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"Born Under A Doll Sign"
Title: Born Under A Doll Sign
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Rating: G
Category: SPN Gen
Word Count: 1,117
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: On the occasion ofiamstealthyone's birth, she requested dean!doll fic.
Summary: This time, Sam doesn't exactly see the funny side.
“Let’s see,” Sam says mulishly, holding up a hand. “Exactly how many times have I told you not to read aloud from books that are a, old, b, in a language you don’t understand and c, in a witch’s house?”
Dean swivels, because in his current form he can’t actually turn his head, has to instead pivot with his whole body. “I thought it was a spell to make naked chicks rain from the sky.”
Sam drops his head into his hands, or at least tries to. He kind of ends up curled over himself. “Your Latin sucks,” he complains.
Dean pats himself down and finally comes up with a tiny gun. “Hey, at least this time I was packing,” he says gleefully. “And I’ve had practice with this whole thing. You’re the newbie.”
Sam looks down at himself, at the plush body, stumpy arms and stitched on clothes. He looks across at his brother who is also, currently, a doll.
“I hate you.”
000
It takes a lot of manoeuvring, some colourful although completely G rated cursing and a sling shot made of Sam’s tighty-whities before Dean is able to reach the phone. Luckily, he knows Bobby’s number off by heart and the phone in the motel is push-button. He uses a booted foot to dial and then has to lie next to the receiver.
He has to wait a good ten minutes for Bobby to stop laughing, flopped on his back and drumming his feet, every now and again being hit by pushpins Sam throws at him from the floor in his impatience. “Quit it!” Dean snarls when one lodges in his button eye.
“Come down here and make me,” Sam yells, waggling his arms and Dean launches himself off the phone table. They tumble about the floor for a few minutes, trading punches and kicks before they finally break apart, Sam giving out a disgusted snort. “It’s like two pillows fighting,” he complains, patting at his face thoughtfully.
“Just keep a lid on the outbursts,” Dean scolds, pushing Sam over and moving to the phone table to stare morosely up. “It’s hard to be rational in this state,” he adds, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to abandon the phone when it had been so hard to get up there in the first place.
“Oh, wait,” Sam says, smacking a stumpy arm over his face. He tumbles over to his duffle and disappears inside, emerging with a sock clinging to his back and his cell phone. “I guess this would’ve been easier in the first place.”
“You think?” Dean snaps.
000
Dean yells, “Play dead!”, bare moments before a maid enters their room, announcing, “Housekeeping!” She peeks inside the door for a second before entering, having established that the room is empty. One white-sneakered foot treads directly on Dean who lets out an undignified squeak which luckily sounds exactly like the kind of sound a toy would make.
The woman makes a tut of annoyance and leans over, picking Dean up. She holds him against her chest with an arm when she leans over to retrieve Sam and tosses them both on the nearest bed. As soon as she disappears into the bathroom, Sam heaves Dean off himself, who is lying prone.
“Dude,” Dean breathes.
“What?”
“She just smooshed my face in between her boobs. It was awesome.”
“Okay, you realise that’s even creepier with you being a doll, right?” Sam asks, rolling away from Dean and burrowing under the edge of the blanket on the bed. He just wants to hide from this entire day.
“Sammy,” Dean sing-songs, lifting the edge of the blanket. Sam in the half light can see Dean is canting his head and he’s pretty sure it’s Dean’s version of a doll-leer. “When are you ever again going to get the chance to be the size of a woman’s cleavage?”
“Shut up!” Sam groans and holds his arms up to where he would assume his ears would be if he currently had any.
000
Bobby turns up to the motel six hours later and manages to sweet-talk his way into getting a key. His eyes are a little red-rimmed and his cheeks pink which Sam assumes means he got his hysterical laughter done with on the trip over. Bobby’s lips tremble when he spies the both of them, sitting against the foot of the bed, but he admirably holds it together.
“What are you hiding?” Dean asks suspiciously when he realises Bobby has something behind his back. Bobby brings the cat carrier out sheepishly and Dean throws his arms up in the air and flails them. “Just what exactly did you think you were going to do with that?” he demands.
“Dunno,” Bobby says, scratching at his head with his free hand. “Thought you might’ve been one of those wetsy dolls and didn’t want doll-pee on the upholstery.”
“Sam, get me the push pins,” Dean says grimly.
000
“Sorry,” Bobby apologises when he knocks Sam off his kitchen table the fourth time in a row by shoving his pile of books and forgetting that Sam was propped behind them. Sam accepts the brief indignity of being lifted so he can go back to researching.
Dean is sitting on the other edge of the table, swinging his feet and sidling closer and closer to Bobby’s beer. “Don’t even try it,” Bobby says when Dean gets close enough to lean in the beer’s direction. “I’m pretty sure all you’ll end up as is wet.”
“Hey Bobby I-” Both Sam and Dean look up in horror when Jo appears in the kitchen doorway. She has a camera in one hand and a shoebox in the other. Her mouth drops open and she stumbles to a halt when she spies the dolls on Bobby’s kitchen table. “Oh my god, you weren’t kidding,” she breathes, her eyes going large and round with mirth.
“’Course I wasn’t,” Bobby huffs, motioning for Jo to hand over the shoebox.
“What’s in there?” Dean asks, pushing himself upright.
“I thought considering this was not the first time this has happened to you, we should do something, for posterity,” Bobby says. “Maybe scare you boys straight.”
“We didn’t do this on purpose!” Sam shrills.
“Nevertheless,” Bobby says, cracking open the shoebox. “Before we switch you back, which I actually can do with no problem,” Bobby adds with a little eyebrow waggle. “We’ll just make sure you boys are more careful poking around a witch's stuff.”
Dean backs up until he’s by Sam’s side. They clutch each other when Bobby upends the box onto the table.
It’s full of Barbie clothes.
“You’ll both live to regret this,” Dean promises.
Author:
kellifer_ficRating: G
Category: SPN Gen
Word Count: 1,117
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: On the occasion of
iamstealthyone's birth, she requested dean!doll fic.Summary: This time, Sam doesn't exactly see the funny side.
“Let’s see,” Sam says mulishly, holding up a hand. “Exactly how many times have I told you not to read aloud from books that are a, old, b, in a language you don’t understand and c, in a witch’s house?”
Dean swivels, because in his current form he can’t actually turn his head, has to instead pivot with his whole body. “I thought it was a spell to make naked chicks rain from the sky.”
Sam drops his head into his hands, or at least tries to. He kind of ends up curled over himself. “Your Latin sucks,” he complains.
Dean pats himself down and finally comes up with a tiny gun. “Hey, at least this time I was packing,” he says gleefully. “And I’ve had practice with this whole thing. You’re the newbie.”
Sam looks down at himself, at the plush body, stumpy arms and stitched on clothes. He looks across at his brother who is also, currently, a doll.
“I hate you.”
It takes a lot of manoeuvring, some colourful although completely G rated cursing and a sling shot made of Sam’s tighty-whities before Dean is able to reach the phone. Luckily, he knows Bobby’s number off by heart and the phone in the motel is push-button. He uses a booted foot to dial and then has to lie next to the receiver.
He has to wait a good ten minutes for Bobby to stop laughing, flopped on his back and drumming his feet, every now and again being hit by pushpins Sam throws at him from the floor in his impatience. “Quit it!” Dean snarls when one lodges in his button eye.
“Come down here and make me,” Sam yells, waggling his arms and Dean launches himself off the phone table. They tumble about the floor for a few minutes, trading punches and kicks before they finally break apart, Sam giving out a disgusted snort. “It’s like two pillows fighting,” he complains, patting at his face thoughtfully.
“Just keep a lid on the outbursts,” Dean scolds, pushing Sam over and moving to the phone table to stare morosely up. “It’s hard to be rational in this state,” he adds, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to abandon the phone when it had been so hard to get up there in the first place.
“Oh, wait,” Sam says, smacking a stumpy arm over his face. He tumbles over to his duffle and disappears inside, emerging with a sock clinging to his back and his cell phone. “I guess this would’ve been easier in the first place.”
“You think?” Dean snaps.
Dean yells, “Play dead!”, bare moments before a maid enters their room, announcing, “Housekeeping!” She peeks inside the door for a second before entering, having established that the room is empty. One white-sneakered foot treads directly on Dean who lets out an undignified squeak which luckily sounds exactly like the kind of sound a toy would make.
The woman makes a tut of annoyance and leans over, picking Dean up. She holds him against her chest with an arm when she leans over to retrieve Sam and tosses them both on the nearest bed. As soon as she disappears into the bathroom, Sam heaves Dean off himself, who is lying prone.
“Dude,” Dean breathes.
“What?”
“She just smooshed my face in between her boobs. It was awesome.”
“Okay, you realise that’s even creepier with you being a doll, right?” Sam asks, rolling away from Dean and burrowing under the edge of the blanket on the bed. He just wants to hide from this entire day.
“Sammy,” Dean sing-songs, lifting the edge of the blanket. Sam in the half light can see Dean is canting his head and he’s pretty sure it’s Dean’s version of a doll-leer. “When are you ever again going to get the chance to be the size of a woman’s cleavage?”
“Shut up!” Sam groans and holds his arms up to where he would assume his ears would be if he currently had any.
Bobby turns up to the motel six hours later and manages to sweet-talk his way into getting a key. His eyes are a little red-rimmed and his cheeks pink which Sam assumes means he got his hysterical laughter done with on the trip over. Bobby’s lips tremble when he spies the both of them, sitting against the foot of the bed, but he admirably holds it together.
“What are you hiding?” Dean asks suspiciously when he realises Bobby has something behind his back. Bobby brings the cat carrier out sheepishly and Dean throws his arms up in the air and flails them. “Just what exactly did you think you were going to do with that?” he demands.
“Dunno,” Bobby says, scratching at his head with his free hand. “Thought you might’ve been one of those wetsy dolls and didn’t want doll-pee on the upholstery.”
“Sam, get me the push pins,” Dean says grimly.
“Sorry,” Bobby apologises when he knocks Sam off his kitchen table the fourth time in a row by shoving his pile of books and forgetting that Sam was propped behind them. Sam accepts the brief indignity of being lifted so he can go back to researching.
Dean is sitting on the other edge of the table, swinging his feet and sidling closer and closer to Bobby’s beer. “Don’t even try it,” Bobby says when Dean gets close enough to lean in the beer’s direction. “I’m pretty sure all you’ll end up as is wet.”
“Hey Bobby I-” Both Sam and Dean look up in horror when Jo appears in the kitchen doorway. She has a camera in one hand and a shoebox in the other. Her mouth drops open and she stumbles to a halt when she spies the dolls on Bobby’s kitchen table. “Oh my god, you weren’t kidding,” she breathes, her eyes going large and round with mirth.
“’Course I wasn’t,” Bobby huffs, motioning for Jo to hand over the shoebox.
“What’s in there?” Dean asks, pushing himself upright.
“I thought considering this was not the first time this has happened to you, we should do something, for posterity,” Bobby says. “Maybe scare you boys straight.”
“We didn’t do this on purpose!” Sam shrills.
“Nevertheless,” Bobby says, cracking open the shoebox. “Before we switch you back, which I actually can do with no problem,” Bobby adds with a little eyebrow waggle. “We’ll just make sure you boys are more careful poking around a witch's stuff.”
Dean backs up until he’s by Sam’s side. They clutch each other when Bobby upends the box onto the table.
It’s full of Barbie clothes.
“You’ll both live to regret this,” Dean promises.