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Apr. 30th, 2007 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ella_mennoUm. I got broadsided by this when I wasn't looking?
"This is the most fucked up thing that has ever happened to us," Dean muttered finally, cranking the ignition back on.
Sam's was voice trembling a little, like he was fighting down that same insane wanting to laugh. "There was that time you got turned into—"
"We swore we'd never talk about that again, you asshole," Dean said, giving him a shove, and peeled out onto the highway.
--from Binding by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
astolat, which is an excellent story that deserves better than this, but, you know. Broadsided.
Untitled
How the hell do people actually shop in this place, Dean thought as an entire shelf full of Slinkys toppled over next to him. The place was too damn crowded, the too-narrow aisles were stuffed to bursting with toys, and that wasn't even taking into account the towering, teetering displays scattered what seemed like every ten feet.
The confusion seemed to suit the goblin just fine, though, judging from the merry cackle it made as it skittered around the store.
“You’ve definitely got the advantage in here, shorty,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Not that I'd want to be your height," he went on. "'Specially not if your ugly-ass face came with it.”
There was one more crash from a few aisles over – sounded like the tiny little pots and pans from the tiny little kitchen – and with a whoosh, the goblin appeared a couple of feet in front of Dean.
A wobbly, off-center line in the middle of what Dean assumed was its face opened up, emitting a horrible creaking noise. It took a second for Dean to realize that the freaky little thing was talking, and a few more for him to puzzle out what it was saying.
Dean looked down at it and grinned, making sure he had the goblin’s full attention (and, therefore, eye contact) so he could carefully let one hand drift toward the tiny phial of blood tucked away in his pocket.
“I said,” he repeated slowly, “that you’ve got an ugly-ass face." Grabbed the phial and started working the stopper free. "Matter of fact," he went on, "it kind of reminds me of a Mr. Potato Head that got run over by a lawnmower.”
The goblin’s muddy little eyes took on a nasty glint, then glanced at the shelf to its right. Damn it, Dean thought, goblins have got a really fucked-up idea of mischief.
Sam’s always telling me that I oughta learn to shut my mouth, he thought, watching as the goblin laid a stubby finger on the toy lying chest-level to it on the nearest shelf.
This would have been a really good time to do that, he thought, as the goblin moved its finger off the boxed Mr. Potato Head and pointed it right at Dean.
Flash. Sizzle. Thunk. Dean hit the floor, hard, and didn’t move. Couldn’t move, as it turned out; the fall had knocked his feet right off his body.
His tiny, plastic, potato-shaped body.
Damn it, he thought again. There is no way Sam won't notice this.
"This is the most fucked up thing that has ever happened to us," Dean muttered finally, cranking the ignition back on.
Sam's was voice trembling a little, like he was fighting down that same insane wanting to laugh. "There was that time you got turned into—"
"We swore we'd never talk about that again, you asshole," Dean said, giving him a shove, and peeled out onto the highway.
--from Binding by
astolat, which is an excellent story that deserves better than this, but, you know. Broadsided.Untitled
How the hell do people actually shop in this place, Dean thought as an entire shelf full of Slinkys toppled over next to him. The place was too damn crowded, the too-narrow aisles were stuffed to bursting with toys, and that wasn't even taking into account the towering, teetering displays scattered what seemed like every ten feet.
The confusion seemed to suit the goblin just fine, though, judging from the merry cackle it made as it skittered around the store.
“You’ve definitely got the advantage in here, shorty,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Not that I'd want to be your height," he went on. "'Specially not if your ugly-ass face came with it.”
There was one more crash from a few aisles over – sounded like the tiny little pots and pans from the tiny little kitchen – and with a whoosh, the goblin appeared a couple of feet in front of Dean.
A wobbly, off-center line in the middle of what Dean assumed was its face opened up, emitting a horrible creaking noise. It took a second for Dean to realize that the freaky little thing was talking, and a few more for him to puzzle out what it was saying.
Dean looked down at it and grinned, making sure he had the goblin’s full attention (and, therefore, eye contact) so he could carefully let one hand drift toward the tiny phial of blood tucked away in his pocket.
“I said,” he repeated slowly, “that you’ve got an ugly-ass face." Grabbed the phial and started working the stopper free. "Matter of fact," he went on, "it kind of reminds me of a Mr. Potato Head that got run over by a lawnmower.”
The goblin’s muddy little eyes took on a nasty glint, then glanced at the shelf to its right. Damn it, Dean thought, goblins have got a really fucked-up idea of mischief.
Sam’s always telling me that I oughta learn to shut my mouth, he thought, watching as the goblin laid a stubby finger on the toy lying chest-level to it on the nearest shelf.
This would have been a really good time to do that, he thought, as the goblin moved its finger off the boxed Mr. Potato Head and pointed it right at Dean.
Flash. Sizzle. Thunk. Dean hit the floor, hard, and didn’t move. Couldn’t move, as it turned out; the fall had knocked his feet right off his body.
His tiny, plastic, potato-shaped body.
Damn it, he thought again. There is no way Sam won't notice this.
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Date: 2007-05-01 02:21 am (UTC)