![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Hard Doll's Night
Rating/Warning: PG (Language)
Wordcount: 1,285
Fandom: SPN
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Gen
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_nz for arachne13 who wanted Doll!Dean and de-aged Sam.
Dean is getting that stuffed feeling. It’s not the fun ate body weight in prime rib kind of stuffed unfortunately but the cotton where vital organs should be kind.
Dean’s wondering if he should be worried that this has happened often enough that he can tell without looking that it’s happened. Probably a good indicator is that he didn’t so much as wake up as come to because in doll form he doesn’t have the option of closing his eyes.
Lack of eyelids are a bitch.
Dean rolls over, saying, “Sammy what-” but right at that moment small hands grip him around the middle and he’s pressed to something wet and soft. The snuffles tell him that the wet thing is a child’s face which is just perfect.
He’s been doll-knapped again. Sam is going to kill him.
“Hey kid, ease up,” Dean protests as the squishing gets a little more earnest, or at least he tries to say but nothing comes out and his hands and arms aren’t responding to his commands. Dean had never thought that the whole doll thing could get worse but apparently being a Winchester, worse was never out of the realm of possibility.
He's not only currently a doll, but a paralysed, voiceless doll.
ooo
The kid doesn't pull Dean away from his face for long enough to see just who the hell it is before he's hurriedly stuffed under a pillow when a key scrapes in the door of what Dean is assuming is a motel room. He hears muffled voices but he can't make out the words because he's still not able to move.
He realizes belatedly that he's not alone under the pillow but he can't do anything about it until there's the distinctive sound of the door opening and closing again and he can miraculously move once more.
"Goddamn it!" Dean gripes, trying to inch his way out from under the pillow. It's been made heavy with hundreds of people's sweat and he's having trouble until he feels something land on his head and push. Dean pulls himself upright and wishes for the security of a knife when the pillow bucks and shakes and finally two more figures unearth themselves.
Dean gapes because sitting in front of him are a toy horse with one eye missing and a purple pig with a safety pin through its snout.
He recognises these toys.
"Sir Porkalot and Winky," Dean breathes in disbelief and the toys look at each other before their attention turns back to Dean.
"Where'd you come from? This kid's already taken," Porkalot practically growls.
"Porky! That's no way to talk to a guest," the horse admonishes and he's got a heavy British accent, the way Dean always made him talk when he was entertaining Sam.
Which must mean...
"That was Sam?" Dean slowly says, looking at the closed motel door.
"Were you a carnival toy?" Porkalot asks, eyeing Dean in a way Dean doesn't really like. "They're always full of those cheap polystyrene balls and never last." Porkalot advances, movement hampered by the fact that he's pretty much a football with feet and Dean backs up until his boots are on the edge of the bed.
"You wanna know what it's like to be bacon, you just keep on coming," Dean threatens and Winky the horse steps between them, shaking a plush hoof at each of them.
"The bed is a place of peace. You want to fight, you take it to the bathroom."
"I don't want to fight a... stuffed pig," Dean says, throwing up his arms. "I just want to know what the hell is happening. Why couldn't I move when he was here?"
"You can't move in front of people," Porkalot scoffs. "That's just mad."
"I am people," Dean yells and both the horse and pig look startled, as much as plush toys can. "I'm only this way every now and again and I can usually move. Plus," Dean continues, holding up a hand, "The time travelling's a new thing."
ooo
The time travelling is a new thing which is why Dean is immediately suspicious. He doesn't think this is the usual curse and he gets proof pretty quickly when someone he recognises walks past the booth his dad and Sammy are sat at while he's propped against the ketchup bottle.
The horse and pig were left back at the room and Dean tried not to feel smug about that but mostly failed.
Dean wants to launch himself off the table and towards the figure that saunters past but he can't, locked in the fabric and stuffing like he is. He wants to tell John to be careful and stand in front of Sam to protect him but at the moment he's useless.
It's not a nice feeling and he's starting to think that maybe that's the point.
"Aren't you getting a little old for this thing?" John asks, tugging at one of Dean's boots. Dean would like nothing more than to smack his hands away for putting the wobble in Sammy's bottom lip just with that casual remark. Sammy reaches out a still-pudgy hand and reels Dean towards his chest, almost protectively like John's going to toss Dean in the trash now that he's noticed him. Dean gets smooshed when Sammy lowers his head and Dean is trapped under his chin but he doesn't really mind.
He likes feeling like he's helping Sammy, even if its just as a chin rest.
Sammy huffs and says, "I guess," even though it's clear he doesn't mean it.
"We can't keep lugging around extra stuff," John says. "We've gotta travel light."
"Dean is light," Sammy protests, dragging Dean out from under his face and waggling him in the air as if to prove it. Dean feels kind of queasy with the motion and wonders what would come out if he hurled. Sammy smacks Dean down on the table then, Dean's boots making enough of a clatter that other diners look in their direction. John winces because one thing he always hated was drawing attention to himself in a public place.
"Okay, kiddo. Okay," he says, holding up calloused hands in surrender.
ooo
"How did I know this would be you?" Dean snarls. "It's got your grubby prints all over it."
The Trickster just looks enchanted by Dean's tirade, eyes sparking with mirth. "I gotta celebrate my birthday somehow. What better way than this?" he says, rubbing at his chin. Sammy and John sleep, completely ignorant of the very dangerous being in their room. Dean hates that the Trickster must have done something to them to keep them down.
"As soon as I'm less squishy I'm going to kill the hell out of you," Dean growls at the Trickster who looks delighted.
"I honestly wasn't expecting this," the Trickster says, like it's any kind of defence. "I just reactivated the last curse you were hit with and... I mean, wow."
"I don't remember being transported through time when this happened before," Dean argues.
"No, you weren't," the Trickster agrees easily. "I had to add my own little spin to it. Wouldn't be me otherwise."
"You son of a... banana," Dean grits out, hating how he can't swear in doll form.
"Dean, you know it could have been much worse. This is just me having a little fun." The Trickster starts chortling. "Little fun, geddit?"
"Kill you," Dean repeats. "Really painfully."
"Look, I'm about the return you to your regularly scheduled programming so just relax. You boys are always so tense."
"I'll find you," Dean promises.
The Trickster smiles as Dean starts to feel warm and the world blurs. "I've heard that before," he says.
Rating/Warning: PG (Language)
Wordcount: 1,285
Fandom: SPN
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Gen
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
Notes: Written for
help_nz for arachne13 who wanted Doll!Dean and de-aged Sam. Dean is getting that stuffed feeling. It’s not the fun ate body weight in prime rib kind of stuffed unfortunately but the cotton where vital organs should be kind.
Dean’s wondering if he should be worried that this has happened often enough that he can tell without looking that it’s happened. Probably a good indicator is that he didn’t so much as wake up as come to because in doll form he doesn’t have the option of closing his eyes.
Lack of eyelids are a bitch.
Dean rolls over, saying, “Sammy what-” but right at that moment small hands grip him around the middle and he’s pressed to something wet and soft. The snuffles tell him that the wet thing is a child’s face which is just perfect.
He’s been doll-knapped again. Sam is going to kill him.
“Hey kid, ease up,” Dean protests as the squishing gets a little more earnest, or at least he tries to say but nothing comes out and his hands and arms aren’t responding to his commands. Dean had never thought that the whole doll thing could get worse but apparently being a Winchester, worse was never out of the realm of possibility.
He's not only currently a doll, but a paralysed, voiceless doll.
The kid doesn't pull Dean away from his face for long enough to see just who the hell it is before he's hurriedly stuffed under a pillow when a key scrapes in the door of what Dean is assuming is a motel room. He hears muffled voices but he can't make out the words because he's still not able to move.
He realizes belatedly that he's not alone under the pillow but he can't do anything about it until there's the distinctive sound of the door opening and closing again and he can miraculously move once more.
"Goddamn it!" Dean gripes, trying to inch his way out from under the pillow. It's been made heavy with hundreds of people's sweat and he's having trouble until he feels something land on his head and push. Dean pulls himself upright and wishes for the security of a knife when the pillow bucks and shakes and finally two more figures unearth themselves.
Dean gapes because sitting in front of him are a toy horse with one eye missing and a purple pig with a safety pin through its snout.
He recognises these toys.
"Sir Porkalot and Winky," Dean breathes in disbelief and the toys look at each other before their attention turns back to Dean.
"Where'd you come from? This kid's already taken," Porkalot practically growls.
"Porky! That's no way to talk to a guest," the horse admonishes and he's got a heavy British accent, the way Dean always made him talk when he was entertaining Sam.
Which must mean...
"That was Sam?" Dean slowly says, looking at the closed motel door.
"Were you a carnival toy?" Porkalot asks, eyeing Dean in a way Dean doesn't really like. "They're always full of those cheap polystyrene balls and never last." Porkalot advances, movement hampered by the fact that he's pretty much a football with feet and Dean backs up until his boots are on the edge of the bed.
"You wanna know what it's like to be bacon, you just keep on coming," Dean threatens and Winky the horse steps between them, shaking a plush hoof at each of them.
"The bed is a place of peace. You want to fight, you take it to the bathroom."
"I don't want to fight a... stuffed pig," Dean says, throwing up his arms. "I just want to know what the hell is happening. Why couldn't I move when he was here?"
"You can't move in front of people," Porkalot scoffs. "That's just mad."
"I am people," Dean yells and both the horse and pig look startled, as much as plush toys can. "I'm only this way every now and again and I can usually move. Plus," Dean continues, holding up a hand, "The time travelling's a new thing."
The time travelling is a new thing which is why Dean is immediately suspicious. He doesn't think this is the usual curse and he gets proof pretty quickly when someone he recognises walks past the booth his dad and Sammy are sat at while he's propped against the ketchup bottle.
The horse and pig were left back at the room and Dean tried not to feel smug about that but mostly failed.
Dean wants to launch himself off the table and towards the figure that saunters past but he can't, locked in the fabric and stuffing like he is. He wants to tell John to be careful and stand in front of Sam to protect him but at the moment he's useless.
It's not a nice feeling and he's starting to think that maybe that's the point.
"Aren't you getting a little old for this thing?" John asks, tugging at one of Dean's boots. Dean would like nothing more than to smack his hands away for putting the wobble in Sammy's bottom lip just with that casual remark. Sammy reaches out a still-pudgy hand and reels Dean towards his chest, almost protectively like John's going to toss Dean in the trash now that he's noticed him. Dean gets smooshed when Sammy lowers his head and Dean is trapped under his chin but he doesn't really mind.
He likes feeling like he's helping Sammy, even if its just as a chin rest.
Sammy huffs and says, "I guess," even though it's clear he doesn't mean it.
"We can't keep lugging around extra stuff," John says. "We've gotta travel light."
"Dean is light," Sammy protests, dragging Dean out from under his face and waggling him in the air as if to prove it. Dean feels kind of queasy with the motion and wonders what would come out if he hurled. Sammy smacks Dean down on the table then, Dean's boots making enough of a clatter that other diners look in their direction. John winces because one thing he always hated was drawing attention to himself in a public place.
"Okay, kiddo. Okay," he says, holding up calloused hands in surrender.
"How did I know this would be you?" Dean snarls. "It's got your grubby prints all over it."
The Trickster just looks enchanted by Dean's tirade, eyes sparking with mirth. "I gotta celebrate my birthday somehow. What better way than this?" he says, rubbing at his chin. Sammy and John sleep, completely ignorant of the very dangerous being in their room. Dean hates that the Trickster must have done something to them to keep them down.
"As soon as I'm less squishy I'm going to kill the hell out of you," Dean growls at the Trickster who looks delighted.
"I honestly wasn't expecting this," the Trickster says, like it's any kind of defence. "I just reactivated the last curse you were hit with and... I mean, wow."
"I don't remember being transported through time when this happened before," Dean argues.
"No, you weren't," the Trickster agrees easily. "I had to add my own little spin to it. Wouldn't be me otherwise."
"You son of a... banana," Dean grits out, hating how he can't swear in doll form.
"Dean, you know it could have been much worse. This is just me having a little fun." The Trickster starts chortling. "Little fun, geddit?"
"Kill you," Dean repeats. "Really painfully."
"Look, I'm about the return you to your regularly scheduled programming so just relax. You boys are always so tense."
"I'll find you," Dean promises.
The Trickster smiles as Dean starts to feel warm and the world blurs. "I've heard that before," he says.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Of course dolls can't swear!
This is so perfectly cracky.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
But also, so very, very creepy. Can't move!! Eeep!!
*flails*
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
"You son of a... banana," Dean grits out, hating how he can't swear in doll form.
Love it!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
"The bed is a place of peace. You want to fight, you take it to the bathroom."
Ahaha XD. You're awesome!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Hahahahaha! This is awesome.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject