Disclaimer: Nothing and no one related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just taking them out for a little spin. Kripke and Co. has the honor of ownership.

Warning: This is a pure, unadulterated piece of . . . crack. I don't know from where it came, but it's weird. And hopefully pretty funny. If not, just remember to throw the rotten tomatoes gently.

Vanessa

MOCK ME, BABY!

By: Vanessa Sgroi

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

Dean Winchester, currently assigned to prowl the darkened musty confines of one Percival Stockton's living room, stopped in his tracks, nearly leaving skid marks on the dusty, dirty hardwood floor beneath the studded soles of his boots. Their current thinking was that the ghost of Percival's wife, Elvah, was haunting the old man, but this certainly did not sound like an Elvah. He waited a beat then started to turn.

"Hands in the air!"

Dean froze. He raised his hands to about shoulder height.

"Yer a big, fat doody head!"

What the hell? Dean dropped his arms and spun on his heel, flashlight arcing through the gloom. Finally, in the far corner of the living room, he spied the dull gleam of a silver cage. The hunter sidestepped an ugly old couch and approached it carefully. A large, brightly-colored parrot stared back at him with beady black eyes, head cocked to the side.

"Yer a big, fat doody head! And you smell."

Dean couldn't help it, he frowned. "Yeah, well, you're just a big, dumb bird."

The bird whistled and fluttered one of his wings.

"Could take ya on with one wing behind my back."

The tall hunter snorted.

The bird lifted both wings and squawked. "Lightweight."

Dean lifted an eyebrow and muttered, "I'm not the lightweight around here, bud."

"You have an ugly mug."

"That's not what all the ladies think."

"And in bed yer a dreadful dud."

Both of Dean's eyebrows met his hairline.

"Yer dingaling is so small I need a microscope to find it."

He felt his jaw drop. "Hey, now wait a minute …" Dean blinked and stopped speaking. Dude, you're talking to a bird… Shaking his head, he turned away to continue his search.

"Bobby wants a cracker!"

With a snort, the hunter swung back around. "Bobby wants a cracker? Your name is Bobby?"

"Bobby wants a sunflower seed!"

Dean laughed. "The Bobby I know would want a beer…with a twist of holy water." Ha! Wait till I tell Bobby this one.

The parrot danced from foot to foot and whistled. "Beer is swill!"

"Now wait a minute…that's…that's just blasphemy."

"Beer is swill!"

"There's nothing wrong with beer!"

"Beer is swill. Wine is fine."

"Hey, birdy. Say 'Bobby wants a beer'."

"Wine is fine."

"C'mon, say 'Bobby wants a beer'."

"Yer dingaling is so small it's like looking for a needle in a stack of needles."

"Yeah, yeah whatever, dude. Now just say 'Bobby. Wants. A. Beer'."

Bobby the Parrot cocked his head and regarded Dean silently for a moment. He let out an impressive trill and again grew quiet for a heartbeat.

"Bobby wants a be—wine." The bird danced side to side and bobbed his head up and down. He fluttered his multi-colored wings before tucking them back to his sides.

"You're laughing at me! If I didn't know better, I'd swear you're laughing at me!"

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

The hunter jumped a foot and spun to face his younger sibling.

Sam's eyes shifted from Dean to the parrot in the cage. "Dude, are you arguing with a parrot?"

"Yes! I mean…no! No, I'm NOT arguing with Bobby."

Now it was Sam's eyebrows that performed some acrobatics. He looked at Dean as if he was losing his mind.

"Bobby?"

"The bird!"

"The bird's name is Bobby?" Skepticism was written all over Sam's face.

"Yeah. That's what he said. Right, bird? Bobby wants a cracker!"

"Polly wants a cracker!"

Dean did a double take. "Polly? That's not what you said earlier! You said…" he looked over his shoulder at Sam, "HE said, 'Bobby wants a cracker' and 'Bobby wants a sunflower seed'."

Sam looked back and forth between Dean and the parrot. "Oooookay."

"No, Sam, I'm tellin' you, he said that stuff and more. Like—like 'stop or I'll shoot' and 'beer is swill' and…and… 'Yer dingaling is so small I need a microscope to find it'."

A seriously concerned look settled on the taller hunter's face. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head earlier?"

Dean huffed out an annoyed breath. "I didn't hit my head. At least not much. I'm fine. I'm just sayin' that's what the big, dumb bird said." He gestured almost rudely to the parrot which gazed back at him placidly and remained utterly quiet.

"Okay, okay. Just askin', dude." I'm checking you out as soon as we get back to the motel.

"Yeah, well…nevermind," growled Dean, "let's just get outta here."

The brothers turned and started for the front door.

"I can't believe you were arguing with a parrot, Dean. You do realize they only repeat things that they hear over and over or are taught to say, right?"

Another growl emanated from deep within Dean's throat. "He started it."

Yep, I'm definitely checking you out as soon as we get back to the motel.

The door snicked shut behind the two retreating figures. Deep with in the darkened musty confines of Percival Stockton's living room, the multi-colored parrot hopped from foot to foot, trilled and squawked, laughed a dry, birdy chuckle and sweetly called, "Bobby wants a cracker!"

FINI