![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jebbypalTitle: Sparky, We're in Kansas
Spoilers/Timeline: Supernatural, I'm not entirely sure yet. Probably first season, after Asylum. Farscape, sometime mid-season 3 after Infinite Possibilities but before Into the Lion's Den.
Rating PG
Crack fic in all possibility, though I'm sure that my muse may eventually make it plotty and angsty somehow.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cassiee has all the blame for this thank you very much.
In Aeryn’s opinion, it’s unforgivable that Rygel noticed it first. It doesn’t matter that she was busy pouring over the navigation charts or that Crichton was actually paying attention to where the transport pod was going. One of them should have noticed first; now, the green frellnick would continually remind them about it.
Then again, there was no reason that they should have been worried about an attack from inside the transport pod. For once, everything had gone according to plan on their shopping trip. Well, except for getting slightly turned around in the meteor shower during lift off and ending up on the opposite side of the planet’s rings from Moya. But that was why she was trying to read the navigation charts while Crichton yelled at Chiana about something.
So instead, Rygel draws their attention to it.
“Which one of you bought the worthless blue glowing hole? You said there wasn’t any more currency when I wanted to buy the froologyns,” Rygel says.
“Froologyns smell like three week old gym socks that have been on a corpse, so no, Sparky, there wasn’t any money for those. And what blue thing?”
Aeryn looks where Rygel is pointing and sure enough, there’s an empty circle of air, glowing blue, and … expanding. Drawing her weapon, she backs up. “Crichton?”
“Right behind you, Aeryn. Chiana, tell Moya to grab us with the docking net as soon as she can see us through the ring’s radiation.” Metal snicking against leather tells her that Winona has been drawn.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Think? I think we’d better hope it doesn’t lead to the world without shrimp,” Crichton says.
A squawk from Rygel is all the warning they have before his sled bumps into them and past and is sucked into the blue hole. Somehow, Aeryn manages to grab a piece of Rygel’s robe before he joins his throne sled. When he screams in pain, she tries not to think about exactly what she might be holding onto.
“Enough of this,” she says and takes aim at the hole.
“Aeryn, no!” is the last thing she hears.
The brakes wake him up. Or more accurately, the forward momentum of his body crushing his knees into the dashboard wakes him up, but that’s caused by Dean slamming the brakes on, so same difference.
“I think I hit something,” Dean says.
“I think you broke my legs. God damn it,” Sam curses. “It’s probably just a groundhog.”
Even in the dark cab of the Impala, Sam can feel Dean rolling his eyes. “Dude, the road’s empty. I’d know if it was a groundhog. This was something bigger. Much bigger. And metal.”
“So now the prairie dogs are throwing bicycles at us?”
“Just grab a flashlight and help me check the tires.”
“Yeah, sure. Just as soon as the jaws of life pull me out of the glove compartment.”
“Wuss,” Dean says as he slams the door. Sam rubs his legs for a minute. The least his brother owes his shins is to endure the cold alone. That’s when he glances at his wrist and sees that his watch has stopped. He looks over his shoulder to where he last saw Dean’s flashlight and sees a hazy blue glow instead of white light from Dean’s maglite.
“Dean?” Sam calls out as he opens his door.
“Back here.” Sam sees that Dean is at the rear of the car with the trunk open. He’s pointing a shot gun at the blue glowing disc that has appeared above the Impala. “That thing is so dead if it even thinks about hurting my car.”
“That’s not metal,” Sam observes.
“Dude, I didn’t hit that,” Dean replies as he hands Sam a shotgun. That’s when the disc flares a little brighter, opens wider and…
Thud. THUD. THUD.
A man and a woman lay on top of the Impala where they fell and the blue disc is no where in sight.
“They are so paying for any dents,” Dean says. Sam just nods and wonders when this particular dream…nightmare…whatever will end.
Aeryn wakes up when her body hits the ground. Opening her eyes, she sees two pissed off Sabaceans in odd civilian clothing walking away. Across from her is some sort of metal contraption. Crichton is lying on top of it (and in the middle of a sizable dent). Her body goes on autopilot when she sees the taller one grab Crichton’s shoulders.
She has the tall one on the ground when something hits her in the back. Turning, she sees that the short one has a projectile weapon of some sort aimed at her.
“Sam!?”
“Yeah, Dean, I’m fine. Just more bruises to match my cracked shins.”
“Send us back,” Aeryn demands.
“What did she say?,” the short one replies. The last bit starts to come out in an ever increasing pitch. Good old Rygel. “What the hell did you do to my voice? This isn’t funny,” he says when the tall one bends over laughing.
Of course, that’s when it all goes to hell. And of course, it’s Crichton’s fault.
Crichton takes advantage of the distraction to launch off the top of the metal contraption onto the short one. Aeryn turns to face the tall one (Sam), whose laughter has been replaced with a look of shock. She handles him easily until she hears the blast.
“Crichton!” she yells at the same time that Sam, underneath her and facedown on the ground, yells “Dean!”
Crichton looks at her, pain in his eyes, and falls to the ground on his knees. All Aeryn can think is not again. She can’t watch him die again.
Crichton’s hand touches the blast mark on his leather and lifts to his mouth. “Salt? You shot me with salt? What kind of fucked up world is this?”
“One where we don’t enjoy freaks landing on our cars,” the short one replies.
“Dean, on the car,” the one under Aeryn’s knee says. She looks up to see Rygel pushing himself up off the top of the car.
Dean crab walks backwards a few feet, but Crichton grabs his feet and wrestles him until he’s sitting in a similar position on the short one’s back as Aeryn is on the tall one.
“Anyone see where Winona fell?”
Aeryn laughs.
Dean’s upset. The Impala’s roof is dented. At least one if its tires is blown from some sort of metal contraption that must of come through the hole with these freaks. And Sam got beat up by a girl.
Though if Dean had to pick a wrestling partner, the leather clad woman would definitely top his list.
But only if she hadn’t been responsible for denting the Impala. He has his priorities straight after all.
“Achoo!”
The strange man and woman both manage to jump out of the way so Dean gets to add being covered with ectoplasm by a green slug-like demon to his list of ways his night has gone completely wrong.
“Sam, tell me it’s Friday the thirteenth.”
“You know it’s not. It’s May twenty third and a Wednesday.”
“It’s at least the witching hour right? There’s got to be something that caused us to run into these two freaks when they raised the green booger demon, right?”
The leather clad man starts laughing. “I like that. It definitely gets added to the nickname list.”
The woman says something. Dean can’t make out any of it other than something that sounds close to booger. “Did you catch any of that?” Dean asks Sam.
“No, Dean. I only know Latin and a little bit of Russian. Not whatever that was.”
Dean has a horrible realization. “Christo,” he shouts.
The two people and the green slug just stare at him. “Dean, the guy’s obviously not a demon. Nothing happened when you shot him,” Sam points out.
“Speaking of that, how..who..no, why load a shotgun with salt? And why are you talking about demons?” the man asks.
“Because salt repels spirits,” Dean says, as if talking to a five year old.
“And we hunt demons,” Sam adds.
The slug says something. It sounds even weirder than what the woman said. But it’s apparently not a demon according to the Latin test. Maybe it’s a mutated freak like the skinwalker.
“Okay, Okay, I’ll ask. Wait a second, you guys understand me, but not them.”
Dean nods. “Foreign lunatics and a slug. You better have insurance or the money to pay for my car.”
“Earth, this is Earth!” the guy shouts. He jumps up and grabs the woman and swings in circles with her until they both fall down in the tall grass at the side of the highway.
That’s it. As much as he loves the Impala, a dent isn’t worth his life. “You know what, forget it. It’s been a long night and I ran over something of yours, you dented my car. Let’s just call it even,” Dean says as he stands. “Sam get in the car and let’s get out of here.”
Aeryn pushes Crichton off of her. “Crichton, we can’t let them get away.”
“Aeryn, it doesn’t matter, we’re on Earth. I don’t know how. I don’t care how, but we’re on Earth!”
“And in the middle of nowhere. With no transportation. Or communication. And a Hynerian.” The last bit finally gets through to him.
“Hey, wait a second, guys. Could you at least give us a lift to a phone or something? Please?” Crichton asks.
“Dean, they need help,” the tall one says.
“Sam, they sneezed on us. And are excited to be on this planet. I have no interest in surviving a pack of hell hounds just to be killed by a pair of lunatics and their…”
“Our dog. He was the runt of the litter and deformed at birth. A real mutt. But the wife and I, we’re suckers for the underdog,” Crichton explains.
“Wife?” Aeryn mouths. Crichton waves her off and proceeds to join Sam in giving Dean puppy dog eyes.
“Dog? What’s a dog? I demand to know what a dog is! A mutt better be a euphemism for emperor, Crichton,” Rygel shouts. Aeryn picks him up and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“No, absolutely not,” Dean says. “Get in the car, Sam.”
Aeryn sees Sam’s shoulders slump and knows that it’s now or never. Carefully, she places her tongue just so and opens her mouth.
“Please.”
Dean’s head whips around, as does Crichton’s. She silences Crichton with a glance and looks back at Dean. “Please,” she says again.
Dean sighs. “Fine. But if that mutt gets anything on the seats, I’m skinning it and making a pair of shoes.”
Rygel squirms in her arms, but Aeryn keeps firm hold of him as she walks across the pavement to slide into the backseat of the car.
TBC, if the muse so wishes.
Spoilers/Timeline: Supernatural, I'm not entirely sure yet. Probably first season, after Asylum. Farscape, sometime mid-season 3 after Infinite Possibilities but before Into the Lion's Den.
Rating PG
Crack fic in all possibility, though I'm sure that my muse may eventually make it plotty and angsty somehow.
cassiee has all the blame for this thank you very much.In Aeryn’s opinion, it’s unforgivable that Rygel noticed it first. It doesn’t matter that she was busy pouring over the navigation charts or that Crichton was actually paying attention to where the transport pod was going. One of them should have noticed first; now, the green frellnick would continually remind them about it.
Then again, there was no reason that they should have been worried about an attack from inside the transport pod. For once, everything had gone according to plan on their shopping trip. Well, except for getting slightly turned around in the meteor shower during lift off and ending up on the opposite side of the planet’s rings from Moya. But that was why she was trying to read the navigation charts while Crichton yelled at Chiana about something.
So instead, Rygel draws their attention to it.
“Which one of you bought the worthless blue glowing hole? You said there wasn’t any more currency when I wanted to buy the froologyns,” Rygel says.
“Froologyns smell like three week old gym socks that have been on a corpse, so no, Sparky, there wasn’t any money for those. And what blue thing?”
Aeryn looks where Rygel is pointing and sure enough, there’s an empty circle of air, glowing blue, and … expanding. Drawing her weapon, she backs up. “Crichton?”
“Right behind you, Aeryn. Chiana, tell Moya to grab us with the docking net as soon as she can see us through the ring’s radiation.” Metal snicking against leather tells her that Winona has been drawn.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Think? I think we’d better hope it doesn’t lead to the world without shrimp,” Crichton says.
A squawk from Rygel is all the warning they have before his sled bumps into them and past and is sucked into the blue hole. Somehow, Aeryn manages to grab a piece of Rygel’s robe before he joins his throne sled. When he screams in pain, she tries not to think about exactly what she might be holding onto.
“Enough of this,” she says and takes aim at the hole.
“Aeryn, no!” is the last thing she hears.
The brakes wake him up. Or more accurately, the forward momentum of his body crushing his knees into the dashboard wakes him up, but that’s caused by Dean slamming the brakes on, so same difference.
“I think I hit something,” Dean says.
“I think you broke my legs. God damn it,” Sam curses. “It’s probably just a groundhog.”
Even in the dark cab of the Impala, Sam can feel Dean rolling his eyes. “Dude, the road’s empty. I’d know if it was a groundhog. This was something bigger. Much bigger. And metal.”
“So now the prairie dogs are throwing bicycles at us?”
“Just grab a flashlight and help me check the tires.”
“Yeah, sure. Just as soon as the jaws of life pull me out of the glove compartment.”
“Wuss,” Dean says as he slams the door. Sam rubs his legs for a minute. The least his brother owes his shins is to endure the cold alone. That’s when he glances at his wrist and sees that his watch has stopped. He looks over his shoulder to where he last saw Dean’s flashlight and sees a hazy blue glow instead of white light from Dean’s maglite.
“Dean?” Sam calls out as he opens his door.
“Back here.” Sam sees that Dean is at the rear of the car with the trunk open. He’s pointing a shot gun at the blue glowing disc that has appeared above the Impala. “That thing is so dead if it even thinks about hurting my car.”
“That’s not metal,” Sam observes.
“Dude, I didn’t hit that,” Dean replies as he hands Sam a shotgun. That’s when the disc flares a little brighter, opens wider and…
Thud. THUD. THUD.
A man and a woman lay on top of the Impala where they fell and the blue disc is no where in sight.
“They are so paying for any dents,” Dean says. Sam just nods and wonders when this particular dream…nightmare…whatever will end.
Aeryn wakes up when her body hits the ground. Opening her eyes, she sees two pissed off Sabaceans in odd civilian clothing walking away. Across from her is some sort of metal contraption. Crichton is lying on top of it (and in the middle of a sizable dent). Her body goes on autopilot when she sees the taller one grab Crichton’s shoulders.
She has the tall one on the ground when something hits her in the back. Turning, she sees that the short one has a projectile weapon of some sort aimed at her.
“Sam!?”
“Yeah, Dean, I’m fine. Just more bruises to match my cracked shins.”
“Send us back,” Aeryn demands.
“What did she say?,” the short one replies. The last bit starts to come out in an ever increasing pitch. Good old Rygel. “What the hell did you do to my voice? This isn’t funny,” he says when the tall one bends over laughing.
Of course, that’s when it all goes to hell. And of course, it’s Crichton’s fault.
Crichton takes advantage of the distraction to launch off the top of the metal contraption onto the short one. Aeryn turns to face the tall one (Sam), whose laughter has been replaced with a look of shock. She handles him easily until she hears the blast.
“Crichton!” she yells at the same time that Sam, underneath her and facedown on the ground, yells “Dean!”
Crichton looks at her, pain in his eyes, and falls to the ground on his knees. All Aeryn can think is not again. She can’t watch him die again.
Crichton’s hand touches the blast mark on his leather and lifts to his mouth. “Salt? You shot me with salt? What kind of fucked up world is this?”
“One where we don’t enjoy freaks landing on our cars,” the short one replies.
“Dean, on the car,” the one under Aeryn’s knee says. She looks up to see Rygel pushing himself up off the top of the car.
Dean crab walks backwards a few feet, but Crichton grabs his feet and wrestles him until he’s sitting in a similar position on the short one’s back as Aeryn is on the tall one.
“Anyone see where Winona fell?”
Aeryn laughs.
Dean’s upset. The Impala’s roof is dented. At least one if its tires is blown from some sort of metal contraption that must of come through the hole with these freaks. And Sam got beat up by a girl.
Though if Dean had to pick a wrestling partner, the leather clad woman would definitely top his list.
But only if she hadn’t been responsible for denting the Impala. He has his priorities straight after all.
“Achoo!”
The strange man and woman both manage to jump out of the way so Dean gets to add being covered with ectoplasm by a green slug-like demon to his list of ways his night has gone completely wrong.
“Sam, tell me it’s Friday the thirteenth.”
“You know it’s not. It’s May twenty third and a Wednesday.”
“It’s at least the witching hour right? There’s got to be something that caused us to run into these two freaks when they raised the green booger demon, right?”
The leather clad man starts laughing. “I like that. It definitely gets added to the nickname list.”
The woman says something. Dean can’t make out any of it other than something that sounds close to booger. “Did you catch any of that?” Dean asks Sam.
“No, Dean. I only know Latin and a little bit of Russian. Not whatever that was.”
Dean has a horrible realization. “Christo,” he shouts.
The two people and the green slug just stare at him. “Dean, the guy’s obviously not a demon. Nothing happened when you shot him,” Sam points out.
“Speaking of that, how..who..no, why load a shotgun with salt? And why are you talking about demons?” the man asks.
“Because salt repels spirits,” Dean says, as if talking to a five year old.
“And we hunt demons,” Sam adds.
The slug says something. It sounds even weirder than what the woman said. But it’s apparently not a demon according to the Latin test. Maybe it’s a mutated freak like the skinwalker.
“Okay, Okay, I’ll ask. Wait a second, you guys understand me, but not them.”
Dean nods. “Foreign lunatics and a slug. You better have insurance or the money to pay for my car.”
“Earth, this is Earth!” the guy shouts. He jumps up and grabs the woman and swings in circles with her until they both fall down in the tall grass at the side of the highway.
That’s it. As much as he loves the Impala, a dent isn’t worth his life. “You know what, forget it. It’s been a long night and I ran over something of yours, you dented my car. Let’s just call it even,” Dean says as he stands. “Sam get in the car and let’s get out of here.”
Aeryn pushes Crichton off of her. “Crichton, we can’t let them get away.”
“Aeryn, it doesn’t matter, we’re on Earth. I don’t know how. I don’t care how, but we’re on Earth!”
“And in the middle of nowhere. With no transportation. Or communication. And a Hynerian.” The last bit finally gets through to him.
“Hey, wait a second, guys. Could you at least give us a lift to a phone or something? Please?” Crichton asks.
“Dean, they need help,” the tall one says.
“Sam, they sneezed on us. And are excited to be on this planet. I have no interest in surviving a pack of hell hounds just to be killed by a pair of lunatics and their…”
“Our dog. He was the runt of the litter and deformed at birth. A real mutt. But the wife and I, we’re suckers for the underdog,” Crichton explains.
“Wife?” Aeryn mouths. Crichton waves her off and proceeds to join Sam in giving Dean puppy dog eyes.
“Dog? What’s a dog? I demand to know what a dog is! A mutt better be a euphemism for emperor, Crichton,” Rygel shouts. Aeryn picks him up and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“No, absolutely not,” Dean says. “Get in the car, Sam.”
Aeryn sees Sam’s shoulders slump and knows that it’s now or never. Carefully, she places her tongue just so and opens her mouth.
“Please.”
Dean’s head whips around, as does Crichton’s. She silences Crichton with a glance and looks back at Dean. “Please,” she says again.
Dean sighs. “Fine. But if that mutt gets anything on the seats, I’m skinning it and making a pair of shoes.”
Rygel squirms in her arms, but Aeryn keeps firm hold of him as she walks across the pavement to slide into the backseat of the car.
TBC, if the muse so wishes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-04 03:43 am (UTC)Thank you;) I'm just paranoid about whether what I think is funny is funny to anyone else. Leftover trauma from moving a lot as a kid and always finding a different sense of humor in the different regions of the state that I moved to (or so it seemed).
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-04 04:04 am (UTC)But I like your funny!! It tickles my funny in the right places. :-)