A/N: As a celebration of my one year anniversary with this website, I've created this abomination. To any readers of my WIPs, I'm sorry for my awful lack of updates. There's no excuse. I've had perpetual writer's block. I'm not sure that this is much better, but hopefully it'll help me somewhat to think of ideas for actual stories that make sense, and aren't about llamas. To SPN fans, I'm just sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
Warnings: M for swearing. Also, please be aware that if you gain any paranoia about turning into llamas, British llamas, or invisible llamas as a result of reading this fic, I cannot be held responsible.
i.
Dean stood up, and wondered if he had turned into a llama before or after they'd entered the bar. He hadn't even looked at himself, but somehow he knew without a doubt that he was no longer the reputedly dashing Dean Winchester. Because he was a llama.
Right.
What the fuck? Did he really just call himself dashing?
But that wasn't even the weirdest part. Because if he was a llama, didn't that mean there was a llama standing in the middle of this bar in Nobody-Cares-Ville? And yet somehow no one was looking at him strangely.
Was this a fucked up town, or what?
"Dean? Uh, what the hell, man? Where'd you go?" Dean turned around, clomping slightly on his new feet. Behind him Sam was looking around obliviously, apparently not seeing the llama that was standing less than two feet away.
A deep, masculine voice in a British accent responded in an annoyed tone: "I'm right here, you fucking idiot!" After a moment of contemplation, it occurred to Dean that the indignant voice may have come from his own mouth. That is, the mouth of the llama that he... was inside of.
Right.
After a moment with no response, he tried again: "This isn't fair!" Yup, definitely a deep-voiced British man.
Well. That wasn't disturbing at all.
"Hold on. Was that you, Dean? Where are you?"
"You're looking at me, you—wait. I'm invisible?"
"Uh... apparently, yeah. And British." Sam fought back a smile, looking dubious. "We should probably get outta here before we draw attention to... me."
"Oh, fuck."
ii.
Dean attempted to sit down on his bed but soon gave up, settling for standing awkwardly in the middle of the hotel room.
He wondered if llamas could stand in any way that wasn't awkward. Or sit. Or exist.
"So, apparently I'm British. And... er, well, a... llama?"
Sam kind of choked on his own tongue for a while before he could talk. "A—a llam—" He cleared his throat and visibly fought off laughter. "Okay. Okay, seriously, if this isn't a really weird trippy practical joke, I'm never gonna let you live this down. Ever."
"Bullocks. Wh—did I just—oh, God. Please tell me I'm dreaming. Please."
"Sorry, nope. No juice."
"Did you just say 'no juice'? What kind of wienerschnitzel is that?"
"Just gonna point this out... you just said wienerschnitzel, Dean."
"So did you."
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"
"I'm still not quite clear on why I'm a llama. And a British one, at that."
"I can't even fucking see you! How do I know you're Dean? You could be an imposter!"
"Why the fuck would a British guy stalk you and pretend to be your invisible American brother who, coincidentally, has just turned into a llama? Tell me why, Sam. WHY?"
"Okay, dude, chill out. I believe you!"
iii.
"I think I've got to go to the loo, Sam."
"Since when d'you say 'loo'?"
"I'm not sure... it sounds British. Is it British?"
"You don't know? How are we related?"
"I've asked myself the same thing lots of times, Sammy. But that doesn't change the fact that I have to piss."
"Again. How are we related?"
"Oh, come on."
"You're invisible, Dean. I'm pretty sure that means the world is your bathroom. Just let me try and figure this out, alright? There must be an explanation. For... you."
"...So I can piss on your bed?"
"No."
iv.
"Hey, Sammy boy!" Gabriel flopped his vessel down onto the bed beside the flustered sasquatch. "Somebody upstairs just did something really, really weird!"
"Um... okay? Good to know? I'm kind of busy trying to help Dean right now, if you don't mind."
"Yeah, that's the thing... I'm pretty sure this person might've used his magic fingers to turn Dean-O into an invisible llama. Not sure why. Just, you know. Might want to be prepar—"
"Bloody hell! I knew it! You son of a bitch!"
"Ah, yes. There you are. British, too? That's weird. I don't think that was intentional."
v.
"Okay, I don't care if I'm British, and I don't give a fuck if I'm a llama, but I'm tired of being invisible. This is bullshit!"
"Hey, you coulda said so before." Gabriel grinned, snapping his fingers. Dean continued to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"I don't feel any different."
"What the hell, dude? You're a llama! A talking llama!"
The Llama-That-Was-Dean took on a very excited facial expression, glad to finally be seen. "I know, right? I'm a fucking llama!" It suddenly hit Dean again how weird this was. At the same time, a piece of paper came out of nowhere and hit him in the side of his llama-head.
He picked it up by bending over and biting it with his llama-teeth. Sam squinted at it. "It says, 'how weird this was.'"
"Oh, come on!" Dean's British voice called out exasperatedly. "How did you even come up with this, Gabriel?"
"It was Michael's idea," Gabriel replied, shrugging like he gave negative five billion fucks.
"Hold up. You mean Michael, as in the archangel Michael? Who wanted to battle it out with Lucifer, who has a stick up his ass, who's all about the garrisons of Heaven and saving shit? Who is in Hell right now?" The statement would've been normal if it had been spoken in Dean's voice by, well, Dean in his normal form, rather than in a very deep British voice by the llama standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"Hey, my bro's still got a few tricks up his sleeve," Gabriel said mysteriously, looking amused.
At this point, Sam was mostly at peace with the unusual chain of events, so he decided to contribute to the conversation. "Okay, guys. I think we need to talk about the llama in the room." He and Gabriel looked at each other for a long, serious moment before breaking into hysterics.
"Oh my God, that was so damn hilarious! I've gotta give you that one, Sasquatch, I mean, kudos to you." They exchanged a high-five. Dean was not amused. He tried to raise an eyebrow, or at least frown, but as a llama he just looked constipated.
"The llama in the room is not amused." They only laughed harder. "Shit."
Between what could only be called wheezes of laughter, Gabriel managed to speak. "Okay, so now it's a llama with a bowel problem."
To his credit, the next thing Dean said came out of his British llama-mouth entirely against his will, but he still said it. "Only on Thursdays."
Sam fell off of his bed, rolling onto the floor and barely missing the bedside table with his ridiculously long legs. Gabriel laughed so hard that he accidentally transported himself to Australia and back. Though even he didn't know it, this was because it was Thursday in Australia.
Just as Gabriel appeared again, another angel blew into the room.
"Wait—I can help you, Dean. I am the angel of Thursdays, so your bowel problem should be no real obstacle."
"Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Are you speaking differently? Your voice is strangely sexy. What? Also, why are you a llama? Why did I say that? What? What is happening?"
Sam looked both stunned and ridiculously happy. "That's what I said, man! I know, right?"
vi.
After an indefinite amount of time, the temperature in the hotel room suddenly rose greatly. The Llama-That-Was-Dean blurred into a smudge and blinked out of existence, and everyone else seemed to fade slightly, voices no longer distinguishable. A loud shriek of someone in pain echoed from no obvious source. Then, down in the deepest pits of Hell, two pairs of eyes opened.
Lucifer glanced around for a second bewilderedly before speaking. "Michael, you probably won't believe this, but I swear, I just had the strangest dream."
His brother looked at him grimly from across the cage. "Agreed."