Looks Good To Me
A response to P.L. Wynter's fanfic challenge: stupidest monster ever. Just for fun.
"Gargoyle?"
"Gargoyle."
"A gargoyle!"
"Dude, is there a fucking echo in here?" Well, actually, there was. They were in a rapidly emptying Boston cathedral, screaming parishioners falling over themselves trying to get out. Dean held up one hand to stop Sam's comeback. "Yes, a gargoyle."
"A flying gargoyle?"
"They have wings."
"They're supposed to chase away evil. And they're, like, made of stone."
"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. It had wings and a tail and teeth and horns and it was flying around in here a couple seconds ago. I got a shot off. It didn't even slow down."
"'Cause you missed."
"I didn't miss," Dean growled.
He walked down the pews, looking for something. He handed Sam what he found a few minutes later, two chunks of granite. "What is that, then, college boy?"
"A horn," Sam said. He grimaced, realizing what the second piece was. "And an eye." Or the entire side of the creature's head including the eye, he thought, fitting the broken off horn into the appropriate rough patch on the otherwise smoothly carved stone.
They both ducked as something came dive bombing out of the church's massive shadowed ceiling. It screeched inhumanly, four six-inch talons on each of its four feet coming at them and they had to hit the floor between the wooden benches to avoid it. Before they both ducked their heads under their hands both of them saw that the creature was missing half of it's head.
Laying on their backs they could see the thing flying around in circles above them. Dean's shot had messed the thing up somewhat, because it occasionally flew into one of the columns and bounced off, sending more chunks of stone and concrete to the floor.
"Okay, official Stupidest Monster Ever."
They both ducked under the pews as they were pelted with some of the debris. Stupid didn't mean it wasn't still dangerous. Dean reloaded the shotgun.
Sam looked over at his brother. "I found the priest," he said. That was where he'd been when the attack started. "Half of him, anyway." And a collection of detritus on the roof, unidentifiable bits of bones, clothes and shoes that could only be described as pellets, the way owls regurgitated what they couldn't digest. Six inch long pellets.
"Eeeeww."
Sam grinned, knowing that his brother's exaggerated disgust referred to the pellets, and not the half-consumed corpse of the priest. He shook his head. "You're twisted, Dean. You know that, don't you?"
Dean cocked the gun. "I'll cover you while you make a run for the car."
"Dean …" Considering the way this thing shook off the loss of half of its head, they were going to have to blast it ten or twenty times to take it out. Ten to twenty really close range blasts.
"We're going to need more ammo. And if you feel like it you could bring the other shotgun."
"Tell me you're not going to take this thing on yourself while I'm gone."
"I'm not the special needs child of this family."
Sam nearly snarled back. "Fine." With virtually no preparation or warning he launched himself vertical and ran full tilt down the long aisle of the church. Dean was up behind him almost simultaneously, shotgun trained on the creature. The gargoyle screamed its hunt, and fell out of the air at him. Sam didn't slow down or look around and when Dean shouted "Down!" Sam hit the church's floor in a long sliding reach like it was third base in the ninth inning. The gun cracked, dust and pea sized gravel rained down on him and for an instant the powerful wings of the creature seemed to envelop him in heat and sulphur stink, then it was tumbling over and over itself.
Ten feet away the gargoyle gathered itself on its haunches, even as Sam did, screamed again, and launched itself at Sam claws first.
Sam dove sideways and the gun cracked again. Sam landed heavily on his elbows on the floor, his ribs knocking painfully up against the foot of the benches. Rather less debris this time, Sam noted, shaking out the stuff from his hair. They could chip away at the edges of the thing with the shotgun, but they weren't making any progress towards killing it.
"Reload!"
It took that long to notice the girl on the floor in the row next to him, her eyes wide and round, frozen in fear. He shook her shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and her eyes focussed on him. "Get up," he hissed at her. "Run. One. Two …"
"Ready!"
"Three!" They jumped up together and ran for the door, Sam keeping her ahead of him with one hand, looking over his shoulder as he ran.
"Now you want to pick up girls?" Dean shouted at him, his arms spread wide in disbelief, then had to duck as the thing came at him.
Sam closed the heavy oak doors to the vestibule behind him, only to be attacked by the girl, who pounded on his back with her fists. He turned and grabbed her. "Whoa! What the –?"
"You're just going to leave him in there!"
"Of course not. We can't let that thing get loose."
The shotgun cracked again and Sam heard wood splintering. Inspiration hit when he saw the athletic water bottle in the side pocket of her back pack, miraculously still slung over one of her shoulders. He grabbed it, emptying it out on the floor.
"Freak, what are you doing?" She danced away from him.
He refilled the bottle with holy water from the font there, a wide granite bowl four feet across, continuously fed by a tiny but still version of the monster in the next room.
"Sammy! Hurry the fuck UP!"
Bad idea. Really fucking bad idea, Sam thought as he burst back through the doors. Dean could only have a couple shells left, and if it didn't work…. He nearly stopped when he saw the girl was right next to him coming down the aisle, armed with a fire extinguisher, aiming it one handed, waist high, for all the world like Dean did with his favourite pistol-gripped shotgun.
Dean ran towards them, expression lethal, aiming said gun about three feet over Sam's head, his mouth about to shout something but coming at them faster than voice could travel. Sam flung himself sideways without thought or hesitation, pushing the girl the opposite way. Twisting to land on his back, as he slid up against the pews he sprayed the bottle of water at where the creature was going to be, Dean pulled the trigger and the girl let loose with purple-tinged chemical foam, either accidentally or on purpose no one would ever know.
Sam threw his arm across his eyes as the gargoyle exploded into dust and sand. All of it.
It took thirty full seconds before any of them could see through the settling cloud.
When he could, Sam choked back a laugh. Then he let it loose and ended up rolling on the floor.
"Don't mind him," Dean said to the girl, helping her up and shaking his head. "Little brother. Mind snapped. So sad." He wiped grit and dust and sticky purple residue out of his eyes. "Dude!" he snapped, kicking Sam's feet when the laughter didn't seem to be winding down.
"Dean – " Sam gasped, struggling for air. "Oh God, you killed it," he managed, and rolled over again.
"What's so fucking funny about that," Dean demanded, his look turning annoyed and even a little hurt.
"… the one-eyed, one-horned flying ppp," Sam couldn't finish.
"Purple people eater," the girl supplied.
Dean emptied the shells out of the shotgun, safetied the weapon, too cool by half to roll on the floor like the other two idiots beside him. Even he couldn't prevent the roll of his lips and the light in his eyes though.
"Looks good to me."
-the end.