Title: (Minor Tremor I)- (Minor Tremor 2) - (Minor Tremor 3) - (Minor Tremor 4) - (Minor Tremor 5) - (Minor Tremor 6) - (Minor Tremor 7) - (Minor Tremor 8) - (Minor Tremor 9) - (Minor Tremor 10) - (Minor Tremor 11)
accompaniment(s) to: With a Bang
Rating: ♥Humor♥ - SPN/DA Crossover - PG - Gen – AU in the year 2020
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & DA & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean POV. Alec thinks he's funny.
Dean didn’t often find the sofa unoccupied these days.
The glorious construction of plywood and plaid upholstery had no parallel in modern day lounging technology. This behemoth was a Good Will reject masterpiece that had taken a team of six just to move its hefty frame from the delivery truck to the front door. Years upon years of precision ass weight had seasoned the cushioned springs to perfection. Each and every stain told a harrowing tale of sorrow, struggle, and ultimately of triumph.
Not to mention the treasure trove of unknown coin wealth lying in wait within the depths of its cavernous insides.
“Hey, Dean!” Alec yelled. “Dean!”
“Right over here.”
And to put a big fat cherry on top of the sundae of the sofa-out-of-body experience, Dean had somehow also acquired utter and supreme control over the television set. The punch bowl of Chex-Mix was his feedbag. The frosty bottles in the cooler were like a sexy beer ad sans the hot chicks in string bikinis. Resting his head on the threadbare armrest, Dean made use of its triple wide cushion design to give his best boxers-only sprawl.
“You say it one more time and I’m gonna drown you in the sink.“
Alec finally appeared before the couch with a shiny metal canister in one hand and an even shinier smile on his face. Dean looked him up and down and let out a sigh. He should have known that having this kind of quality zoning time was too good to last.
“Do me a favor would ya?” Alec asked. “Can you open this sucker for me?”
Dean looked dubiously at the can with the flimsy plastic lid. “You can’t get a can of peanuts open?”
Dean supposed he should have been expecting the coiled fake snake to explode out of the faux can labeled: Mixed Nuts but in all honesty, he wasn’t quite on his game. Especially when the game’s origins were from the high-larious circa of the 19-freakin-50s. When his heart started beating again he tossed the can as hard as he could at Alec’s delighted face. But as usual, the kid could move himself and his face fairly quickly when required.
The can toss was good enough to take out the lower half of the living room window though.
A squirting flower on a lapel. Fake dog shit. Hand buzzer. Whoopie cushion. Disappearing ink. Anything could be coming next from the mediocre barrel-o-laughs Alec had blissfully discovered in the backs of comic books yellowing in the attic. Well, that and the kid’s strange fondness for anything ‘made in Taiwan’ that required a shady money order.
“Wanna hear a joke, Dean?”
Presuming it would lead to less violence, he reluctantly gave Alec the go ahead.
“What’s black and white?” Alec held up his hands for emphasis. “And RED all over?”
“A penguin in a blender. Panda in blender. Oh wait, wait, a killer whale in a really huge blender?”
“No.” Alec gave an offended frown. “I was gonna say ‘an embarrassed zebra’ but… but I guess your answers make sense too if you’re a big freak that enjoys putting monochromatic endangered species in industrial sized blenders—“
“You wanna hear a good knock-knock joke?” Dean offered.
“Knock-knock joke?” Alec rolled his eyes. “Knock-knock jokes are for losers– AuHNn!”
‘Large Telephone Book to the Crotch’ was a standard classic that Dean privately thought would never go out of style. And the best part was Dean didn't even have to move his ass off the couch. He swung the heavy tome back over his shoulder and gave Alec a 3-2-1 count. Just like a live Vegas match, the kid hit the mat and looked like he might be about to harf his cookies all over it too.
“Wanna hear another one?” Dean asked. “I got a whole stash of ‘em.”
“N-No, thanks,” Alec curled into a tighter ball on the floor. “I’m all set.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dean flipped the channel to a risqué woman’s volleyball tournament on a sunny beach. “Now move over cuz yer blockin’ the score.”
With a stifled groan, the kid dragged himself closer to the Chex-Mix and beer. Dean threw Alec one of the coveted sofa cushions to make his stay on the throw rug more comfortable. But before he could crack open another Bud, Dean was startled by the front door banging open.
Nothing could kill your buzz faster than the sight of a pissed off priest.
Sam took in the grim scene.
Gulping down beer while he still could, Dean made a brief inventory of what he would have to eventually explain, clean or repair. The broken window. A sullied couch. Strong possibility of no grandkids. But just for kicks, he decided to go for the truth this time just to see what would happen.
“Don’t look at me,” Dean said. “He started it.”
“Someone…” Sam said in a reasonably calm voice. “Someone put cellophane wrap over every toilet seat in the church.”
Alec was still out for the count but his pride, even from the fetal position, was palpable. Dean begrudgingly had to hand it to the kid. Bathroom vandalism was up high up there on the emotional pay off, but also pretty deep end on the repercussions. It was a gutsy move that not anyone would fully commit to without a sound getaway plan. Dean looked down at his nephew giving him a thumbs up from the floor.
He handed Alec a beer.
True genius always did include a small truckload of idiocy.
(go to Minor Tremor 2)