A/N: I was going through some weechester fics, when I ran across a few crack!fic weechester recs. This fic spawned soon after. Hope ya'll like, even though it was kinda done without any reference to... well, anything. I have no idea if they actually have dress-up shops like this one, but.. well, I thought it might be a fun idea. :D I've set Sam around four, since I figure that's young enough for a Barney obsession.
I have to add that a reviewer gave me the idea that this could be the reason Bobby once shot John's butt full of buckshot. It works, I have to say. Thank you Courk!
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke. I think. Oh, and the CW channel. And 'Joe 'n Cameron's All-purpose Coloring Glitter' is mine and mine alone. If there really IS something like that out there... well, that would be a complete coincidence, I assure you.
In the Name of Happy Endings
"'It'll be fun,' he said. 'What could possibly go wrong?' He said..."
John tried, unsuccessfully, to brush off some of the crap stuck in his hair, growling angrily all the while. He made for quite a sight, and he knew it. A sticky, gooey, purplish substance, caked on his clothes, his skin, his hair... Random red splotches adorning his worn jeans, a bright, shocking pink highlighting his leather jacket, finished off with shudder-inducing green patterns... A shining silver, managing somehow to soak through his favorite pair of shoes and give his socks a permanent sheen... Neon, blinding green liquid, dripping down the front of his shirt... A white, GLITTERING powder covering everything else, flying off his body every time he moved...
And yes, John also knew that he was the reason those two bi-witches were snickering at him from where they sat, clean and sophisticated, on a seat in the corner of the room. He also knew that if they didn't shut the Hell up soon, he was going to get really, really pissed off.
And really, this was all Bobby's fault.
It's almost Sam's birthday, he'd said, as he lounged on his over-stuffed couch, riffling through some decrepit old tomb. You should do something for that boys of yours. And when John had asked just what Bobby thought he should do, the man had given him this... this brilliant idea.
Ask Sam what he's always wanted to do most, he'd said, in that way only Bobby could pull off while sitting in a room more cluttered than a hormonal teenage boy's. What's the worst he could wish for?
Admittedly, it was partially his fault he was currently in this glorified Hell-hole; he should have realized something was wrong when Dean had gleefully given him directions to the play shop, not bothering to hide his anticipation. And yeah, when Sam had started on how he'd always wanted to try out this certain purple color, and how much he'd always wanted to make a giant, life-sized doll, he probably should have figured something was not quite right...
A muffled choking sound from his right succeeded in bringing him out of his sullen musings. He shot his oldest a glare that would have frightened the hardest of criminals, and was slightly gratified to see him hastily pull his expression into one of vague neutrality.
"Aw, common dad," his wise-cracking son had the nerve to pipe up. "It was your idea after all."
John's glare evolved into icy proportions, and Dean had the good sense to shut-the-Hell-up and look contrite.
My idea.... riiiiight, John thought sourly. You didn't seem to have a problem going along with it, and if I recall correctly, YOU weren't the one who ended up looking like Frosty the Puked-on, Blinding-purple Snowman.
"That was soooo much fun!" Sam, his youngest, the reason he'd gone to all this trouble and ended up like this. "Can we do it again sometime?"
John nearly choked at the thought. This?? Again???? He would gladly crawl to Hell and back before he went within a ten-mile radius of anything near this horror they called a dress-up shop.
A second later, however, an idea hit him. A nasty, definitely evil idea, and one that would certainly knock off the few Heavenly Browney points he'd manage to gain over the years... but God, it would be so worth it.
Dean, who'd happened to look up at him at that exact moment, blanched. John figured that maybe he should probably tone down the evil smirk he was currently wearing, but... well, he WAS the one who was carrying Sam's idea of 'dress-up'. Who knew Sam would decide that, on the one day he was allowed to use his daddy as a Barbie doll, he'd try to dress him up as Barney (emphasis on 'try'; hence the pink... and the red... and the silver)? And getting knocked into a bag of "Joe 'n Cameron's All-purpose Coloring Glitter", and the water-proof stuff to boot? And, worst of all, on a day when it was hot enough for the plaster-face-paint-slash-goo to melt and harden into a concrete-like mess? Joe and Cameron--or whoever it was that had invented this God-forsaken dress-up 'garden'--were going to Hell, even if he had to drag them there himself.
After he bought some of their dress-up goods, of course.
Ahhh, Singer; revenge really IS sweet.
"You know what, Sam? That's a great idea! How do you think Uncle Bobby would like to get dressed up too? I've been meaning to stop by his place again, anyway, and since it is still your birthday..." John let his sentence trail off, waiting for the inevitable squeal of assent from Sam.
"Oh yeah! Uncle Bobby! I almos forgot 'bout him! That would be so much fun! Wow, can we daddy, can we pleeeeease????" Sam, unaware it was entirely unnecessary this one time, turned on the full power of his infamous puppy-dog eyes.
John registered the half-admiring, half-horrified gaze Dean shot him, and he did his best to ignore it, stifling his bubbling laughter. Oh Lord forgive me, for I am about to sin... a whole, whole lot.
"Sure thing, son; anything for the birthday boy." Hail Mary, full of grace....
"Cool! Thanks Daddy! I've always wanted to try Little Mermaid! My friend Keren got her mommy to dress her up, and it looked really cool! She even had a real tail!"
He felt, more than heard, Dean stumble mid-step and turn to gape at both John and Sam. John, through sheer force of will-power alone, managed to shove his amusement down and settle for a slight twitch of his lips.
"We'll stop by the house for a bit so I can get cleaned up, then we can swing over to Bobby's. Before we go, though, you can pick out anything you'll need. Since we're here, we might as well take advantage of that and get some of their stuff. Sound like a plan?" John noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the two ladies from earlier were appraising him speculatively.
That's right, ladies, he thought, hiding smirk of satisfaction. Just because I let me son turn me into a complete eyesore doesn't mean I'm not going to get my revenge... in the best way possible.
"Well then, we don't you go pick the stuff you want? Don't want to keep Bobby waiting."
Sam beamed at him and ran off to the neat shelves arranged with a variety of paints, props, designs, masks, plaster and paper-mache. Expertly ignoring his other son's flapping jaw, he pulled out his cellphone and pushed the speed dial.
"Bobby? Hey, it's John. We're going to be swinging over to your place this afternoon. Sammy has a surprise for you..."
Moments later, after executing a bow at the two ladies' nods of amused approval, he swung over to the check-out counter to pay for Sammy's choices.
"Thanks daddy! This is my best birthday EVER!" Sam, nearly bouncing with excitement, almost bowled him over with a leaping hug. John hugged him back amicably, well over his stormy mood.
Aware that it was getting a bit old, John still couldn't resist quipping anyway. "Anything for the birthday boy."
They strode out of the place; Dean, jaw still unhinged; Sam, smiling happily; and John, brightly colored, concrete hair and all, a smug smile fixed permanently on his lips.
Life was good. Life was really good.
Whoever said there was no such thing as happy endings?
A/N: Like? Hate? DO tell. In the form of a review, preferably.