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... And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt 1/1 (Supernatural)

Posted on 2006.09.30 at 09:37
Current Mood: sillysilly
Tags: , ,
… And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
By iamstealthyone

Summary: Crack!fic. Dean and Sam disobey John on a hunt, and John comes up with a creative punishment.

Timeline: Sam is 15, and Dean is 19.

Characters: Dean, Sam and John.

Rating: PG-13 (Genfic.) A bit of cussing.

Word count: 5,400

Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Not making money off of them.

Author’s Notes: First of all, thanks go to marinarusalka for a helpful beta read, and for reassuring me that this story is amusing. Second, I must thank deirdre_c, swanseajill and JennK528 at ff.net for encouraging me to move forward with this idea. It’s been in my brain since July, but it took awhile to come out. A last note, to swanseajill: Happy Belated Birthday! Hope this brings a smile to your face. :)



I.

Okay, so Dean’s definition of a successful hunt apparently didn’t match Dad’s.

For Dean, it basically went like this: fugly-ass creature tracked down, killed, and properly disposed of? Check. Anyone injured? Nope.

Therefore, a successful hunt.

But Dad? Dad saw it differently.

“Didn’t I tell you boys to stay put?” Dad seethed as a cool spring breeze blew over them. “What part of ‘stay put’ did you not understand?”

A rhetorical question, Dean knew. Dad was venting. Best to keep quiet.

“Dad,” Sam said calmly, bright moonlight casting odd shadows across his face. “We were just trying to help.”

Dean grimaced. Sam might be the smartest kid in his freshman class, but he had next to no common sense when it came to dealing with Dad when Dad was pissed off like this.

“Help?” Dad growled, head jutting forward, eyebrows rising. “You think that disobeying me in the middle of a hunt helps?”

Sam shot Dean a look that clearly said Feel free to back me up any time.

Dean sighed. Tempting as it was to hang Sam out to dry -- what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and all that crap -- they’d decided together to disobey Dad’s order. He couldn’t let Sam take all the heat now.

Could he?

No.

Dammit.

Drawing in and releasing a deep breath, Dean waved a hand behind Dad, at the stand of tall trees whose leaves whispered as they rustled in the light breeze. “We heard you yelling our names. We thought you were in trouble -- ”

Dad snorted, a brief, harsh, irritated sound. “You know those things can mimic human voices.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you came running anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “Dammit, boys! You’re lucky it didn’t get away! And you’re damned lucky it didn’t kill you!”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

“This is the third time in three months that you’ve disobeyed a direct order to stay put! You boys think you’re helping when you come after me, but you’re not! You’re distracting me!” Dad blew out an impatient breath. “This has to stop.”

This time, the “Yes, sirs” were quieter, and carried very little conviction. Dean understood Dad’s point of view, but how could they just “stay put” when they thought Dad was in danger?

Eyes narrowing, Dad frowned. “Something tells me the only way to make sure you don’t pull another stunt like this is to provide some serious consequences for your actions.”

Dean stifled a groan.

Sam let a small one escape.

They hated Dad’s punishments, especially lately. Once upon a time, they’d been fairly straightforward. An extra mile to run, or a weeklong grounding. But lately, Dad had been more creative. Like the time he’d made Dean recite Latin prayers -- forward and backward -- for six hours straight. Or when he’d made Sam clean all of the weapons with his hands cuffed together.

Yeah, Dad could be a sadistic bastard.

Dean wondered what torture he and Sam would have to endure this time, but Dad apparently didn’t want to tell them just yet, or maybe he didn’t actually know, because his next words were a clipped, “Let’s go,” and then he strode toward the car, fists clenching and relaxing.

Dean and Sam exchanged a nervous glance and then followed Dad. Once they were inside the Impala and Dad had started the engine, the car rumbling to life with a deep, throaty purr, Sam spoke up from the back seat.

“Uh, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What … what are you going to do to us?”

Dad looked into the rearview mirror and smiled, and his expression reminded Dean of a very large cat about to toy with a very small mouse.

“You’ll find out in the morning, son.”

II.

Morning came, and Dad refused to reveal whatever sick, twisted punishment he’d concocted. Instead, he waited for Dean and Sam to scarf down breakfast, hit the shower, and get dressed, and then herded them into the car, insisting they sit in back.

Dean hated sharing the backseat with Sam. Sammy was all arms and legs, and always whined about not having enough room. Like it was everyone else’s fault he was approaching Big-Bird proportions.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to bitch at the seating arrangement, Dad leaned in and held up a thick, black blindfold.

And smiled.

Dean gaped. “Are you serious?”

Dad’s smile grew, every tooth showing and damned near gleaming in the sunshine.

Five minutes later, Dean and Sam sported not only blindfolds, but also tight-fitting baseball caps tugged down over their eyes. Apparently Dad didn’t want anyone -- most likely anyone driving a police car -- to think something freaky was going on. Dean could understand that. It’d be damned hard to explain.

“All right, boys.” Dad started the car, the engine drowning out the chirping of nearby birds. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. I want you to be good back there. No roughhousing, and no trying to take off the blindfolds, or I’ll cuff your hands behind your back. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Dean felt the car roll backward, Sam leaned into him and murmured, “Dude, I have a bad feeling about this.”

Dean snorted. “You’re not the only one.”

III.

The drive seemed to take forever, Dean and Sam alternating between bickering and commiserating while Hendrix and Clapton’s guitar riffs reverberated in the car.

Finally, they stopped moving, and the engine turned off. Dad got out of the car, the absence of his weight rocking it gently, and then opened Dean’s door.

Dean smelled Dad’s musky aftershave as calloused fingers untied his blindfold. Tossing the baseball cap on the seat, Dean blinked and then squinted against the late-morning sunshine as Dad moved away to take care of Sam.

Dean checked his watch: just after 11 a.m. They’d been on the road for four hours. Levering himself out of the car and shutting the door, he scanned their surroundings.

They were in a huge parking lot, bigger than any he’d ever seen. A few hundred feet to his right, a long gate guarded a grassy lawn that sloped upward and featured an image of Mickey Mouse made out of brightly colored flowers. Beyond the lawn stood an old-fashioned building bearing a sign that left no doubt as to their whereabouts.

You’ve got to be kidding.

With a snort of disbelief and a brief shake of his head, Dean turned toward Dad and Sam.

Disneyland?” Sam asked, throwing his baseball cap in the car before closing the door and eyeing Dad. “You’re punishing us by bringing us to the happiest place on earth?”

Dad smiled. “Yup.”

As Dad started toward the entrance, Dean fell into step alongside Sam.

“Sammy, I think we’ve just entered the Twilight Zone.”

“Maybe,” Sam agreed as they trailed their father. “Or maybe … ” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small flask, uncapped it, and flicked it at Dad.

The splash of holy water hit Dad’s bare forearm and he stopped, turned, and raised an eyebrow.

Sam and Dean halted their steps, each eyeing Dad’s unblemished skin and clear eyes before Sam offered a nervous-looking smile.

“Can’t be too careful, right?” Sam asked, voice a touch higher than usual.

Dad turned around and resumed walking.

“You know,” Dean mused softly. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad that he’s not possessed. Because this?” He motioned around them. “Definitely not normal.”

Sam nodded. “So not normal.” He paused, features scrunching up. “But what in our life actually is normal?”

“Good point.”

A couple minutes later they reached the ticket lines, and Dad headed over to the VIP window. Dean exchanged a confused glance with Sam. How the hell had Dad become a VIP at Disneyland?

As they waited behind a young, sappy-looking couple that screamed “honeymooners,” Dad looked over his shoulder and murmured, “Did a favor for one of the managers once.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Must’ve been a big favor.”

“Pretty damned big. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

The young, groping couple -- who looked more in need of a hotel room than an amusement park -- moved away, and Dad stepped forward. A pretty, twenty-something brunette with big boobs and bubblegum-pink lipstick smiled.

“Welcome to Disneyland,” she chirped. “How can I help you?”

Dean leered, and Sam flicked the base of his skull.

“Ow!” Dean protested, smacking Sam in the arm.

“Boys,” Dad said quietly, and then addressed the ticket girl. “I have a standing invitation for free admission. John Winchester.”

Still smiling, the ticket girl tapped at her computer keyboard and nodded, then glanced at Sam and Dean. “Three adult admissions?”

Dad nodded.

“One-day passes?”

Another nod.

A few moments later they stood at Main Street Station, staring around themselves at what felt, to Dean at least, like a completely different universe.

Happy families walked by in both directions, some clutching plastic bags filled to the brim with souvenirs, and others chomping on chocolate-covered bananas or licking enormous, multicolored lollipops. On either side of them stood old-fashioned buildings bearing names like Disneyland Opera House and Disneyland City Hall.

There’d been a time, many years ago, when Dean had wanted to go to Disneyland. He’d even asked Dad once, but Dad had frowned and shook his head, looking somewhere between irritated and sorry. “You know we can’t afford that, son.”

Sam had asked three times, and received the same answer.

Yet here they were, all three of them.

Too. Freakin’. Weird.

“So, Dad.” Sam turned to face their father, eyebrows raised. “How is spending the day at Disneyland supposed to be a punishment?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Dad’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “It’s not spending the day at Disneyland. It’s spending the day at Fantasyland.”

Dean cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawing together. “Fantasyland? Isn’t that for little kids?”

“Yup.”

“So … We’re gonna spend all day long on kiddie rides?”

Dad shook his head. “Not all day. I figure seven hours will be punishment enough.”

Dean stifled a snort. How could Fantasyland be that awful? After all the supernatural crap they’d seen over the years …

Well, let Dad have his little delusions. When all was said and done, Dean figured he and Sam would be sick of slap-happy kids and long lines, but certainly not feeling like they’d endured some grueling punishment. They could fake some kind of emotional trauma, though, just to make Dad happy, and then go home and crash.

Piece of cake.

IV.

The music. When Dean had dismissed Fantasyland as a weak punishment, he hadn’t taken the music into account.

Twinkling or tinny, always tedious, the crap that filtered through the speakers on the rides made Dean feel vaguely homicidal. What he wouldn’t give for some Metallica about now.

They’d spent the first two hours on the Dumbo, Snow White and Pinocchio rides. Again and again and again, until Sam had said he needed to take a leak. Dean had agreed, his bladder fine but his brain desperate for a break.

After they’d finished, they’d had a decent lunch of somewhat greasy cheeseburgers, crispy French fries and ice-cold sodas. Dad had then ushered them to the King Arthur Carousel, which Dean now did his best to enjoy, despite the music. After all, the antique horses looked pretty cool, and he had a great view of all the hot chicks walking around in tank tops, midriffs and awesomely short shorts. Some strolled hand-in-hand with boyfriends or husbands or kids, but several appeared unattached. He found himself grinning more than once as they passed by.

Dad apparently noticed and didn’t approve, because when the carousel slowed to a stop, he said there’d be no second ride, and led them to the Storybook Land Canal Boats. They climbed into a tiny boat and sat in a row: Dad, then Dean, then Sam, with hyper kids and tired parents all around them.

Again with the crappy music as they passed through the harmless-looking whale’s mouth, but Dean could forgive the noise because of the bonus sitting in front of him: A very cute brunette, early twenties, with curves in all the right places. A little boy with crooked teeth and dimples sat next to her, calling her “Aunt Abby.”

She cast a few interested glances over her shoulder, and Dean smiled widely.

Then everything went to hell.

“You know,” Dad said, leaning forward and waiting until Abby looked at him before continuing. “My boys always wanted to come to Disneyland, but this was the first time I could afford it. You should have seen Dean when I told him.” Smiling, he rubbed Dean’s head for a moment before Dean jerked away. “He cried. Tears and everything.”

Abby’s eyes widened.

So did Dean’s, but before he could do damage control, Sam spoke up, lips set into a sympathetic line as he patted Dean’s shoulder.

“My brother’s one of those really sensitive guys, if you know what I mean.”

“Sammy!” Dean hissed, not missing how Abby blushed and turned back around, pulling her nephew closer and quickly pointing out the sights around them.

Sam grinned at Dean.

Dean shoved Sam.

Dad snickered.

V.

After nixing the Matterhorn -- “You boys would probably like it.” -- Dad pointed at the Mad Tea Party.

Sam cringed. “Uhh … ”

“Problem?” Dad asked mildly, looking bemused.

“You sure you want to go on that ride? I heard people get pretty sick on it.”

Dad waved a dismissive hand. “We’re made of tougher stuff than most. Let’s go.”

Sam frowned, sighed heavily, and joined Dean in following Dad, the three of them weaving their way through clusters of families heading in various directions.

Grinning, Dean smacked Sam’s arm. “Think you’re man enough for this ride, Samantha?”

Sam said nothing, opting instead to scratch his chin with one very long middle finger.

Dean chuckled and turned his attention to their destination.

The Mad Tea Party was set out in the open and featured several large, bright teacups mounted on dishes and stuck on platforms.

Looked harmless enough.

After a short wait in line, a perky worker waved them onto the ride. Dad chose a pink cup -- which elicited disgruntled muttering -- and they piled in, Dad planting himself behind the wheel.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean waved at Sam’s stomach. “If you think you’re gonna hurl, aim outside the cup, all right?”

Sam shot Dean a dirty look.

A minute later the ride began, happy, zany flute music surrounding them as Dad gently turned the wheel this way and that, and the cup started slowly spinning. The motion didn’t seem too horrible, and Dean faked a yawn. Sam grinned.

Their good mood didn’t last long, though, as Dad started turning the wheel with a bit more enthusiasm. They picked up speed, and the people in the other teacups blurred. Trees dissolved into whirls of brown and green.

And the color drained from Sam’s face.

Dean would have made a snide remark, but the swimming sensation in his head and the sick, twisty feeling in his gut had commanded his attention.

Dad seemed oblivious to their discomfort, sporting a laid-back smile as he closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sun.

The cup spun even faster, and Dean closed his eyes as the dizziness increased. A warm rush of liquid surged up his throat and he swallowed it down, grimacing at the acid taste.

He wasn’t gonna hurl, he wasn’t gonna hurl, he wasn’t --

Eyes flying open, Dean tried to get his bearings, because he was gonna hurl, and he didn’t want to do it on himself or anyone else.

Unfortunately, his aim sucked.

A stream of vomit caught Sam’s left shoulder before splattering over the rim of the cup.

Sam eyed his soiled shirt, looked at Dean, and turned a horrible shade of green. Dean knew what was coming but couldn’t move fast enough to avoid it. Wet warmth splashed on his chest and the seat next to him.

Dad grimaced. “Oh, boys.”

As the cup’s spinning motion slowed, Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzy, queasy feeling in his head and gut. He heard Sam groan, a long, low noise, and winced in sympathy.

Finally, the ride stopped. Opening his eyes, Dean exchanged a tortured look with Sam as Dad helped them out of the teacup.

Dad murmured a quick apology to the woman working the ride, and then steered them toward a restroom, keeping a strong grip on their elbows. Dean was grateful for the assistance, since the damned ground wouldn’t stop slip-sliding underneath his feet.

Once they were in the bathroom, Dad guided them each to a sink. Gripping the cool edge, Dean waited for the last traces of dizziness to fade. When they did, he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Sam followed suit, and then they splashed water over their faces, rinsed and spit, and cleaned off where the vomit had soaked through their clothes.

“You boys all right?” Dad asked softly, his mirrored reflection showing his concern.

They nodded, Sam looking sheepish as two older men walked in, eyed them, and wrinkled their noses. A glare from Dean, and a pointed look from Dad, and the men quickly left.

Dean nodded at Sam’s shoulder. “Hey. Sorry I puked on you.”

Sam snorted, then grinned. “Guess you weren’t man enough for that ride, huh?”

“And you were?”

“Boys,” Dad said, breaking into their banter, expression serious. “Look … I’m sorry you got sick.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “So does that mean the punishment’s over?”

Dad studied them for a long moment before shaking his head. “Nope. Just means we need to sit down for a while until your stomachs are steady.”

Dean motioned between his and Sam’s chests. “We supposed to run around shirtless?”

“You have clean shirts in the car.”

It was true. They always had a change of clothing in the Impala. Never knew when blood and pus and guts would wreck your shirt or jeans.

“But you know,” Dad mused, hand rubbing his chin. “I think I have a better solution.”

VI.

Crappy music, projectile vomiting, and now this.

Once Dean and Sam’s stomachs had stopped threatening to revolt, Dad had dragged them to a gift shop and purchased two bright yellow T-shirts bearing images of popular Disney characters.

“Can I call you Mickey?” Sam asked with a smirk as they headed toward the next god-awful ride.

Turning a dark glance on his brother, Dean jerked his chin toward Sam’s shirt. “Only if I can call you Goofy. Which you are, with or without that lame-ass T-shirt.” He huffed. “Man, I hate yellow.”

VII.

They spent the next hour repeatedly riding Alice in Wonderland and Dumbo the Flying Elephant -- and who knew caterpillars and elephants could be so freakin’ annoying? -- and then headed toward Peter Pan’s Flight. As they walked, Sam drew closer to Dean and spoke in a low voice.

“You doing all right, man?”

Dean nodded. “Think I’m gonna hate all things Disney by the time we’re done, but I’m not feeling the need to go postal just yet.”

“Yeah.” Sam glanced at their father, walking a few steps behind them. “He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by any of this.”

Dean shrugged. “Mind over matter, man. Years of military training.”

“Huh. Or maybe … ” Sam’s hand moved toward his pocket, and the flask tucked inside.

“Dude!” Dean hissed. “He’s not possessed! How many times are you gonna throw holy water on him? You want him to extend our little visit to Fantasyland? Make us stay here all freakin’ night?”

Sighing, Sam withdrew his hand. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He hasn’t been out of our sight the whole time we’ve been here. We would’ve noticed if something had gotten to him.”

“At least you’re not paranoid,” Dean muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, rat boy.”

“Rat boy?”

Sam pointed to Dean’s shirt.

Dean scowled. “He’s a mouse, not a rat.”

“Aww, that’s cute, Dean, how you get all protective over little Mickey.”

“Shut up.”

VIII.

After squeezing into the pirate ship, Sam’s long legs crammed up against the safety bar, they rose up and over the Darling family’s nursery. Peter Pan called, “And off to Never Land!” and they glided into darkness and over the London skyline, with its sea of twinkling lights and miniature buildings.

“Check it out,” Sam said, grinning and pointing at a tall structure with a clock. “That’s Big Ben.”

Looking down, Dean shrugged, unimpressed. So far, it was just another boring ride, the Peter Pan story made far more girly than he’d always imagined.

“Hey Dad,” Sam said. “Is this what the ground looks like when a plane takes off?”

Sam and Dean had never been on an airplane. Sam had always seemed disappointed about that. Dean had never cared one way or the other.

“Pretty much,” Dad said. “Everything just keeps getting smaller and smaller, until it’s just a big blur of land and water.”

Sam nodded, a trace of wonder lighting up his features as he took in the sights under their ship. “Just imagine, Dean. Tens of thousands of feet up in the air, nothing keeping you in place but some giant, manmade machine, and total strangers at the controls. ”

Dean froze, and frowned. He’d never thought of it quite that way before.

“Dude.” Grinning, Sam nudged Dean in the ribs. “Can you imagine how freaky it’d be to fall from that high up?”

Unfortunately, he could. A very big airplane taking a very fast, very steep nosedive and then smashing into the ground, turning his bones into powder, and his brain into soup.

Vertigo swept over Dean, making his head spin and his stomach lurch. Pressing his lips together, he swallowed hard. No way in hell was he gonna hurl again.

While the queasiness went away after a few moments, the nervousness didn’t, and he spent the rest of Peter Pan’s Flight gripping the lap bar so hard he thought the skin would split over his knuckles.

When they touched down, Dean had to restrain himself from bolting off the ship. He went for the calm, cool, collected exit instead. Felt like he did a pretty good job of it, too.

Until he noticed Sam studying him, brow creased and eyes full of concern.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Sam asked as they stopped a few feet away from the ride. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“Teacup flashback,” Dean muttered.

“Need to sit down?” Dad asked, looking almost as worried as Sam.

“Nope.” Dean smiled tightly. “Just need some fresh air.”

Actually, the light breeze did feel good. The solid ground under his feet, even better. Relaxing a little, Dean checked his watch, wondering how much time they had left at Fantasyland.

Damn. A few minutes shy of four-thirty. Still an hour-and-a-half to go.

Which meant plenty of time to ride Peter Pan’s Flight again.

Crap.

“You know,” Sam said, lips curving up as he gestured at the ride they’d just left. “That was actually pretty cool.” He looked at Dad, and frowned. “And I guess the fact that I just admitted that means we won’t be going on it again.”

Dad smiled.

And Dean thanked God for Sam’s big mouth.

IX.

“Well,” Dad said, pointing at the large structure in front of them. “This is it. Last stop.”

“Last stop?” Dean echoed as he studied It’s a Small World’s exterior. Mostly white, with a bit of gold trim and a stupid-ass happy-faced clock that screamed, “I’m a lame ride.”

Sam cast a disbelieving look at their father. “You mean we’re gonna spend the next -- ” he checked his watch “ -- ninety minutes on this thing?”

Dad nodded, and Dean stifled a groan.

This was gonna be bad.

So very, very bad.

Dean had heard enough about the ride to know he hated it on principle. A slow boat and a never-ending rendition of It’s a Small World, sung in several languages. Boring, and an insult to his finely honed musical tastes.

He didn’t want Dad to know how much he dreaded the next hour and a half, though, so he forced a cocky smile and said, “No problem. Let’s do it.”

Hardly anyone stood in line -- more proof that the ride sucked -- so they waited only a few minutes before settling into a boat, Dad sitting directly behind Sam and Dean. As they started moving, Dad leaned forward, clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, and smiled.

“Boys, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.”

With that, Dad dug a pair of earplugs out of his jeans pocket, stuck them in his ears, and settled into his seat, arms loosely folded over his chest.

“So not fair,” Sam muttered, scowling.

Dean nodded, lips pursed. Trying to ignore his earplug envy, he tried for a reassuring smile as he patted Sam on the back. “Don’t worry, man. We can handle this. We’re Winchesters.”

First time through the ride

It’s a Small World consisted of a horde of animatronic dolls from various countries singing their fake, demented little hearts out for what felt like eternity but lasted, by Dean’s estimation, between twelve to fourteen minutes.

Dean wondered if this was the music people heard when they woke up in hell.

Second time

“Don’t you think they’re kind of creepy?” Sam asked, pointing at a cluster of singing dolls.

“Uh huh.” Dean scoffed. “Man, you couldn’t pay me to take my kids on this ride.”

Third time

As they headed into the room teeming with Scandinavian dolls, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, leaned over to Sam, and muttered, “Dude, I’m gonna go freakin’ nuts on this ride.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam replied, sounding not at all confident. “We’ll be fine, all right? Mind over matter. We just need a distraction.”

“Like what?” Dean grated.

“Like … ” Sam drummed his fingers on his knee, stilled, and then smiled. “‘Name that Movie.’ You say some dialogue from a movie, and I guess which movie it’s from. You go first.”

Biting his lower lip, Dean tried to think of some dialogue Sam might not recognize, but that damned It’s a Small World song made it hard to focus. “Uhh … Okay. How about, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Psycho.”

“Dammit,” Dean griped, scowling.

Sam smirked. “My turn.” He chewed on his thumb for a moment, gaze repeatedly straying to a cluster of European dolls, who sang with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Okay. ‘The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.’”

The Usual Suspects.”

Sam huffed. “Man, I can’t concentrate long enough to come up with something that’ll stump you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Sammy. Just try.”

Sam did.

For about five seconds.

“Forget it, Dean. It’s no good.”

“Some distraction,” Dean muttered.

Fourth time

Three minutes in, Dean cringed at the low-pitched humming next to him.

“Sam!” he hissed.

“What?”

“You’re humming to the music!”

Sam’s forehead creased. “Am not.”

“Are too!”

Sam paused -- Dean could see the gears turning in his head -- and then his eyes widened. “Oh, God.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry, man.”

Dean scowled, but nodded. “Just don’t do it again.”

Fifth time

Two minutes into the ride, Sam backhanded Dean’s arm.

“Hey!” Dean protested, returning the favor.

“Look at your foot!”

Dean looked.

He was tapping in time with the music.

“Dammit!” He stomped his foot on the floor of the boat, earning a disapproving glare from the twenty-something, ponytailed mom in front of him. After a barely apologetic look at the woman, he eyed Sam. “We need Dad’s backpack.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

Dean lowered his voice. “Because this ride is evil, and he’s got all the good stuff in there. You know, hunting stuff.”

Sam gaped, shook his head, and scooted closer. “Dean,” he soothed, resting a hand on Dean’s arm. “You need to chill, all right?”

Shrugging off Sam’s hand, Dean scoffed. “Dude, I’m not crazy! You were humming, Sam. Humming! And I was tapping my foot! Damned ride’s messing with our heads.” His features hardened in determination. “It’s evil. And we hunt evil. So … we have to kill the ride.”

“Dean,” Dad said firmly, leaning forward and gripping Dean’s shoulder. “Settle down.”

“But -- ”

“The ride’s fine. I already checked. Used the EMF meter the first time through.”

Dean frowned, shoulders slumping, feeling a little like a kid who’d just heard Santa Claus isn’t real. “You sure it’s not evil?”

Dad’s lips twitched. “Oh, it’s evil. Just not evil.”

Dean sighed. “Dammit.”

Sixth time

Actually, there wasn’t a sixth time. Dad said since it was ten minutes to six, they could call it a day.

Dean suspected the decision had more to do with the frequent glances he kept giving Dad’s backpack.

Or the way he kept twirling the lighter in his hand.

X.

The Impala had never looked better, all darkness and muscle, just tough.

Dean slid an appreciative hand over the top of the car before popping the trunk and digging out clean T-shirts. After he and Sam swapped Mickey and Goofy for plain, solid-colored tees, they piled into the back seat, which Dad had insisted they share for the drive home.

“So,” Dad said, settling into the car and stretching an arm across the driver’s seat as he eyed Sam and Dean. “Next time I tell you boys to stay put, are you gonna stay put?”

“Yes, sir,” they agreed, voices adamant.

Dad nodded, looking entirely too smug, as far as Dean was concerned.

Evil bastard.

“All right.” Dad turned around and started the car. “We’ll hit a drive-thru on the way out of town, get some dinner.”

Dad cranked up Clapton and pulled out of the parking space. As the car inched forward, joining a short line of people waiting to exit the lot, Dean massaged his temples against the gentle throbbing there.

Groaning softly, Sam let his head fall back on the seat. “Dude, I can’t get that song out of my head.”

“Me, either.”

“I never thought I could hate a song so much. And that teacup ride?” Sam grimaced and rubbed his stomach. “That was just wrong.”

Wincing, Dean nodded. “Yeah … Sorry about the puke, man.”

Sam smirked at Dean. “Yeah, well … At least you didn’t hurl on me again on that Peter Pan ride.”

Dean’s gaze slid away, focusing on the back of Dad’s head. He so did not want to think about that ride, or flying in general.

They lapsed into silence, and a couple minutes later, Dad pulled out of the parking lot, breaking free of Disneyland and its kiddie-sized horrors.

A fair amount of cars clogged the street, forcing Dad into stop-and-go traffic. Even so, the car’s familiar rumble proved comforting, and soon lulled Dean into a drowsy state where the never-ending rendition of It’s a Small World barely registered in his brain. Sam’s soft snores did, though, and brought a small smile to his face. The kid rarely snored. Fantasyland clearly had sucked the life out of him.

Slouching down into the seat, Dean drifted for a while, warm and heavy and quiet. And then he heard it. Something familiar, yet wrong. He tried to ignore it but couldn’t, because the longer it went on, the more disturbing it became. He somewhat reluctantly traded dozing for alertness, attention immediately training on Dad, who was --

Holy. Crap.

At some point, Dad had turned Clapton off and started singing It’s a Small World. His head bobbed from side to side as the words spilled forth.

“There is just one moon and one golden sun, and a smile means friendship to everyone. Though the mountains divide, and the oceans are wide, it’s a small world after all … ”

This time, Sam wasn’t the only one reaching for the holy water.

---

End
September 2006

Comments:


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Stacey
staceey at 2006-09-30 17:30 (UTC) (Link)
LMAO

Oh god this.....wow....sooooooo damn funny.
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 17:42 (UTC) (Link)
*g* Glad you enjoyed. I had a lot of fun tormenting the boys in this one. I think John did, too.
(Deleted comment)
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:20 (UTC) (Link)
So nice of her to rec this piece. :) And I'm glad you found it funny. I've been wanting to write crack for a while, so it makes me happy that people are finding it amusing.

I personally love Disneyland, and I like a lot about Fantasyland, but It's a Small World is just evil. I'm so on Dean's side there.

And the ending, LMAO!

*g* Glad you liked it.

Thanks much for the kind feedback. :)
(Deleted comment)
lyse369
lyse369 at 2006-09-30 18:09 (UTC) (Link)
Poor boys! Can't you just see the glare that Dean would give the tee shirts? Bwa ha! And poor Sammy, so convinced that Dad is posessed. Great story.

Of course, now I have the Small World song stuck in my head and must therefore hunt you down.
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:25 (UTC) (Link)
First off: I love your icon! Too funny!

Yeah, Dean would so hate those dorky T-shirts. I'm thinking he either burned his, or cut it up and used it for oiling rags.

And poor Sammy, so convinced that Dad is posessed.

Sam's nothing if not cautious. *g*

Of course, now I have the Small World song stuck in my head and must therefore hunt you down.

LOL! So sorry. Kind of. *snickers*

I went on that ride once in high school, and it was like a slow death. I vowed never to go on it again. But I fear I'll have to, now that I have two little kids.

Glad you liked the story, and thanks much for the kind feedback, and pointing out specific things you liked. Always fun to see what stood out for the reader.
(Deleted comment)
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:29 (UTC) (Link)
Note to self. Never piss off John Winchester. *shudders*

LOL! He's such a creative little guy, isn't he?

I'm so glad this tickled your funny bone. I had fun writing it.

I had to stop reading several times because I was laughing too hard.

Cool! That means I achieved my objective. :)

Thanks for the lovely feedback. :)

(Deleted comment)
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:30 (UTC) (Link)
Glad you enjoyed this fic. Thanks for the nice feedback. :)
balinor_unicorn
balinor_unicorn at 2006-09-30 18:25 (UTC) (Link)
This was just fantastic! Great job!
*adds to memories*

...we have to kill the ride."

Dean...you can't kill the ride, babe. ^__^
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:43 (UTC) (Link)
*adds to memories*

Aww, flattered am I. *g*

Dean...you can't kill the ride, babe.

But you know he would have given it 100 percent. Lots of pretty flames and stuff.

Glad you enjoyed this, and thanks for the lovely feedback. :)
as dangerous as a chocolate hobnob
jade_starlight at 2006-09-30 18:28 (UTC) (Link)
*snicker*snort* Oh, that was just too funny. Papa is just evil, but in a good way.
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 18:45 (UTC) (Link)
*g* John just knows how to get the boys' attention.

So glad this tickled your funny bone, and thanks for the nice feedback. :)
swanseajill
swanseajill at 2006-09-30 18:40 (UTC) (Link)
Oh! Oh! Oh! What a fantastic belated-birthday gift! This was hilarious. I'm so glad you finally got around to writing it - it just shows what constant nagging and pressure can do! And it's nice to read something funny for a change, after our recent diet of angst and more angst!

I don't know where to start, so I think I'll just go through and point out my very favourite lines, bearing in mind that it's all wonderful.

“What … what are you going to do to us?”
Dad looked into the rearview mirror and smiled, and his expression reminded Dean of a very large cat about to toy with a very small mouse.
“You’ll find out in the morning, son.”

Oh, dear. You can just feel disaster approaching!

"Dean hated sharing the backseat with Sam. Sammy was all arms and legs, and always whined about not having enough room. Like it was everyone else’s fault he was approaching Big-Bird proportions."

Then I loved their arrival at Disney and the horror when they realize they're entering the twilight zone! And it was too funny when Sam throws Holy water over Dad - “Can’t be too careful, right?” Sam asked, voice a touch higher than usual. LOL!

"Well, let Dad have his little delusions. When all was said and done, Dean figured he and Sam would be sick of slap-happy kids and long lines, but certainly not feeling like they’d endured some grueling punishment. They could fake some kind of emotional trauma, though, just to make Dad happy, and then go home and crash.
Piece of cake."

Yeah, right. I don't think Dad's the deluded one!

"Twinkling or tinny, always tedious, the crap that filtered through the speakers on the rides made Dean feel vaguely homicidal. What he wouldn’t give for some Metallica about now."

Ha! Didn't think about the music, did he! I fully sympathise at this point, though it took me a day before I was feeling homicidal.

LOL at Dean being Dean and leering at all the hot chicks while he was riding the carousel!

Loved the scene on the canal boats when Dad and Sam ruin Dean's macho image in five seconds. Not that he'd have had much to start with, actually sitting in one of those boats.

Loved the way they both threw up on the Tea Party (though admittedly it was Dean's fault for puking first and setting Sam off) which leads to the T shirt disaster. I would so love to see the photos!

Then Sam wants to test Dad with holy water again!! “Dude!” Dean hissed. “He’s not possessed! How many times are you gonna throw holy water on him? LOL! I'm with Sam. You can't be too careful!

Loved this little exchange:
Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, rat boy.”
“Rat boy?”
Sam pointed to Dean’s shirt.
Dean scowled. “He’s a mouse, not a rat.”
“Aww, that’s cute, Dean, how you get all protective over little Mickey.”
“Shut up.”

Oh my goodness - the origin of Dean's fear of flying explained! Who'd ever have guessed it was caused by riding the Peter Pan ride at Disney? Now, that isn't something he's gonna be incorporating into his chat up lines, is it!

Yes! You kept the best til last. 'It's a Small World'. Now, I'll freely admit at this point that I quite like it (go on, strike me down!) but I can understand that it might not be top of Dean and Sam's list - nor John's - good job he had the foresight to bring the earplugs!

Love the way you described what happened on each of the five times they went on the ride. First one: Dean wondered if this was the music people heard when they woke up in hell. LOL! Then Sam starts humming and Dean starts tapping! ROTFL!

Shrugging off Sam’s hand, Dean scoffed. “Dude, I’m not crazy! You were humming, Sam. Humming! And I was tapping my foot! Damned ride’s messing with our heads.” His features hardened in determination. “It’s evil. And we hunt evil. So … we have to kill the ride.” LOL! John's won - he's pushed Dean over the edge!

And then the perfect ending on the way home when Dad starts singing the song. "This time, Sam wasn’t the only one reaching for the holy water." And the perfect ending line!

This was excellent. I have another birthday next week, you know...




















iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 19:10 (UTC) (Link)
Yay, you liked it. :) I really had wanted to write you some Dean h/c for your birthday gift, but this is what the muse wanted to write, and who am I to refuse the muse? *g*

Ooh, look at all the pretty, specific FB you left. *hugs you*

And it was too funny when Sam throws Holy water over Dad

That was one of my favorite moments, actually, so it's nice that people are pointing it out as something they liked.

re: Dean's blase attitude about the punishment:

I don't think Dad's the deluded one!

Yeah, who knew Fantasyland could be so awful, eh? I bet Dean had a hard time looking at bright pastel colors for days after this.

Didn't think about the music, did he! I fully sympathise at this point, though it took me a day before I was feeling homicidal.

You're a stronger person than Dean. I think you should, umm, tutor Dean in the fine art of enjoying Fantasyland. (And wow, that's just open to all sorts of interpretations. *g*)

LOL at Dean being Dean and leering at all the hot chicks while he was riding the carousel!

Yeah, Dean would definitely check out the girls. I wanted to have something in here about him guessing their bra sizes, but it never quite happened. Will have to save that for a future story.

Loved the scene on the canal boats when Dad and Sam ruin Dean's macho image in five seconds. Not that he'd have had much to start with, actually sitting in one of those boats.

*g* One of the things I knew, from the beginning, would be in this story is John interrupting Dean flirting with a pretty girl. I also knew the boys would puke on the teacup ride. And yeah, you're right, Dean only has himself to blame for Sam puking on him. Sam might very well have held it in if Dean hadn't spewed first.

I would so love to see the photos!

Me, too.

Oh my goodness - the origin of Dean's fear of flying explained! Who'd ever have guessed it was caused by riding the Peter Pan ride at Disney?

You have no idea how giddy I was when I figured out I was going to do this in the story. Giddy, I tell you. Giddy.

You kept the best til last. 'It's a Small World'. Now, I'll freely admit at this point that I quite like it (go on, strike me down!) but I can understand that it might not be top of Dean and Sam's list - nor John's

I won't strike you down, but I will ponder your mental health. ;) I rode it once in high school, thinking it'd be a nice way to unwind after a lot of walking around, and I hated it. Swore I'd never ride it again. But I'm sure that I'll have to when we take the girls to Disneyland in a few years.

LOL! John's won - he's pushed Dean over the edge!

*g* Yeah, Dean really was losing it a bit there. You know how much he wanted to salt and burn that ride.

Btw, I'm really glad you liked the ending line. I often struggle with endings, but that last line came to me fairly quickly, and so it's good to hear it worked.

This was excellent. I have another birthday next week, you know...

Uh huh. Sure you do. ;)

Thanks for all the lovely FB, and for sharing your favorite lines. I love hearing what stands out to people. And again, Happy Belated Birthday!
Princess Robot Bubblegum!
astrothsknot at 2006-09-30 18:43 (UTC) (Link)
That was so funny. I'm going to read it to my son. He's just getting to that age....
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 19:15 (UTC) (Link)
Glad you enjoyed. Hope your son does, too. Thanks much for the kind feedback!
(Deleted comment)
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 20:23 (UTC) (Link)
*dead from laughter*

*g*

And yeah, John can be very inventive and dastardly when he wants to be.

And I love how you got Dean's fear of flying in there

You know, when I was looking at all the Fantasyland rides and I recalled riding Peter Pan, it just clicked: Here's where Dean's fear of flying could come from. I'm so glad you liked that part. :)

And teacups ARE evil incarnate.

I've never been on them. Don't ever want to go on them. I just know I'd be spewing everywhere.

Wicked writing :D Loved it.

I'm so glad! Thanks much for the lovely feedback, and for telling me specific things you liked. I love hearing which parts stuck with readers.
oh so shameless
let_fate_decide at 2006-09-30 20:08 (UTC) (Link)
LMAO. OMG. You win. At life. And everything else. *bows down to you*
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 21:09 (UTC) (Link)
*hugs you* Your FB rocks! So glad you enjoyed my little tale. Thanks so much for the fun FB. :)
mackeygenius
mackeygenius at 2006-09-30 20:40 (UTC) (Link)
OMG, that was so funny. Laughed my ass off. When I was little, my parents used to bring me to Disneyland. I loved It's A small world and the tea cups (one of my favorite rides). But seeing the attractions viewed by Dean and Sam was hilarious, loved every little word. True the music there could render a Black Sabbath lover neurotic.

Going into mem, thanks for sharing.
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 21:15 (UTC) (Link)
So glad this gave you a good giggle. :)

I've never been on the teacup ride, and I don't want to try it. I know I'd spew.

I went on It's a Small World once, and it almost drove me insane. *g*

Going into mem, thanks for sharing.

Aww, thanks for reading, enjoying and liking it enough to put it into your memories. :)
manicmarauder88
manicmarauder88 at 2006-09-30 20:56 (UTC) (Link)
lol. At least he didn't make them spend the whole day in the Hall of Presidents. This was too cute!
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 21:17 (UTC) (Link)
At least he didn't make them spend the whole day in the Hall of Presidents.

I've been to Disneyland a few times, but never the Hall of Presidents. I take it it's pretty boring, eh? *g*

Glad you liked this, and thanks for the nice FB. :)
a rearranger of the proverbial bookshelf
embroiderama at 2006-09-30 21:04 (UTC) (Link)
Hahaha, that was great. Wow, my mom made me ride It's A Small World several times in a row when we went to Disneyworld--because it was her favorite! LOL And poor boys, puking on th ride. Wonderful story!
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-09-30 21:18 (UTC) (Link)
Glad you enjoyed this. :)

Wow, my mom made me ride It's A Small World several times in a row when we went to Disneyworld--because it was her favorite!

You poor dear! I've been on it once, and I'd be happy if I never went on it again. Some people do like it, though.

Thanks for the kind feedback. :)
Becky
ewanspotter at 2006-09-30 23:05 (UTC) (Link)
Oh man. Or poor angsty, boys. At Disneyland. *snicker* That ending was too great.
iamstealthyone
iamstealthyone at 2006-10-01 01:01 (UTC) (Link)
Glad you liked the ending. The idea of John singing that dreadful song, and Dean and Sam reaching for the holy water, amused me greatly, so I'm glad it amused you, too.

Thanks much for the nice feedback. :)
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