not currently doing adjacent to a major city.
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He still could have been demonic, though, and Dean wished he had holy water on him, for when they untied him. He'd had a flask stashed in the Impala's glove compartment.
Just as he thought it, he felt the cool of the chrome flask against his hip.
It was starting to occur to Dean that his jacket was possibly enchanted, or he'd developed a really great superpower, and that superpower was being able to pull guns that shouldn't fit into his shirt out of his shirt. It seemed that extended to other tools against evil as well.
But this wasn't evil, this was . . . Santa's workshop, the Santa's workshop in children's books and TV claymation specials, not a butchered human corpse in sight. This was Ninja Frickin' Turtles, and now a . . . giant Australian rabbit what the hell?
"Sam, there are ninja turtles."
Dean paused, racking his brains, trying to figure out how there could actually fucking be Ninja Turtles.
"Sam, why are there Ninja Turtles? And what the hell is Harvey over there?"
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Aside from wanting to let Mikey just...be for today, it was now abundantly clear why he'd handled it on his own.
Because he was a stupid teenager that felt the need to prove to himself that he wasn't so terrified that he couldn't go out there again. The business with the weirdo Bond villain and Bloody Mary and the government lab had been terrifying and he'd wanted to prove to himself he was tough enough to handle it. That all the fear and awfulness had been a one time thing that he wasn't afraid of.
And he'd wanted to do that because he was an impetuous idiot tough guy as some teenagers were wont to be.
"And the reason Mikey and I are here is because of what I already told you. This world has tv and movies with all of us in it as fiction and it's so messed up from this evil dark god thing that it's pulling people from worlds where we're all real. If you'd actually listened to me instead of pulling gun after gun out of your a-- OW!"
He yanked his arm away from Bunny - who'd yanked the shrapnel out and was rummaging through a first aid kit one of the yetis had brought over.
"A little warning would've been nice!"
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Bunny's diatribe did not stop as he cleaned Raphael's wound, maybe a little less gently than he could have if he wasn't irritated. Still, there wasn't so much anger in his lecture as frustration.
"I hope this gallah here taught you a lesson." He threw a glance at Dean over his shoulder. "Bunnymund. The Easter Bunny," he corrected, raising his eyebrows, his daring Dean to question him as the Guardians' translation magic imbued his title with its layers of meaning. "G'day t'you too, mate."
He turned back to Raph and fastened the bandage in place. "Isn't your father back home also your sensei? What would he say if he knew about this? I wish I knew what it was, because I'd really like to say it."
He stepped back from the bandaged Raph, crossing his arms, frowning deeply.
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"Boom! First aid, accomplished! And now for the second aid. C'mere, bro."
Before Raph could protest, Mikey threw his arms around his neck, hugging him, careful at least not to put pressure on the ninja band-aided wound. "Now the healing can truly begin!"
When he drew back, though, there was a rare solemnity in his expression. "Seriously bro, why didn't you take me with you? I coulda calmed this guy down." He glanced at Dean, squirming angrily on the ground, and, rarely for himself, reconsidered. "Maybe. I could've helped."
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Okay, look. He may not have been Sam's favorite Ninja Turtle (that was Donatello), but it wasn't like Sam didn't know all of them. Even if these ones looked a bit different from the ones he grew up with.
Sam reached for his belt, pulling out a knife to cut the zip ties so he could get his brother to his feet. "Long story short, we've been drafted to prevent the end of the world. Again." Because, yeah. This is getting to be a habit. "Everything is real somewhere and this is a world where belief is power. So, the kids believe in you and you get stronger." And probably had a couple of powers as well, but that was something that they would talk about in a little bit. "And yes. We are exactly where you think we are. And the rabbit's exactly who he says he is. There's a long explanation in your near future."
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Sam was the one who did linguistics. Dean didn't have an encyclopedia in his head, and yet, his brain just picked the title apart for him, like somebody'd plugged a translator right into his brain. Their dad had always told them that the Easter Bunny didn't exist, and that if it did, it'd probably turn out to be awful and they'd have to kill it.
The Easter Bunny existed and had a badass title and . . . was Australian?
Ninja turtles existed and were being lectured by the Easter Bunny, and between Raphael's sudden defensiveness at the lecture and Michelangelo's enthusiasm for ninja bandaids in santa's workshop Dean was remembering the "teenage" part of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, seeing the "teenage" part demonstrated so strongly that there was no possible way he could overlook it, and if Sam said they were real, if Sam said they were them, then he'd just tried to kill the real Raphael. He'd just tried to kill a 16-year-old kid. Whose little brother applied first aid in the form of ninja bandaids and hugs.
Dean didn't like being bewildered or feeling like a piece of shit, and he didn't like feeling them both at the same time.
"Sam, what the hell?"
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"Don't bring my dad into this," Raph snapped at Bunny, a tense ball of teenage frustration. Now that he was bandaged up he didn't have to stay any longer.
"I'm done with all this," he said, waving a dismissive hand at Bunny, at Dean, at the whole situation. "C'mon, Mikey. Let's go play video games or something. Anything other than hanging around here."
As he stomped off, he was angrily muttering under his breath: " - ungrateful, paranoid, trigger-happy -"
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"How about you, did he give you any holes back?" he asked, sniffing in Dean's direction.
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And is feeling lucky that his brother apparently doesn't have holy water on him.
He takes a moment to look over his brother, though, just a quick glance before shaking his head. "He looks to be in one piece."
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Until he whipped his hand into his coat pocket and drew . . . a flask of holy water.
He splashed his brother before the rabbit, because Sam was closer.
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Bunny sniffed his damp fur quickly, then glared at Dean.
"D'you know how long it takes to dry wet fur? Holiness doesn't make a difference," he complained, dropping to all fours and shaking.
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...The holy water was NOT what he was expecting.
Sam had just opened his mouth when he got splashed, which turned into coughing because he'd been trying to breathe, too. After a moment, he reached up and wiped his hand down his face. "Feel better now?" he asked Dean, cocking an eyebrow at his brother.
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All right. The rabbit was legit, or at least not demonic. Sam was legit, and that at least was comforting.
"From the top now, Sam. What are we doing here?"
He'd heard it before, but from people not Sam, who'd know all the things that were actually important to tell him - the things someone in the murder business needed to know.