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Title: Doll House
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: G
Category: Sam, Dean (crack)
Words: 882
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: A curse leaves Dean a little... short.
“Dude, that’s not even funny. Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” Sam asked on a Tuesday morning when he woke up to a very realistic-looking Dean doll in the bed opposite him, sheet pulled up over its tiny torso and head on the pillow.
“What thing?” the doll asked and Sam fell out of bed.
000
“I told you not to touch the shrunken heads,” Sam mused, watching in fascination as the Dean-doll paced the small counter separating the hotel room’s kitchenette from the main room.
“You think that old witch cursed me because I touched her creepy heads?” Dean asked incredulously. He held his little arms up and let out a sigh. “Man, I don’t even have fingers,” he bemoaned, waggling his arms in Sam’s direction so his younger brother could see that his arms ended in a seam.
“You juggled them while singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’,” Sam pointed out and Dean snorted, the sound muted because it was pushed through a fabric throat.
“Do you think I have feet in these?” he asked, holding up a tiny boot and Sam clapped a hand to his face.
000
“Stop it,” Dean snapped.
“You’re just… really soft man,” Sam said with a grin, reaching forward to squeeze Dean’s middle again, Dean slapping at him ineffectually with plushie arms. “It could be worse.”
“Oh really? How praytell?” Dean demanded, looking as indignant as someone with drawn-on eyebrows could manage.
“Well, at least you’re not filled with those Styrofoam balls,” Sam said, lower lip trembling as he fought off a grin. “Because then,” he added, losing the battle and letting a snort through. “You’d be a Beanie Deanie.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Dean promised.
000
Sam woke in the middle of the night when something soft tapped his cheek. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a tiny clown face and behind it, a very big knife.
“Still think this is funny Sammy?” a menacingly high-pitched voice growled and Sam screamed.
Hours later, Dean sat outside the bathroom door. “I said I’m sorry,” he called. “I’ve taken the face paint off.”
000
“Eight hours back to Wilmington,” Sam said, map spread over the Impala’s hood and Dean sitting next to it. The wind kept whipping the corner back and finally, with a frustrated growl, Sam picked Dean up and put him down on the offending corner.
“Dude, you did not just use me as a paperweight,” Dean snapped and Sam flushed.
“Sorry,” Sam sighed, going to pick up Dean again but he held his arms up.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he grumbled, flopping back with his arms and legs splayed. “Just don’t take all day.”
“Are we sure it was her?” Sam mused. “That old lady?”
“I’m thinking the woman with the cat bones over her doorway is a safe bet as the cursing kind,” Dean said, looking up at the sky and the clouds skidding past. “Hey, I also discovered something disturbing,” he added and Sam looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“More disturbing than you being a doll?”
“I can’t swear.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, nudging Dean aside so he could fold the map up.
“All I can say is farm animal and shoot,” he griped, sliding his jacket off his little shoulders and Sam tried not to make a noise when a tiny denim shirt was revealed underneath.
“You’re right,” Sam nodded. “That is the most disturbing thing about this whole experience.”
“Shut up.”
000
The brothers stopped at a small motel just outside of Wilmington.
“One bed?” Dean asked when they got through the door and Sam chuckled.
“Dude, you’re as big as my hand. We can put a pillow in the sink and you’ll be set.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Dean grumbled.
000
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, a yawn cracking his face in half. He was trying to sleep but it wasn’t helping when he got a tiny boot in the head every few minutes.
“I can’t… I mean they don’t…” Dean huffed a sigh, rolling off the pillow he’d been on and onto the bed, thumping his legs and arms in frustration. “My eyes don’t close.”
“Come here,” Sam sighed, grabbing Dean round the middle and tucking him into his elbow, dropping a hand over his little face.
“Thanks,” Dean said, sounding strangely choked up. “You’re a good brother.”
“I’m not going to suffocate you am I?” Sam asked, suddenly worried.
“Dude, I’m pretty sure there’s no lungs in here,” Dean reassured, patting his chest.
000
“She’s a snake oil salesman!” Sam slammed through the motel room door, looking furious.
“What’s that got to do with de-dolling me?” Dean asked. He was glad Sam was back because although he’d been left with the TV remote, he’d found that pushing the buttons was not something you could do effectively with soft, squishy stumps instead of hands.
“I mean she curses people, and then sells them the cure,” Sam explained, flopping onto the bed and managing to bounce Dean off. He caught him one-handed and Dean tapped Sam’s fingers and then swung his feet, his little yarn mouth twisting up into what Sam assumed was supposed to be a smirk.
“You think she takes credit?”
By: kellifer_fic
Fandom: SPN
Rating: G
Category: Sam, Dean (crack)
Words: 882
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to my beta *superfox*
Summary: A curse leaves Dean a little... short.
“Dude, that’s not even funny. Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?” Sam asked on a Tuesday morning when he woke up to a very realistic-looking Dean doll in the bed opposite him, sheet pulled up over its tiny torso and head on the pillow.
“What thing?” the doll asked and Sam fell out of bed.
“I told you not to touch the shrunken heads,” Sam mused, watching in fascination as the Dean-doll paced the small counter separating the hotel room’s kitchenette from the main room.
“You think that old witch cursed me because I touched her creepy heads?” Dean asked incredulously. He held his little arms up and let out a sigh. “Man, I don’t even have fingers,” he bemoaned, waggling his arms in Sam’s direction so his younger brother could see that his arms ended in a seam.
“You juggled them while singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’,” Sam pointed out and Dean snorted, the sound muted because it was pushed through a fabric throat.
“Do you think I have feet in these?” he asked, holding up a tiny boot and Sam clapped a hand to his face.
“Stop it,” Dean snapped.
“You’re just… really soft man,” Sam said with a grin, reaching forward to squeeze Dean’s middle again, Dean slapping at him ineffectually with plushie arms. “It could be worse.”
“Oh really? How praytell?” Dean demanded, looking as indignant as someone with drawn-on eyebrows could manage.
“Well, at least you’re not filled with those Styrofoam balls,” Sam said, lower lip trembling as he fought off a grin. “Because then,” he added, losing the battle and letting a snort through. “You’d be a Beanie Deanie.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Dean promised.
Sam woke in the middle of the night when something soft tapped his cheek. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a tiny clown face and behind it, a very big knife.
“Still think this is funny Sammy?” a menacingly high-pitched voice growled and Sam screamed.
Hours later, Dean sat outside the bathroom door. “I said I’m sorry,” he called. “I’ve taken the face paint off.”
“Eight hours back to Wilmington,” Sam said, map spread over the Impala’s hood and Dean sitting next to it. The wind kept whipping the corner back and finally, with a frustrated growl, Sam picked Dean up and put him down on the offending corner.
“Dude, you did not just use me as a paperweight,” Dean snapped and Sam flushed.
“Sorry,” Sam sighed, going to pick up Dean again but he held his arms up.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he grumbled, flopping back with his arms and legs splayed. “Just don’t take all day.”
“Are we sure it was her?” Sam mused. “That old lady?”
“I’m thinking the woman with the cat bones over her doorway is a safe bet as the cursing kind,” Dean said, looking up at the sky and the clouds skidding past. “Hey, I also discovered something disturbing,” he added and Sam looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“More disturbing than you being a doll?”
“I can’t swear.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, nudging Dean aside so he could fold the map up.
“All I can say is farm animal and shoot,” he griped, sliding his jacket off his little shoulders and Sam tried not to make a noise when a tiny denim shirt was revealed underneath.
“You’re right,” Sam nodded. “That is the most disturbing thing about this whole experience.”
“Shut up.”
The brothers stopped at a small motel just outside of Wilmington.
“One bed?” Dean asked when they got through the door and Sam chuckled.
“Dude, you’re as big as my hand. We can put a pillow in the sink and you’ll be set.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Dean grumbled.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked, a yawn cracking his face in half. He was trying to sleep but it wasn’t helping when he got a tiny boot in the head every few minutes.
“I can’t… I mean they don’t…” Dean huffed a sigh, rolling off the pillow he’d been on and onto the bed, thumping his legs and arms in frustration. “My eyes don’t close.”
“Come here,” Sam sighed, grabbing Dean round the middle and tucking him into his elbow, dropping a hand over his little face.
“Thanks,” Dean said, sounding strangely choked up. “You’re a good brother.”
“I’m not going to suffocate you am I?” Sam asked, suddenly worried.
“Dude, I’m pretty sure there’s no lungs in here,” Dean reassured, patting his chest.
“She’s a snake oil salesman!” Sam slammed through the motel room door, looking furious.
“What’s that got to do with de-dolling me?” Dean asked. He was glad Sam was back because although he’d been left with the TV remote, he’d found that pushing the buttons was not something you could do effectively with soft, squishy stumps instead of hands.
“I mean she curses people, and then sells them the cure,” Sam explained, flopping onto the bed and managing to bounce Dean off. He caught him one-handed and Dean tapped Sam’s fingers and then swung his feet, his little yarn mouth twisting up into what Sam assumed was supposed to be a smirk.
“You think she takes credit?”
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"You know what the worst thing about this is?"
"What?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.
"I don't have a dingleberry," Dean moaned and then flopped on the floor, drumming his tiny feet. "Aw c'mon," he screeched in his tiny voice. "I can't even say dingleberry?!"