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apocalypsosTitle: Killing Time in Detention
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: Oh, it's got to be at least 1,000 words, counting the notes. ;)
Spoilers: Pre-series
Warnings: VERY image-heavy.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Winchester boys, they'd be cleaning my apartment right now so I don't have to.
Summary: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_flashback, prompt #215. Sam and Dean serve detention for being at the center of a huge school fight. (The principal doesn't believe their explanation.) The monitor is a) a demon, b) a fellow hunter, or c) asleep. So Sam and Dean pass notes the whole time.
Author's note: Please forgive the lack of focus on some of the photos. This was hard. Fun, but hard. *whines*
*****
Killing Time in Detention
*****
Friday, 11:47 a.m.
"Randy Maris."
Dean makes a face at that and peers into Whitehead Creek Junior/Senior High School's cramped cafeteria. Randy Maris is currently trying to balance a tray piled high with mashed potatoes as he walks from one side of the cafeteria to the delighted encouragement of the rest of the student body, although Dean's pretty sure it's cheating to try something like that when the top of your head is flat.
"Not a chance," Dean hisses. "That guy's roughly the size of the ninth grade."
"Yeah, like we couldn't take him down," Sam mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Okay, that's true, Dean has to admit, but it isn't going to help either one of them if the student body responds by jumping up and down on their heads as a group. Randy's insanely popular for some inexplicable reason. Dean would blame mind control, but you'd think somebody with a power like that would have a brain instead of a hamster in a wheel, and a lazy one at that. "What the hell is your problem with that guy, anyway?"
Sam frowns. "You mean, aside from what he did to my hair?"
"It was only sauerkraut, Sammy. It washed out, didn't it?"
"You try smelling like a hot dog for an entire school day and see how you like it."
"So? Randy smells like the bottom of a hot dog cart and he doesn't give a shit."
"That's because Randy is a tool," Sam grumbles.
Inside the cafeteria, the tray slips off Randy's head and splatters across the cheap linoleum, leading to a chorus of laughter. Dean doesn't want to admit it, but he's starting to think the student body at Whitehead Creek has the collective intelligence of cream cheese.
"Yeah, okay, Randy."
"Cool! Can I dump cole slaw on his head?"
"Sammy, you can dump it down his pants for all I care."
12:04 p.m.
Okay, so maybe the entire student body didn't jump up and down on their heads.
But they do throw mashed potatoes at them, which somehow is just that much worse. Head wounds don't smell like Thanksgiving dinner for the rest of the day, you know what I'm saying?
Friday, 1:32 p.m.
The truth of the matter is that there's a rumor going around campus that the wood shop teacher, Mr. Bates, devours students alive during detention on Saturdays. Not like anybody's seen it or anything, but three students have already gone missing this school year, none of them model citizens and all of them on Saturdays. So the plan is to get themselves both sent to detention and catch the son of a bitch in the act, since Dad's off on a job in Duluth hunting something hollowing out the elderly.
Yeah, neither one of them had been about to ask for details on that one.
Of course, they can't exactly tell the principal that they want to get sent to detention so they can set the detention monitor on fire, or whatever it'll take to stop the guy.
Dean is easy enough. He doesn't even have to open his big mouth before Mrs. Janik's giving him a detention like she's handing out candy canes at Christmas.
Sammy and his wonderful reputation as a model student (even after only a month at this stupid school) have a harder time of it. She's just about to let him off with a warning when he snaps that it's not fair Dean got detention and he didn't and calls her a festering bucketful of gerbil intestines.
"Well, I''ve got to admit," Dean says later as they're leaving the office, "that's got to be worth at least twenty points for originality."
He rumples Sam's hair and locks an arm around his neck, and Sam can't decide whether to beam with pride or punch him in the stomach.
Saturday, 6:54 a.m.
Luckily, it turns out that they're the only kids in detention this week.
Of course, it would probably be a hell of a lot better if they didn't have to go through the checklist beforehand.
"Knives?"
"Check."
"Matches?"
"Check."
"Guns."
"Well, gun, but ... yeah, check. Flamethrower?"
Dean grins and pats his own backpack fondly. "You know it, baby."
7:02 a.m.
Mr. Bates doesn't say one word to them when they walk into the study hall where detention is held and settle into seats only a few feet away from one another.
He doesn't say anything when they put down their backpacks with loud clunks, or when he points to the "NO TALKING!" written on the chalkboard, or when he opens up his newpaper and officially barricades them from view.
Dean can't help but think that's a good thing, if only because if he does open his mouth, Dean won't be the least bit surprised if man-eating lemmings pour forth.
What? It's not like they haven't seen worse before. Or weirder.
7:34 a.m.
It takes Dean thirty-two minutes to become mind-numbingly bored beyond all human comprehension. For Sammy, it'd be a personal record. Sam could always find something to occupy his mind, even something as useless as counting license plates from the back seat of the Impala or writing down song lyrics and movie quotes.
Oh, it's not like Dean's not the same way, but at a time like this it takes something completely different than Sammy's idea of a good time to keep him from tearing his hair out. After fifteen minutes of staring at Mr. Bates just waiting for his jaw to dislocate so he can better swallow them whole -- which unsurprisingly doesn't happening -- Dean wishes he could takes out the weapons and clean them while they're waiting, since God knows they can't attack a teacher just because somebody says he's a demonic creature who ate some students.
Well, okay, they could attack, but they'd end up spending the rest of the year making sure his replacement as detention monitor didn't do the same thing, and not as a civil courtesy at the request of the principal, that's for damn sure.
After a few minutes of trying to figure out whether or not he could get away with throwing sharpened pencils at the ceiling to see if he can get them to stick in the drop tiles, Dean writes something down, folds up the paper, and passes it to Sam.
Sammy stares at him oddly for a moment, but takes the note and opens it anyway.
Sam has to bite his bottom lip to keep from dying laughing, takes out a piece of paper from one of his own notebooks, and that's how it starts.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Dean makes a face and scribbles something down on the paper before folding it back up again.
Sam isn't the least bit surprised when Dean flings it directly at his head.
*
*
*
Okay, so maybe Dean asked for that one.
Doesn't stop him from scowling over at Sammy, though, who looks at him with innocent questioning eyes while drumming his fingers on the desktop. Dean would throw the knife he's got tucked into his boot at Sam's head if he wasn't pretty sure he's going to need it later.
Dean reaches over and snatches away Sam's notebook before he can protest, ripping out a page and tossing the notebook back. He can almost feel Sam's gaze weighing on the back of his neck, heavy and curious as his pen moves over the paper, right up until the moment when Dean folds up the piece of paper and tosses it back.
*
*
*
*
*
*
Dean expects Sam to roll his eyes as soon as he opens the note, but what he doesn't expect is for Sam to tear a new piece of paper from his notebook, write down a few words, and throw the note at him while coughing, and coughing loudly.
Dean darts a nervous glance towards the desk at the front of the study hall, but Mr. Bates doesn't look past the newspaper he's reading. Flashing Sam a dirty look, Dean picks up the note from the floor.
*
When Dean passes the note back to Sam, he nudges his chair just enough across the floor to make a loud screech echo in the study hall.
*
It takes Sam a while to come up with a response, writing so damn much that Dean suspects he's given up on passing notes and has moved on to writing the great American novel.
He hands Dean back the folded piece of paper and fakes a sneeze that would have blown down several trees and an outhouse if it had been real.
*
Dean doesn't even bother to fake a sneeze or a cough or the sudden expulsion of several internal organs before sending back a response.
*
*
*
Okay, so Dean would be the one being grateful if that ever happened, but a guy can't be witty all the time, all right?
Sam gags and crumples up the note at that, though, and you'd think if anything would get Mr. Bates' attention, that would do it. But the guy just keeps sitting there calmly reading his newspaper. Hell, it doesn't even look like he's turned the page since study hall started.
Dean can't help but stare at Mr. Bates in suspicion as Sam scribbles down a response and passes it over.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Sam stares at Dean for the longest time with this weird look on his face before scribbling down a response.
*
*
Dean's still chuckling as Sam writes out a response, getting so long-winded about the whole thing that Dean practically expects him to hand over a textbook's worth of insults, but the second he lifts his head to look at Dean, he catches sight of something over Dean's shoulder and drops the note.
"Uh, Dean," he says, "is that a tentacle?"
*
Yeah, it did turn out to be a tentacle.
One with gigantic suckers and seven other identical friends, all of which are attached to Mr. Bates, although Dean and Sam really don't want to check and see exactly where they're attached. Other than a curious nudge with the toe of Sam's sneaker, neither one of them makes a move to touch what's left of Mr. Bates after they fight back with the makeshift flamethrower Dean has hidden in his backpack.
The entire place smells like overbarbecued fish.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can we do this again next week?"
Dean narrows his eyes at his brother and says, "You want to set another teacher on fire next week?"
"No! But ... you know, I kind of had fun, otherwise."
"Uh, Sam, you realize that detention isn't always like this, right?"
Sam sighs and gives one of the more blackened tentacles a kick.
"Yeah, I got that impression."
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: Oh, it's got to be at least 1,000 words, counting the notes. ;)
Spoilers: Pre-series
Warnings: VERY image-heavy.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Winchester boys, they'd be cleaning my apartment right now so I don't have to.
Summary: Written for
spn_flashback, prompt #215. Sam and Dean serve detention for being at the center of a huge school fight. (The principal doesn't believe their explanation.) The monitor is a) a demon, b) a fellow hunter, or c) asleep. So Sam and Dean pass notes the whole time.Author's note: Please forgive the lack of focus on some of the photos. This was hard. Fun, but hard. *whines*
Killing Time in Detention
*****
"Randy Maris."
Dean makes a face at that and peers into Whitehead Creek Junior/Senior High School's cramped cafeteria. Randy Maris is currently trying to balance a tray piled high with mashed potatoes as he walks from one side of the cafeteria to the delighted encouragement of the rest of the student body, although Dean's pretty sure it's cheating to try something like that when the top of your head is flat.
"Not a chance," Dean hisses. "That guy's roughly the size of the ninth grade."
"Yeah, like we couldn't take him down," Sam mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Okay, that's true, Dean has to admit, but it isn't going to help either one of them if the student body responds by jumping up and down on their heads as a group. Randy's insanely popular for some inexplicable reason. Dean would blame mind control, but you'd think somebody with a power like that would have a brain instead of a hamster in a wheel, and a lazy one at that. "What the hell is your problem with that guy, anyway?"
Sam frowns. "You mean, aside from what he did to my hair?"
"It was only sauerkraut, Sammy. It washed out, didn't it?"
"You try smelling like a hot dog for an entire school day and see how you like it."
"So? Randy smells like the bottom of a hot dog cart and he doesn't give a shit."
"That's because Randy is a tool," Sam grumbles.
Inside the cafeteria, the tray slips off Randy's head and splatters across the cheap linoleum, leading to a chorus of laughter. Dean doesn't want to admit it, but he's starting to think the student body at Whitehead Creek has the collective intelligence of cream cheese.
"Yeah, okay, Randy."
"Cool! Can I dump cole slaw on his head?"
"Sammy, you can dump it down his pants for all I care."
Okay, so maybe the entire student body didn't jump up and down on their heads.
But they do throw mashed potatoes at them, which somehow is just that much worse. Head wounds don't smell like Thanksgiving dinner for the rest of the day, you know what I'm saying?
The truth of the matter is that there's a rumor going around campus that the wood shop teacher, Mr. Bates, devours students alive during detention on Saturdays. Not like anybody's seen it or anything, but three students have already gone missing this school year, none of them model citizens and all of them on Saturdays. So the plan is to get themselves both sent to detention and catch the son of a bitch in the act, since Dad's off on a job in Duluth hunting something hollowing out the elderly.
Yeah, neither one of them had been about to ask for details on that one.
Of course, they can't exactly tell the principal that they want to get sent to detention so they can set the detention monitor on fire, or whatever it'll take to stop the guy.
Dean is easy enough. He doesn't even have to open his big mouth before Mrs. Janik's giving him a detention like she's handing out candy canes at Christmas.
Sammy and his wonderful reputation as a model student (even after only a month at this stupid school) have a harder time of it. She's just about to let him off with a warning when he snaps that it's not fair Dean got detention and he didn't and calls her a festering bucketful of gerbil intestines.
"Well, I''ve got to admit," Dean says later as they're leaving the office, "that's got to be worth at least twenty points for originality."
He rumples Sam's hair and locks an arm around his neck, and Sam can't decide whether to beam with pride or punch him in the stomach.
Luckily, it turns out that they're the only kids in detention this week.
Of course, it would probably be a hell of a lot better if they didn't have to go through the checklist beforehand.
"Knives?"
"Check."
"Matches?"
"Check."
"Guns."
"Well, gun, but ... yeah, check. Flamethrower?"
Dean grins and pats his own backpack fondly. "You know it, baby."
Mr. Bates doesn't say one word to them when they walk into the study hall where detention is held and settle into seats only a few feet away from one another.
He doesn't say anything when they put down their backpacks with loud clunks, or when he points to the "NO TALKING!" written on the chalkboard, or when he opens up his newpaper and officially barricades them from view.
Dean can't help but think that's a good thing, if only because if he does open his mouth, Dean won't be the least bit surprised if man-eating lemmings pour forth.
What? It's not like they haven't seen worse before. Or weirder.
It takes Dean thirty-two minutes to become mind-numbingly bored beyond all human comprehension. For Sammy, it'd be a personal record. Sam could always find something to occupy his mind, even something as useless as counting license plates from the back seat of the Impala or writing down song lyrics and movie quotes.
Oh, it's not like Dean's not the same way, but at a time like this it takes something completely different than Sammy's idea of a good time to keep him from tearing his hair out. After fifteen minutes of staring at Mr. Bates just waiting for his jaw to dislocate so he can better swallow them whole -- which unsurprisingly doesn't happening -- Dean wishes he could takes out the weapons and clean them while they're waiting, since God knows they can't attack a teacher just because somebody says he's a demonic creature who ate some students.
Well, okay, they could attack, but they'd end up spending the rest of the year making sure his replacement as detention monitor didn't do the same thing, and not as a civil courtesy at the request of the principal, that's for damn sure.
After a few minutes of trying to figure out whether or not he could get away with throwing sharpened pencils at the ceiling to see if he can get them to stick in the drop tiles, Dean writes something down, folds up the paper, and passes it to Sam.
Sammy stares at him oddly for a moment, but takes the note and opens it anyway.
Sam has to bite his bottom lip to keep from dying laughing, takes out a piece of paper from one of his own notebooks, and that's how it starts.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Dean makes a face and scribbles something down on the paper before folding it back up again.
Sam isn't the least bit surprised when Dean flings it directly at his head.
*
*
Okay, so maybe Dean asked for that one.
Doesn't stop him from scowling over at Sammy, though, who looks at him with innocent questioning eyes while drumming his fingers on the desktop. Dean would throw the knife he's got tucked into his boot at Sam's head if he wasn't pretty sure he's going to need it later.
Dean reaches over and snatches away Sam's notebook before he can protest, ripping out a page and tossing the notebook back. He can almost feel Sam's gaze weighing on the back of his neck, heavy and curious as his pen moves over the paper, right up until the moment when Dean folds up the piece of paper and tosses it back.
*
*
*
*
*
Dean expects Sam to roll his eyes as soon as he opens the note, but what he doesn't expect is for Sam to tear a new piece of paper from his notebook, write down a few words, and throw the note at him while coughing, and coughing loudly.
Dean darts a nervous glance towards the desk at the front of the study hall, but Mr. Bates doesn't look past the newspaper he's reading. Flashing Sam a dirty look, Dean picks up the note from the floor.
*
When Dean passes the note back to Sam, he nudges his chair just enough across the floor to make a loud screech echo in the study hall.
*
It takes Sam a while to come up with a response, writing so damn much that Dean suspects he's given up on passing notes and has moved on to writing the great American novel.
He hands Dean back the folded piece of paper and fakes a sneeze that would have blown down several trees and an outhouse if it had been real.
*
Dean doesn't even bother to fake a sneeze or a cough or the sudden expulsion of several internal organs before sending back a response.
*
*
*
Okay, so Dean would be the one being grateful if that ever happened, but a guy can't be witty all the time, all right?
Sam gags and crumples up the note at that, though, and you'd think if anything would get Mr. Bates' attention, that would do it. But the guy just keeps sitting there calmly reading his newspaper. Hell, it doesn't even look like he's turned the page since study hall started.
Dean can't help but stare at Mr. Bates in suspicion as Sam scribbles down a response and passes it over.
*
*
*
*
*
*
Sam stares at Dean for the longest time with this weird look on his face before scribbling down a response.
*
*
Dean's still chuckling as Sam writes out a response, getting so long-winded about the whole thing that Dean practically expects him to hand over a textbook's worth of insults, but the second he lifts his head to look at Dean, he catches sight of something over Dean's shoulder and drops the note.
"Uh, Dean," he says, "is that a tentacle?"
Yeah, it did turn out to be a tentacle.
One with gigantic suckers and seven other identical friends, all of which are attached to Mr. Bates, although Dean and Sam really don't want to check and see exactly where they're attached. Other than a curious nudge with the toe of Sam's sneaker, neither one of them makes a move to touch what's left of Mr. Bates after they fight back with the makeshift flamethrower Dean has hidden in his backpack.
The entire place smells like overbarbecued fish.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can we do this again next week?"
Dean narrows his eyes at his brother and says, "You want to set another teacher on fire next week?"
"No! But ... you know, I kind of had fun, otherwise."
"Uh, Sam, you realize that detention isn't always like this, right?"
Sam sighs and gives one of the more blackened tentacles a kick.
"Yeah, I got that impression."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:07 am (UTC)caramelpeanut butter centre. Hee.no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:18 am (UTC)This fic is MADE of awesome!!!
Foodfight! Weapons list! Tentacles!!
And the notes!!! OMG, the NOTES!!!
I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud this much reading a fic!!
You totally win!!! \o/
-Steph
:::surreptitiously patting herself on the back for the prompt:::
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:47 am (UTC)LOVE.
Date: 2006-09-03 01:56 am (UTC)I'd rather be filled with peanut butter.
There really is no response to that, is there?
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:05 am (UTC)DUUUUUUUUUDE!
*howls hysterically*
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:29 am (UTC)-NY
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:32 am (UTC)LOVE!
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 02:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 03:42 am (UTC)caramelpeanut butter-filled Dean, and frying teachers at detention is fun, and Dean doesn't want to throw a knife at Sam's head because he might need it later, and oh, this is so wonderfully perfect and the notes!!! Squeee!no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 03:52 am (UTC)