WELCOME TO MY GARDEN
By: Karen B.
Summary: The boys are hexed. Bobby prepares a spell to unhex them, but something goes very, very, very, very wrong - very!
Rated: Welcome to my kooky story! A little bit of humor, maybe even crack. Little bit of endearing Bobby. Little bit of hurt Sam…little bit of protective Dean. Quite a bit of kooky, blended in with a bit of fun - I hope. Dean POV.
Time set: Early years.
Disclaimer: Dude, not the owner! Obviously.
Rated: Please don't beat me with a 'damned' wooden spoon for this!
Note: Story is complete. Will post more very soon.
Bobby stood at the stove a frayed dishtowel slung over his shoulder, steady hand stirring the contents he was brewing in a large cast-iron pot with a wooden spoon.
"What were you two thinking?" he growled, like one of his vicious junkyard dogs.
"What were we supposed to be thinking?" I asked Bobby, peering over his shoulder at the thick, gray, bubbling crap in the pot that looked a lot like that fruity shit at the bottom of Sam's yogurt cup. I swallowed hard, leaning toward Sam, who was standing right beside me. "Dude, I whispered in his ear, "Don't drink that."
"I can't believe you two dog-gone idgits let that witch put a hex on you!" Wooden spoon in hand, Bobby turned away from the boiling pot on the stove, releasing his boiling anger on me. "From the chant Sam described, the next time one of you kisses a lady friend, you'll turn into a toad." Bobby shrugged. "'Course… I don't really care, but your lady friend might. What's really got me riled is the fact you go and blow her away to smithereens before you get her to reverse the curse. Dumb." Bobby frowned at me. "And," he directed at Sam, "Dumber."
"Hey." Sam held up both hands. "I didn't even see her coming after her little chant. She got me from behind." Sam sent me a bitchy look. "Dean's the one who killed her." Sam's bitchy look, flipped to innocent-puppy the second his eyes met back up with Bobby's.
"Thanks for that, Sam," I growled. "You didn't see her coming, if you recall, because you were too busy being passed out on the floor, curled into a ball."
"I wasn't passed out Dean. I was unconscious," Sam defended.
"Whatever, man. The green bitch, was a total bitch, Bobby. I had no choice but to gank her before she ganked us."
"Well, don't that just dill my pickle." Bobby scowled.
'Dill my pickle?' I mouthed, glancing over at Sam who seemed just as confused by the words as I was.
"Boy, you are two bricks shy of a full load, ain't ya?"
"So sue me." I dared Bobby. " I got a lousy twenty bucks to my name." I ducked away from the wooden spoon, suddenly stabbing a little too close to my head.
"Don't sas me, Dean Eugene Winchester!" Bobby spat, his face stone-cold.
"Oh, God." I cringed at the use of my middle name.
"God can't help you, now. You're not too old for me to tan your backside with this spoon. You here me, kid?" Bobby directed his wrath toward Sam. "And you," Bobby said, spoon lashing out in a whoosh, just barely missing Sam's right ear. "That big, doe-eyed thing…don't work on me."
"It's more like that big, puppy-eyed thing," I corrected.
Sam and Bobby both shot me a withering glare. "Shut up, Dean." Their combined voices, shrill in my ears.
"Look, Bobby." I reflexively reached for the spoon. "Can you put that thing down and chill."
Bobby's eyes went wide, like I'd just peeled a band aide off a fresh wound. "Only thing that's gonna be doin' any chillin', son, is your ass-end on a block of ice when I get done with you."
Bobby made his move, like friggin' Clint Eastwood drawing twin pistols. Before I could whistle Dixie, the 'damned' wooden spoon came down with a whack on top of my head.
"Ouch. Hey. That hurt." I rubbed at the forming lump.
"Well it ain't supposed to tickle." Bobby eyed me, about to haul off and whack me again - harder.
"Okay, okay, all right." Sam slid in between us. "Wait, wait, Bobby. We're sorry. We screwed up." Baby brother held up both hands apologetically, a horrified look on his face - one I recognized.
Sam and I had both felt the pain and misfortune of picking splinters out of our butt-cheeks. And we'd thought Dad's punishment regime was bad.
I remembered vividly the day little twelve-year-old Sammy had gotten swatted ten times across his bare ass, for hiding out all night in a '56' Ford Fairlane (ugly mother of a car) reading one of Bobby's monster manuals. When I was fifteen, I'd gotten double Sam's punishment for drinking half a bottle of the man's best Scotch. Even after all these years, Bobby still thought it his job to scare-us-straight with the 'damned' thing - worked too.
"Look, Bobby…" I stepped protectively around and in front of Sam - couldn't let the kid take a swat for me.
"Boy! Don't you 'look Bobby', me!" Bobby rushed forward, twirling the 'damned' spoon in the air, like a hooded ninja assassin with a Samurai sword.
"Ho, ho, ho!" I backed Sam and I up against the edge of the kitchen table. "Bobby, easy with that thing."
"Sit!" Bobby ordered, pointing the deadly weapon right at my chest. "Or I'll spoon your hearts out."
"Crap!" Sam and I sounded off together, scrambling over each other in a crazed game of musical chairs to find a seat.
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Idgits," he huffed, going back to the boiling pot, blending oils, herbs and whatever other smelly, dead shit he had put in there to reverse the hex. "So, which one of you forgot to use the rings of protection I gave you?"
I glanced across the table at Sam. He had that 'nu-uh he did it' look on his face.
"Waiting on an answer, dilly and dally." Bobby stopped stirring.
I could tell by the way Bobby's back stiffened if one of us didn't come up with a good answer and fast - we'd be researching local companies that delivered blocks of ice. Wasn't my fault the rings happen to slip down the drain in the men's room at that gas station we'd stopped at; while fighting Sam for possession of the last papertowel.
I gave Sam a quick, swift kick under the table. "Answer the man, Sam."
"Rrrr," Sam cleared his throat. "Sir, we both did, sir," he said, never taking his eyes off me.
"So, this stuff will undo the hex?" I asked, watching Bobby closely as he set the 'damned' spoon down and began to ladle the thick potion he'd just concocted into two, white china teacups.
"Ladies. Teatime" Bobby brought us the drinks.
I quirked a brow at Sam. 'Teacups?' I mouthed.
"Drink up." Bobby sat the delicate china cups on the saucers in front of us. "Before you two start scratching in the dirt and clucking, like the complete chicken-shit igits that you are."
"I thought we were going to turn into toads," I pressed.
"All right, all right." I picked up the gay teacup, steam curling its way into my nose.
The pungent scent, one I couldn't describe to save my life, gagged me. I glanced over at Sam. He looked virgin-white, sniffing at the drink, also gagging. Maybe turning toad wouldn't be so bad.
"Drink! That's not a request!" Bobby put both hands on his hips, daring us to disobey, like he was some old woman. "You two boys are not leaving this table until you drink every last drop!" He turned to pick up the 'damned' spoon, a show of force. "You best get to drinkin'," he advised.
"You first." I told Sam.
"Because I'm the awesome, big brother… and because… I said so."
"Dude, that's not fair."
"It's just one cup, drink it, man… or else." I tipped my chin toward Bobby who was clearing the counter, still holding that damned spoon at the ready.
Sam looked at Bobby, shivered hard, then brought the teacup to his lips. He took a whiff. "Guh," he choked, turning his head away. "Smells like, smells like, like…like…"
"A dog's ass," I helped Sam out.
"Doesn't matter what it smells like, drink!" Bobby ordered in a no-nonsense tone as he brought the entire pot to the table and plunked the dog's ass smack in the middle between Sam and I. "The whole pot, or the spell won't be lifted." Bobby smiled, laying down the law.
Sam and I looked at each other in utter horror. One gay teacup of dog's ass - I could handle - but a whole friggin' pot?
"I'll be in the other room doing some reading." Bobby, A.K.A., Rachel Ray, walked out of the kitchen - 'damned' spoon in hand. "I can hear you choking and gurgling from out here, so don't think about leaving the table until every drop is gone," Bobby hollered from the other room.
"Dean…I…uhhhh." Sam looked like he'd just swallowed his tongue.
"Pretend it's Caviar, Sammy."
He curled his lip in obvious disgust. "Not helping."
I put my game face on. "Cheers, bro."
We clinked our teacups against one another's and took a swig of the thick, creamy gelatin at the same time.
"Oh. My. God," Sam choked and gurgled.
"Sonofabitch." I pressed my knuckles hard against my mouth, desperate not to puke dog's ass all over Bobby's red tablecloth.