TITLE: A Trip to the Dentist
AUTHOR: Darkbird36
SUMMARY: Sam and Dean investigate a haunting in a dentist's office, and things don't go as planned.
WARNINGS: Once again, language. Dean has such a potty mouth.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. There, I said it. Happy, now, Kripke?
A/N: Another humour-fic. This started out as a one-shot, but if folks like it I may do a follow-up.
"Dude, what kind of poltergeist decides to haunt a dentist's office, anyway," Dean grumbled, shifting impatiently as Sam jimmied the lock.
"I don't really think the spirit decided to haunt a dentist's office, Dean. You know as well as I do that it probably had no control over being trapped here."
The lock on the back door of Smiles and Sunshine Dental Hygiene popped, and Sam stood, smirking triumphantly.
"I believe I just beat your record, Dean. You owe me ten bucks."
Dean snorted.
"Are you kidding? I coulda done that in five seconds, easy," he insisted, pushing past his little brother into the building. It was late, past eleven, and the place was dark and deserted.
"These people need to invest in a security system other than a four dollar deadbolt."
"In a small town like this? I'm sure they don't usually worry about people breaking into the local children's dentist," Sam replied, closing the door behind them and re-latching it. Dean was staring at the bright, slightly manic-looking sun painted on the waiting room wall, a horrified expression on his face.
"Dude, this place gives me the fuckin' creeps…"
"You laugh at cursed burial grounds and blood-sucking vampires, but this scares you?"
"Hey – I never said I was scared, okay? Get it straight. It just seems so…deceitfully cheerful."
"Sometimes, I wonder about you."
"Seriously – you've got all these happy, smiling pictures on the wall, toys and shit all over, tricking these kids into thinking they're in some sort of play land. Then you take 'em into a back room and drill fuckin' holes in their teeth. It's screwed up. They should tell the little bastards what they're getting into, so they can be prepared."
Sam turned to stare at his brother incredulously, shaking his head.
"You're gonna be one hell of a father someday," he said in mock seriousness. "Might as well start saving up for the therapy now."
Dean flipped him off wordlessly before pulling his handgun from the waist of his jeans and moving toward to back rooms.
"The receptionist said that the activity seems to be centered around the back storage areas," Sam whispered, following his brother. "Sounds pretty low-key. Unexplained noises, things moved or tipped over. Nothing too malicious. We'll get this one before he has a chance to really get going."
"Good. I wanna get out of here quick," Dean said, shuddering as they passed a mural of a dancing tooth.
"How fucked up is it that the big tooth has teeth of its own," he insisted, jerking a thumb at the mural.
"Don't worry," Sam said sarcastically, "I won't let the happy little tooth get you, Dean."
"Let's just do this and leave."
He had no sooner spoken than a muffled thump sounded from a closed door down the hall. Dean motioned Sam forward and moved silently toward the origin of the noise. He motioned to Sam, on three, then counted down silently. On three, he grasped the handle and flung the door open, gun at ready.
There was a startled yowl and the sound of something heavy falling over, and the brothers moved seamlessly forward into what appeared to be storage closet.
"Sam, find the fuckin' lights," Dean ordered, squinting intently into the dark as he moved away from the doorway. Sam fumbled on the wall for the switch, moving further into the closet to find it.
In the next few seconds, several startling things happened in quick succession. First, the door swung shut with a loud bang. A pair of glowing yellow eyes flared in the still-dark corner of the room and a low growl echoed in the small space.
"Sam! Down," Dean shouted, and Sam dropped instantly to the floor even as he yelled out,
"No! Dean, don't shoot!"
But it was too late, and the sound of Dean's handgun firing boomed painfully in the darkness.
"Shit! What the hell, Dean," Sam exclaimed from his position on the floor, "There could be oxygen tanks in here, you moron! You could have killed us!"
"I think I got it," Dean said confidently, ignoring his brother's indignant protests. Sam struggled to his feet, hearing Dean fumble for the light switch. There was a faint click and harsh light flooded the closet. Sam blinked, eyes watering, and scanned the room for any sign of the poltergeist.
There was no ghost, but there were, in fact, several oxygen tanks in the room.
"You see," you demanded, gesturing at the tanks. "You could have blown us up."
"Don't be so dramatic, Francis. You're fine."
"Dean, you hit the valve on that red one. I can hear it leaking. If you had gotten the actual tank, it would have blown."
"Yeah, but I didn't, did I?"
Sam gaped at him in frustration.
"You're impossible."
"Maybe, but I'm a damn good shot, even in the dark. I don't see any poltergeist, do you?"
"Fine. Whatever. Let's get out of here before anyone comes to investigate the sound of gunfire in a children's dentist office."
He grasped the door handle and tried to turn it, but it remained stubbornly fixed. He jiggled it, a sinking feeling in his gut, and again tried to twist it.
"Dude, what's the hang-up? Open the door, wuss," Dean demanded from behind him.
"It won't open. I think it's locked," Sam replied, pushing against the door with his shoulder.
"Move," Dean snapped, shouldering him out of the way. "Let a real man handle this…"
Sam threw up his hands in mock surrender, moving back and smirking as his brother tried, unsuccessfully, to budge the door.
"What was that you were saying about popping a lock in five seconds, again?"
"There's no lock to pick on this side," Dean complained, stepping back. He pulled back a foot and launched a solid kick at the edge of the door, but it remained unmoved.
"This isn't good," Sam insisted, but he had the sudden urge to laugh at Dean's annoyed expression.
"We, uh… we could really be in some trouble here," he said, fighting back a hysterical giggle. Dean was looking at him funny, starting to smirk a little.
"Yeah," he agreed, chuckling, "If they find us here in the morning, we're screwed."
"It's not funny," Sam asserted, but he couldn't contain the chortle that erupted when he opened his mouth.
"What the hell is wrong with us," Dean gasped between giggles.
"I- I don't think that's an oxygen tank," Sam replied, bracing his arms on his knees as he bent over in mirth.
"Nitrous?"
"Yeah…"
"Oh, fuck!"
"Uh huh," Sam wheezed, sliding down to sit on the floor. Dean thumped down next to him, grinning ear-to-ear.
"Dude, we need to find a way out of here," he insisted, but made no move to stand.
"You look like an idiot," Sam chortled, pointing an unsteady finger at Dean's face.
"Yeah, well, at least I don't smell like one, stinky."
"That- that doesn't even make sense!"
"I know you are, but what am I?"
Sam curled over his aching belly, laughing so hard it hurt.
A sudden bang and scuffled from the corner echoed in the small space, and Dean yelped.
"It's back," he shouted, raising the gun in a wildly unsteady hand.
"No," Sam shouted, grabbing at his brother's wrist and pulling the gun down, "Don't shoot again, you idiot! You'll kill us!"
Dean looked down at the gun and grinned stupidly.
"Do you think poltergeists are affected by laughing gas," he asked, peering into the shadowed corner.
Sam was about to answer when a small, dark form hurtled out from behind a box and shot towards them. Dean shrieked loudly, and Sam was equally amused and alarmed to see him throw the gun at the advancing blur. Luckily, the handgun bounced harmlessly off the floor several feet off target without firing.
Dean was scrambling to stand, tripping over his own feet in his haste. Sam hooted with laughter as he managed to focus on the 'poltergiest.'
It was, in fact, a small black kitten.
"Dean-" he gasped, grasping at his brother's sleeve as Dean cursed and tried to pull himself upright. "It's a fucking cat!"
"What?"
"A- an itty bitty kitty!"
Dean stared at him incredulously for a moment before turning distrustful eyes toward the small, quivering cat. His eyebrows rose in shock before he giggled and sank back to the floor.
"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Sam snickered, extending a hand and rubbing his fingers together. The kitten stared at him with wide, frightened eyes, the fur on its back raised and its tail fluffed out comically.
"Dude, you're scaring it," Dean hissed.
"I'm scaring it! You shot at it and then threw you gun at it! The poor thing's probably permanently scarred…"
The kitten was moving forward cautiously, tail still stiff and upright. When it got within reach of Sam's fingers it extended its neck and sniffed delicately at his hand. It stared at him with round, yellow eyes for a moment before it apparently decided he passed muster. I meowed softly and butted its head against Sam's knuckles.
"Don't you even think about getting attached," Dean warned, still grinning.
Sam giggled as the kitten trotted up his outstretched leg to his lap, purring maniacally.
"He likes me."
"Must be the laughing gas… " Dean speculated.
"You're just upset because a little kitten nearly made you wet yourself."
"I did not almost wet myself!"
"Dude, you shrieked like a schoolgirl!"
"That was a manly war-cry, meant to strike fear into the heart of my enemies!"
"Oh, well, obviously it worked," Sam giggled, watching as the kitten hopped to Dean's lap and began to furiously knead his thigh. Dean sputtered, trying not to laugh.
"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll make your life a living hell," he wheezed, one hand unconsciously coming up to scratch the kitten's back. The cat arched up to meet his fingers, then flopped over in ecstasy as he stroked under its chin.
"We still need to figure out how to get out of here," Sam reminded him, noticing absently that the hissing from the nitrous tank had ceased.
"Uh huh," Dean agreed, but made no move to stand.
"You threw your fucking gun at it, Dean," Sam chuckled as the cat batted at his brother's fingers. "If it had really been a poltergeist, you'd have been screwed!"
Dean attempted to scowl, the look ruined by his involuntary grin and the presence of the wriggling kitten in his lap.
"It was all part of the plan."
"The plan to, what – humiliate yourself and traumatize a kitten? It worked splendidly…"
"You're an asshole."
"Shhh…" Sam said in a stage whisper, grinning crazily, "Don't swear in front of the little one!"
Dean chuckled, and the cat flopped off his lap and meandered over to Sam again, swiping its cheek over his knuckles and licking his fingers.
"Aww…" he exclaimed gleefully, scooping the cat up and tucking it happily under his chin.
"Now who's the schoolgirl? All that's missing is the pigtails and plaid skirt…"
"I think we should call her Spooky," Sam grinned, ignoring Dean's jibe.
"Whoa, hang on there, Dr. Doolittle – we're not naming that thing. Once you name it, it's yours. And we can't have a cat. Period. Plus, you don't actually know it's a girl," Dean stated, snatching the kitten out of Sam's hands.
"Hey!"
Dean held the squirming cat up in front of his face and lifted its tail, a comical look of intense concentration on his face. The cat hissed in indignation.
"Yup, he's all man."
"How the hell do you know how to sex a kitten?"
"Dude – seriously. Did you just ask me that? If it has nuts, it's a guy. Did you skip sex ed or somthin'?"
Spooky had managed to twist out of Dean's grasp and had launched himself back onto Sam's lap, glaring at the older Winchester. With an insulted look he began furiously bathing a tiny paw, darting occasional distrustful glances at Dean.
"Do you remember that stray cat I brought home in third grade." Sam asked, scratching gently behind Spooky's ear as he sighed and curled up in his lap.
"Dude, that flea-bitten bag of bones that shit all over my bed? How could I forget…"
"I really wanted to keep him."
"Yeah," Dean said, his smile faltering a little, "I remember. Dad made you give him to that family down the street when we moved again."
Sam sighed, staring at the small, fluffy form sleeping on his legs. His head was starting to ache a little, and he could feel the effects of the nitrous wearing off.
"How do you think he got in here?"
Dean stared around the claustrophobic room.
"Fucked if I know," he scoffed, but stumbled to his feet and began moving boxes in the corner Spooky had appeared. A minute later, he had uncovered a good sized vent at the base of the wall.
"Well, Nancy Drew, we've solved the mystery of the Dental Poltergeist Kitty," he exclaimed, standing and gesturing triumphantly at the uncovered vent.
"How about the case of 'how the hell are we getting out of here?' Any progress on that one, Bess Marvin?"
"I'm deeply troubled that you know enough about Nancy Drew to make that reference, Sam. Deeply, deeply troubled."
"Yeah, well, you understood it, didn't you, so what does that sat about you?"
Dean scowled at him before turning back to the vent.
"I think you're skinny enough to fit through there," he observed, glancing between Sam and the vent.
"Whoa, hold on – how come I have to be the one to crawl through the small, dark vent that leads to God-knows-where?"
"It's part of your little brother contract. Paragraph 72, sub-section 8: All potentially dangerous vent exploration is to be conducted by the youngest member of the group, unless so prohibited by obesity or claustrophobia."
Sam stared at his older brother for a moment, a little frightened by the completely serious look on his face.
"Plus," Dean said, straightening and puffing out his chest, "There's not enough room in there for my muscles."
"Or your ego," Sam grumbled, reluctantly moving Spooky from his lap and standing. The kitten yawned, its tiny, pink tongue curling.
"…heard that," Dean mumbled, moving aside.
"You owe me, got it," Sam demanded, crouching down in front of the vent, "Next time someone needs to crawl through a small space, stick their arm into a dark hole, or otherwise place themselves in an uncomfortable position, it's all you."
"Just get us out of here," Dean sniped, crossing his arms.
Grumbling about thoughtless older brothers and dusty vents, Sam squeezed himself through the opening. As his brother's sneakers disappeared into the vent, Dean leaned against the wall and stared at the kitten.
Spooky blinked at him distrustfully, ears cocked forward towards the muffled thumping of Sam in the vent.
"Don't give me that look, fuzz-butt. You're the one that got us into this mess."
The cat squinted, and Dean swore he was smiling. The distant cursing and thumping had ceased, and a moment later Dean heard footsteps outside in the hallway. There was a click, and the closet door swung open to reveal a very dusty, scowling Sam.
"Finally," Dean crowed, moving through the door into the hall. Sam glared at him, then dropped to his haunches and tsked to Spooky.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"We can't leave him here, Dean."
"Why the hell not?"
Sam scooped up the kitten and stood, staring at his big brother. Spooky meowed loudly and butted his head against Sam's chin. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Fine. But only until we find a suitable home for it. And if it pisses in my car, I'll kill you."
"Hey, who knows," Sam grinned, following his brother towards the exit, "He might come in handy. He was able to disarm and terrify you pretty easily."
"Don't push it, Sam."
Spooky meowed energetically.
"And you," Dean said emphatically, "can lose that attitude now."
Spooky purred loudly, burrowing into Sam's jacket, and Dean had the sneaking suspicion that the cat was going to be around a lot longer than originally planned.
Fin