The dark night enclosed around Dean Winchester as he casually strolled through the dank, dirty city-side graveyard. The night was as still as death, and there was nary a soul roaming the streets that night. Dean checked over his shoulder for the umpteenth time that night, paranoid that someone might be following him.
"I wish Sam was here," Dean thought to himself. Sam was at home nursing a particularly nasty wound that he had acquired last night from a hellhound.
He peered over at a particularlyinteresting gravestone that was shaped as a bayonet rifle. The headstone read,
"Here Lies Commodore James T. Norrington
The Best Damn Commodore That Ever Lived"
"Commodore Egotistical, if you ask me," Dean muttered, resting his hand on the top of the cold, mossy gravestone. He lifted it after a second, finding it covered in moss and dew. "Damn! They need to clean this off--"
Before Dean could finish, the gravestone began shaking violently and he was thrown back upon the cold, dewy grass.
"What the…" Dean whipped out his gun. The ground split open in front of the stone and from the chasm came a blinding, white light. Dean slammed his eyes shut against the light.
When he finally dared to open his eyes again he saw a large figure rise up out of the dirt.
The figure, none other than Commodore Norrington, let out a deathly groan, rubbing at his head with a scraped up hand. His nose was filled with the smell of death and earth and it sickened him to the core. His head spun with by-gone memories and last regrets. He wearily sat up in the dirt, half slouched, and proceeded to methodically brush off the front of his uniform jacket out of sheer habit, grumbling to himself about 'stupid fish-men'. He was half-conscious, half-dead, and half-paying-attention.
Dean looked at him with his mouth hanging open.
"Okay…what the hell?" Dean brushed a bit of dirt off of his jacket that this mysterious man had splattered on him.
Norrington was compulsively shining his once shiny shoes in a state of half-sleep, body swaying like a reed in a light breeze. He had yet to notice the other man near him.
"Umm…dude…what are you doin'?" Dean raised his eyebrows and lowered his gun.
Norrington started, jumping back behind the headstone and whipping out his sword in the same motion. He didn't notice he was standing behind his own headstone, but the notion of a headstone sent a shiver down his spine. He took a moment to let his vision still, and then drew in a deep breath, contemplating what he should say.
"You!" Norrington shouted, leaning on the gravestone he was using as cover and pointing his sword at the other man. He paused, thinking, and then continued. "Brigand! Lower the pistol and I will not have to hurt you!"
Dean was nonplussed. "You're honestly the biggest pussy I've ever met in my life," Dean chuckled. "And…what could this pistol really do to you?" Dean paused and started twirling the black gun around in his muscular, tanned hand. "You're…Commodore Norrington, right?"
"How do you know my name? I demand an answer!" Norrington half-shouted, half-squeaked, pointing his sword higher over the headstone. His hand was shaking, if only slightly, half in accordance with his lack of strength at the moment and half out of fear.
Dean let out a barking laugh and kicked a little dirt on Norrington's newly polished boots. "Dude…you're dead."
Norrington, pride injured but not destroyed, ran at Dean, sword first. The metal made contact and went straight through Dean's middle, impaling him. The slightly shorter glared up into the other man's eyes with triumph.
Dean's let out a horrified gasp and braced himself for excruciating pain. He waited for a long while and the pain did not come. Dean, on an impulse, yanked the sword out of his gut. He felt his stomach and there was no sign that a huge, metal sword had pierced his sexy, luscious flesh.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean roared as he threw the sword at Norrington's head and pulled out his gun.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Dean shot Norrington three times in the heart.
Norrington stumbled backwards, clutching at the bleeding wound. Said wound stopped bleeding after a good moment. Norrington's green eyes flitted between the deadly gunshot wound and Dean's middle trying to make some sense of the situation. Sadly, in his world things rarely ever made any sense, and this was one of them.
Norrington suddenly felt his head start to swim violently, and his vision blurred here and blurred there and after a moment he couldn't tell up from down. He was swaying dangerously, and finally, in one particularly large stumble forward, he fell, blacking out in the process.
"Dean! Are you alright?!"
Dean whipped around to see Lucy running towards him. She was wearing a pair of jeans with a maroon hoodie thrown over her torso. Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid.
"I'm fine, princess," Dean smiled. "Don't get all worked up,"
"Never run off like that again!" Lucy scolded. "At least leave a note before you go! Sam and I thought you had been taken by a demon or something,"
"Not a demon," Dean replied, motioning to the unmoving commodore sprawled out on the grass.
Sam came running in just after Lucy. "Dean, what happened--- WHAT THE HELL?" Sam skidded to a halt just before running into, and falling over, the poor Commodore's body.
Sam!" Dean shouted...getting into "overprotective brother" mode. "What the fuck are you doin' out here?!" Dean took Sam's right arm and pulled up the sleeve, revealing a ghastly injury that was bleeding through the gauze Dean had placed tenderly and carefully on it.
"Get off my ass for once, okay?" Sam rolled his eyes. Then he looked over at Norrington's body. "Now...you answer me! Who the hell is this?"
"Some wimpy British guy that I accidentally resurrected from the dead," Dean said nonchalantly.
"Dude," Sam looked over the body. "What year is he from...like...1774?"
"I dunno," Dean shrugged. "You tell me, Einstein..."
"Break it up!" Lucy slammed Sam and Dean's heads together. The sound the two heads collidingmade was similar to that of two coconuts banging up against each other.
Norrington groaned something inaudible and rolled over, right onto Sam's shoes. Sam stepped back, wary.
"Now what do we do with him?"
"Leave him," Dean grunted, massaging his middle where he'd been impaled. "Or put him on someone's doorstep and ring the bell. Or...throw him out on the side of the road..."
While Dean kept blabbering on, Lucy crept over to Norrington and knelt down beside him.
"...or stuff him in a garbage can..."
Lucy put out her hand and lightly stroked Norrington's pale cheek.
"...or toss him in the river..."
Lucy smiled at the unconscious man. "Or," She cut Deanoff. "We can take him back to the apartment and nurse him back to health,"
"Wh-wh-whaaat?!" Dean was shocked and taken aback. "No effing way..."
Norrington let out a low, pitiful moan when Lucy touched his face. His head was a throbbing mass of pain.
"I'm not sure we have a choice." Sam commented.
"Umm..." Dean shot a disgusted look at Norrington. "I think we do. Weren't you listening to my ideas?"
"Dean, you said it yourself. You brought him back from the dead. That's not normal. He could be some kind of demon, who knows?" Sam said, giving his brother the 'puppy dog' eyes.
Sam's puppy dog eyes made Dean's heart flutter. Though, Dean Winchester would never admit that his heart did something as girly as fluttering.
"Well..." Dean felt a drop of moisture forming on his temple.
"Come on, Dean...have a heart," Sam patted him on the back.
"Fine, Sammy, fine," Dean caved in.
"So we can keep him?" Lucy was speaking of Norrington as if he were a stray kitten.
"Fine...you can keep him...if you promise to feed him and clean up after him," Dean glared daggers at Norrington. "And if he does anything on the carpet...I swear...I will..." Dean trailed off. "Oh...screw this!"
"Maybe we should get him out of the dirt..." Sam said, prodding Norrington's side with a toe.
"Fine," Dean mumbled as he roughly picked up Norrington and swung him over his shoulder. A groan of agony emerged from Norrington's lips.
"Oh shut up!" Dean snapped as he started walking to the nearby apartment. Sam and Lucy stood there looking at him. "C'mon, bitches! Let's go! I don't wanna miss Oprah!"