DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, just poke 'em to see what happens. Any similarity between the Little Old Lady in this story and any actual Little Old Ladies is purely coincidental – although while we're on the subject, I suspect the writers of Supernatural of basing the character of Castiel on my geography teacher from high school (he was, reputedly, the second funniest teacher in the staffroom). But Honky Duck is absolutely real.
SUMMARY: Sam and Dean are driving Bobby nuts, so he sends them to help an old friend who has a small problem with a ghost who doesn't seem to realise he's dead. Simple, right? But soon enough, accusations of bad manners, OCD and flatulence are flying… Dean gets kissed like he's never been kissed before, and Sam and Bobby won't stop laughing at him. How do they fix this? Can you overdose on gingerbread? Is Heavenly intervention their only hope? Can you actually rent a skunk by the hour? And where the hell is Honky Duck?
RATING: T, for a bit of language (you try your best, but they do use names to each other, don't they?) and scatological revenge plans.
I've been a bit of a lurker here before, but never thought I could write a story of my own. This idea came to me while I was doing the vacuuming (you'll see why). It's my first time, so please be gentle. Setting could be any time from S4 onwards. Free-to-air hasn't shown S5 Down Under, yet. Sucks to be us.
The brothers Winchester were knocking around at Bobby's place after a particularly antisocial poltergeist had decided to use Dean for ping-pong practice, and had thrown him into a particularly solid antique bookcase, filled with particularly solid antique books. He sustained a sprained knee, but Sam still had to deploy Bitchface #4™ (You Are Injured Worse Than Me, Jerk, Now Shut Up And Give Me The Keys) to get them on the road to Bobby's yard.
The problem with Damaged Dean was that Damaged Dean didn't like being damaged. Damaged Sam didn't actually like being damaged either, but Damaged Sam was contented enough to find something in Bobby's library to occupy him for as long as it took for damage to heal. In Dean's opinion, it wasn't natural for a body to sit that still and pay attention to one thing for that long. No, Damaged Dean was not as easily amused. Damaged Dean did not like sitting still.
Damaged Dean sat not terribly still on the sofa for several days, channel surfing and being acronymed by Sam – "You can take your R.I.C.E. and shove it, Nurse Ratched, I'm fine… OW!" – until Bobby announced that he'd found them a job. An old acquaintance (with a passing understanding of what extra-curricular activity Bobby took up after his wife died) had called, and asked for his help. It was just a salt and burn, he explained. The ghost wasn't being violent, it just kept popping up at inopportune times, and didn't seem to realise that it had shuffled off this mortal coil.
Dean's knee would be in no danger of further injury, and best of all, it would get Dean and Sam out of his house, because Bobby was pretty sure that if he had to put up with the older Winchester twitching like he had ants in his pants for much longer, then said older Winchester was going to be walking funny for a bit longer, not so much because his knee was sore, but because he was going to have one of Bobby's boots strategically inserted, strangely enough, where Dean had told Sam he could shove his acronym.
"It'll get you two idjits out from under my feet, doing something useful," he'd said, writing down the address for them, "And there are some great small breweries in that part of the country. Tell Lucy I said hello." So they'd hit the road, headed for Montana.
It was in transit that Sam asked his brother,
"Dean, did you think there was something… funny about Bobby?"
"Oh yeah, Sam, Bobby was hilarious," sighed Dean from the passenger side, "Right up to and including the part where he told me that if I didn't stop fidgeting and whining like a six year old kept home with chickenpox, he'd put his foot right up my…"
"No, that's not what I meant," said Sam, privately agreeing with Bobby about the six year old thing, "I mean, did he seem at all, well, strange to you when he told us about this job? Evasive? I kind of got the feeling that he did it with a straight face."
"He did do it with a straight face, Sam, he definitely was not laughing. Believe me, he definitely was not joking when he threatened to kick me in the…"
"I just mean, I had the feeling he was trying very hard not to grin while he was telling us about it," clarified Sam.
"Nah, you heard him, he just wanted us out from under his feet. Frankly, this job is just what I need, I don't like sitting down all day."
"Dean, you have been sitting down all day," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, but I'm sitting down, going somewhere. It's completely different," stated Dean, refolding the map as Sam gave him a brief shot of Bitchface #7™ (You Can Be Impossibly Unreasonable Dean, You Know That?), "Take the next exit, bitch."