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Fic:: One Man's Ceiling (is another man's floor)
Title: One Man's Ceiling (is another man's floor)
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: 268 words
Author notes: I need some humor these days.
Summary: Dean does not find the usual things very relaxing.
Dean wasn’t sleeping and was getting these attacks where he couldn’t breathe. Sam made him go to a doctor and the doc told Dean to relax, take it easy.
What the hell did that mean?
Sammy suggested he take a walk on a country lane, watch ducks on the tiny lake across from the motel, or maybe drink hot cocoa while doing the Wednesday crossword (the Sunday one being too hard). These things seemed to work well for Sam.
All along the walking trail, he kept glimpsing eyes peering at him through the bushes. He itched to shoot the ducks in the motel pond as they darted around eating the bread he threw to them. Lastly, he threw the crossword book across the room when he couldn’t figure out a seven-letter word for a chicken (Rooster, goddammit!).
He decided he was going to die if he did much more relaxing.
He was thrilled when his phone rang and it was Bobby, looking for someone to check out reports of a chupacabra down near the Mexican border that was killing longhorns. He and Sammy jumped in the car and headed to Texas. Pretty soon, he was singing with the radio as it played Lynyrd Skynyrd. His heart was pounding with excitement.
When they pulled into the Roadside Motel on the outskirts of Brownsville, he was smiling and laughing. He hummed as he checked the guns before they headed for Jim Smith’s ranch. He was going tio gank some monsters
As they found a place to wait for dark, he turned to Sammy. “Now this is what I call relaxin’.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: 268 words
Author notes: I need some humor these days.
Summary: Dean does not find the usual things very relaxing.
Dean wasn’t sleeping and was getting these attacks where he couldn’t breathe. Sam made him go to a doctor and the doc told Dean to relax, take it easy.
What the hell did that mean?
Sammy suggested he take a walk on a country lane, watch ducks on the tiny lake across from the motel, or maybe drink hot cocoa while doing the Wednesday crossword (the Sunday one being too hard). These things seemed to work well for Sam.
All along the walking trail, he kept glimpsing eyes peering at him through the bushes. He itched to shoot the ducks in the motel pond as they darted around eating the bread he threw to them. Lastly, he threw the crossword book across the room when he couldn’t figure out a seven-letter word for a chicken (Rooster, goddammit!).
He decided he was going to die if he did much more relaxing.
He was thrilled when his phone rang and it was Bobby, looking for someone to check out reports of a chupacabra down near the Mexican border that was killing longhorns. He and Sammy jumped in the car and headed to Texas. Pretty soon, he was singing with the radio as it played Lynyrd Skynyrd. His heart was pounding with excitement.
When they pulled into the Roadside Motel on the outskirts of Brownsville, he was smiling and laughing. He hummed as he checked the guns before they headed for Jim Smith’s ranch. He was going tio gank some monsters
As they found a place to wait for dark, he turned to Sammy. “Now this is what I call relaxin’.”