Title: Ancient Penguin Evil (Rated PG-13) (1/?)
Fandom: Supernatural, Madagascar
Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, Sarah Blake, Skipper, Rico, Private and Kowalski, the Madagascar penguins.
A/N: Yeah, you read right. I think of all the characters in Madagascar,visually the penguins are the easiest ones to fit in RL. If you can't wrap your head around that, then just think of Sam and Dean as being computer generated.
Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Warnings: cussing, weird violence of the tentacled persuasion, gratuitous violence. Dean to the rescue (maybe), Sam and Sarah Blake in peril.
Summary: Big bad goes out for a walk, gets the munchies, decides to chow down on the local populace.
Disclaimer: You know I don't own them. I know I don't own them. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?
Chapter One - breaking news
It's the Winchester way. Just follow the screams.
Dean pops around from behind the corner, brings the Colt up and fires five shots in quick succession. Good solid hits, every last one, right in the thing's head and torso. It staggers backwards, howling and yelping, giving the last tourist enough time to scramble past Dean into safety.
Damn critter looks like some kind of giant freakoid mutant penguin the size of a school bus, slick pearl grey skin, red eyes, with tentacles where those useless wings or flippers or whatever the hell they are would be. God, this sonofabitch is fugly. It hurts Dean's eyes to look at it.
Bad as it is to look at it, the smell is much much worse. Dean makes a face as he catches a whiff of sardines and sulfur, mixed in with other smells that he's pretty sure are biological in origin, like blood and bile. He makes a conscious effort not to breathe too deeply, doesn't want to identify what all that funk's composed of.
A tentacle comes whipping through the air at him, and Dean ducks down without much thought. The tentacle takes out a pretty sizeable chunk of concrete right where his head was. Dean brings up the shotgun, tracks the bastard, and pulls the trigger. The tentacle breaks apart in a blossom of torn grey flesh and green goo that's probably blood.
"If it bleeds, we can kill it," Dean smirks in his best Ahnald imitation, and as usual, the brilliance of it is lost on the twenty or so tourists cowering in the space behind him. Can't really blame 'em, though. They came that close to being eaten.
Dean leans forward around the corner, just enough to see.
The tentacle re-forms itself in mid-air.
Son of a bitch…
That's the Winchester way, too. Nothing's ever that easy.
But apparently the fug's had enough. Getting blasted like that did hurt, apparently. It bawls like a bitch as it retreats, shuffling back towards the amphitheater, and that's something, at least.
Helicopters buzz around overhead. News choppers or police, doesn't really matter. Dean doesn't even bother looking up. No sense in giving them an even better look at his face.
He shifts the duffel over to his right shoulder as he puts his back to the wall. Got Dad's journal in there, his other sawed off, holy water, some amulets Bobby gave him, salt, silver, and special loads of ammo.
Lots of special loads.
Hell, he didn't know exactly what to pack for, what to expect. Real good way to get killed, all right. Dean could see John Winchester shaking his head, wherever he was. You need intel, Dean. You don't go in blind. You have to know what you're dealing with.
Sorry, Dad. Not this time.
Only thing Dean knew was half an hour ago he was sitting at that fast food place, red meat and pie well within striking distance, when he started having the mother of all bad feelings, about Sam and Sarah Blake. She was in town, and she wanted to spend the afternoon at the zoo. Two's company, three's a crowd, and Dean figured he could find something to occupy his time while those two crazy kids caught up on old times.
Then the bottom dropped out and everything went straight to hell in the proverbial handbasket.
It was the same damn feeling he'd had the night Jessica died, the same feeling that told him to turn back that night. It made him feel cold all over, and Dean couldn't ignore it, then or now. Underneath the bright California sunshine Dean can still feel that coldness slither and worm its way down his spine.
He shakes it off.
Got work to do.
One of the tourists, a tall skinny kid with really bad acne, raises his cell phone up to take a picture of him, and Dean cocks an eyebrow at him and shakes his head no. Don't piss off the man with the guns, you moron.
The kid gets the hint and puts the phone away. Not that Dean would've shot him, of course, but the last thing he needs is the feds back on his trail, with proof positive that Dean Winchester's alive and well.
What the hell. He's screwed already, anyway. Lead pipe clinch there are news choppers in the area. He's probably made the 'breaking news' segment: "...this just in, presumed dead fugitive Dean Winchester has turned up at the zoo alive, armed and dangerous. Now let's go to chopper five..."
Welcome to my world, Dean thinks to himself.
The tourists stare at him, take it all in: the attitude, the guns, the duffel on his shoulder. He's not a cop, but he handles himself like he knows what he's doing.
They can sense on some level that Dean's a freak. A freak with lethal combat skills, but a freak nonetheless, and they're normal: families, wives, husbands, kids. But guess what boys and girls? There are things out there in the dark, things with teeth, and sometimes being in the bright sunlight just isn't enough to save your unsuspecting ass.
One of the dads, a big dude with a brush cut, edges a little closer. "What --what the hell is that thing?"
"Sorry." Dean grins as he pops the clip on his Colt, exchanges it for another one that was blessed by one of Jim Murphy's colleagues. "Didn't get the memo on that one."
Brush Cut's rattled. "What the hell do you mean you don't know, you bastard?"
Some of the other men behind him start grumbling.
"Excuse me?" Dean says darkly. He raises the shotgun up, just a little.
"Sorry…sorry. Dammit, what do you think it is?" Joe Six Pack is freaking out, and Dean sure in the hell doesn't blame him, but he's not about to let himself get jumped by a mob of hysterical tourists. Sam would never let him hear the end of it.
Dean shrugs. "Oh, I dunno. Hell demon bent on world domination. Or just a mutant freak out for a stroll. Big bad goes out for a walk, gets the munchies, decides to chow down on the local populace."
"That's…that's not funny."
"Damn right it isn't." There's a dangerous glint in Dean's eyes. "That freak's got ahold of my brother, and I'm gonna tear 'em a new one."
The PA system squawks into life overhead. Dean glances up, frowning. Fuck. Now what?
"Hi there!" The voice over the intercom is male, sounds suspiciously like Charlton Heston or Robert Stack. "I'm not with security, I'm just pretending I am for today. Well, as you probably know by now, we're run into some technical difficulties, so to avoid being eaten alive, I suggest that everybody run like hell for the nearest exits and not look back. Thank you for visiting the San Diego Zoo, and have a nice day!"
The PA system crackles with static, then:
"Well, boys, we might not make it out of here alive, but we're gonna take that thing with us. What, Kowalski?"
"Uh, Skipper, I think you need to push that button…."
"Huh, is this thing still on?"
The PA system crackles and screeches like a damned soul. It goes on and on.
Dean shakes his head in disbelief. Damn civilians.
"Well?" He quirks one eyebrow at the tourists, and they stare back at him, all deer in the headlights. "You heard the man." Dean nods in the direction behind them. "Normal's that way. Time for you to go."
Joe Six Pack and his brood head out in that direction.
Dean follows the screams.