This is not my fic. I'm posting it for my friend Funki, who doesn't have an account and doesn't want to get one. I'll pass any comments on though.
There Goes Peter Cottontail
Disclaimer: I don't own Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, or the Supernatural universe. They belong to the CW, not me. I just write free advertisements for them. I make no money from this fanfiction. Please do not repost without permission, even with the proper byline.
Title: There Goes Peter Cottontail
Author: Funki
Fandom: Supernatural (American TV show)
Wordcount: 2500
Rating: T
Pairing(s): None
Warnings/categories: humor, violence, swearing
Reviews: Constructive criticism and praise are always welcome. Heck, flames are ok too.
Synopsis: While looking for demons, Sam and Dean encounter some horny rabbits.
Timeline: Vaguely season two.
Spoiler warning: Nothing really
* * *
James ran as hard as he could, not knowing that by the end of the next paragraph he would be dead. They were behind him and catching up, and quickly. his legs ached. His muscles were tired. The only thing driving him was terror, and soon even that wouldn't keep him going. Just give up he told himself. You're not going to make it. Just get it over with.
But no, he had to survive. If he just made it back to safety… And then he tripped. He didn't know what tripped him, nor would he ever find out. They had caught up with him, they had surrounded him, and he could feel a thousand points stabbing into his chest. He tried to scream but his lungs were already filling with blood.
* * *
Dean Winchester walked over to the librarian. She was probably some college coed, blonde, short on mousiness, long on legs. He walked over to her.
"I came over to check something out," he said.
"A book?" she replied.
"Something like that."
He handed her Boston's Gun Bible, making sure that their hands touched briefly during the exchange.
"You have a library card?"
"Well, no, you see I forgot it today. I was hoping you could just let this one slide. I promise to return it. I'd be really grateful. I could even express my gratitude over, say, dinner?"
"No and no. I'd get fired if I let another book go. And I just don't go for guys who compensate with guns."
"I don't, I mean. You're crazy."
Sam called his brother over to his library terminal computer. "I found one."
"Sorry, gotta help my brother," Dean said. "Talk to you later."
He walked over to his brother and looked at the screen. "What is it?"
"Looked like you needed a bailout."
"Whatever. She was acting all tough but I almost had her. They fight the most right before you reel them in."
"Sure. Anyway, I did have something. There was a killing in South Dakota last week, guy named James MacGregor. The victim was found on the plains near Wall, South Dakota with over a hundred stab wounds."
"An old Murder on the Orient Express, eh? That should be easy to solve. What makes you so sure it was something freaky?"
"You read that book?"
"What book? It was on TV. You don't remember watching that as kids?"
"Anyway, it's not just the guy's death. The number of thunderstorms for that county has been up twelve hundred percent in the last 5 years. Not too much more rainfall, but lots of lightning."
"You think it's demon-related?" asked Dean.
"I don't know. But it's not normal. If it is demon activity, it's strong demon activity. We should check it out."
* * *
A black Chevy Impala pulled up into Wall and the two brothers got out. They were in a small town in the middle of nowhere, a town with maybe eight or nine hundred people in it. There was only one thing worth seeing in the town and that was Wall Drug Store, although "worth seeing" was a relative term.
"This place sucks," said Dean.
"It's not that bad," said Sam.
"It's a freakin' tourist trap."
"It's… well, yeah it's a tourist trap but it's at least interesting. This is the biggest tourist trap in the country."
"Aside from D.C."
"Well, yeah."
The two split up and surveyed the place. Sam took a look at the clothing stores, jewelry stores, bookstores, general stores, and the pottery shops. He stopped in by the chapel. Nothing odd there, excepting the fact that the tourist trap was so big that it sparked contemplation of the divine.
"God, this place is stupid," said a teenage boy as he was dragged past by his parents.
Dean was in the courtyard area. There was a playground for the kid, and some lame spring that advertised free ice water. Some sort of historical shit. There were some of those wooden cutouts that you could stick your face in and have your picture taken. And a statue of a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. He strolled past the Prairie Food Shoppe (of crappe, he thought to himself). He glanced left into some toy store and was completely taken by surprise when he heard a roar and saw the giant teeth of a huge lizard opening to eat him. Adrenaline pumping, he dropped to the ground, drew, and put 5 rounds into the beast's skull.
It was only after that when he realized it was a robot, one of those animatronic things. He quickly reholstered his weapon. Miraculously no one had seen him, though an employee was now running up to him.
"What happened?"
"It just exploded," said Dean. "Five things shot out of it. I almost died."
"You hurt?"
"No, I'm okay. I just need to walk it off."
As he left the employee and the gathering horde of tourists, Sam ran up. "What happened?"
"Nothin'."
"You shot it, didn't you? This is just like that time we watched Jurassic Park."
"Hey, how was I supposed know that wasn't a giant lizard trying to get into our hotel room. Dragons are common to every culture's mythology, you know?"
"Right. So I found this guy who knew James MacGregor."
"James, who?"
"Dead guy."
"Oh, yeah. Let's talk to him."
They walked over to the a man who looked like he was sixty or seventy years old, one who smoked, and did drugs, and probably worked as a professional crash test dummy. For jets.
"Name's Scotty MacGillicutty," he said. "What can I do ye for?"
"Our uncle died last week," said Sam. "We're trying to find out more about how he died. It's a family thing."
"Funny, you don't seem Scottish to me."
Dean said, "Oh, we're really into the whole Scottish thing. Kilts, leprechauns, clovers, all that."
"Hmm…"
"Anyway," said Sam, "Is there anything you can tell us. Did James have any enemies?"
"He weren't killed by no enemy," said Scotty.
"You know what killed him?"
"Yeah, a herd of jackalopes."
"Hold on," said Dean, "there's no such things as jackalopes."
"Are too. There's a bunch of 'em in the museum over there."
"You're yanking my chain."
"Am not. James was a jackalope hunter, and the best damn jackalope hunter I ever saw. Most of those 'lopes in there are his. He went out that night looking for a new one and… well… he never came back. Those marks on his body, they were jackalope horn marks. I know 'em by sight.
"You look like you're having a hard time," said Sam. "We'll leave you alone."
They walked over to the jackalope museum. It included dozens of rabbits with antlers on their heads. There was even a flying jackalope, with the head of a jackalope and the body of a chicken.
"You believe that guy?" said Dean.
"I know. A group of jackalopes is called a fluffle, not a herd," said Sam.
"But you know they're fake."
"I dunno. The myths are pretty widespread. With all the stuff we've fought…"
"Psycho killer bunnies? This isn't Monty Python, this is reality."
"Well, the stories say they're the most aggressive species of rabbit, but even still they don't normally kill people."
"They don't kill people 'cause they don't exist. Where are you getting this stuff anyway?"
"That plaque on the wall."
Dean looked at it.
Sam said, "Apparently they only mate during thunderstorms. That'd mean there's probably a lot of them now. They can mimic human voices and they like whiskey. What does Dad's journal say about this?"
"Let me see," Dean said. "Here we go, 'Jackalopes don't exist you stupid gullible moron.'"
"I get it. You don't have to make fun of me like that."
"No, it's right there." Dean said. "The bold note at the top."
"Oh, next to the part about chupacabras. My bad."
"So, that's settled, then."
"We came all the way out here. Might as well look around. See the spot where the guy died."
"I'm not going out there. This is a waste of time."
* * *
Sam and Dean came to the spot where James MacGregor had fallen. There was blood on the ground, but the body had been removed already. They scanned for EMF but there wasn't even the normal background radiation that a more developed area would have. Where
"Look at this," said Sam. "The guy bled out so much it turned some of the ground to mud. There's even tracks in it."
"Human?"
"No. Jackrabbit."
"It's a coincidence."
"We don't believe in coincidences."
"Yeah we do, when it's just a coincidence. There's rabbits all over the place. Doesn't mean it's a jackalope."
There was a rustling in the bushes and they both turned. A fluffle of rabbit-like creatures was looking at them. Then they turned and bolted. Dean pulled out his pistol and shot at a few, killing one.
"Nailed that sucker," said Dean.
"Scared of them now?"
"No. I just wanted to bag one to prove they're just bunnies." They began walking toward Dean's kill.
"You kidding me? You saw them, they had antlers," Sam said.
"It's almost dark. With the bushes and the tall grass you got confused. They're normal, everyday, pet store rabbits."
"We'll see."
Dean held up his kill. "See, normal bunny."
"It's a doe."
"It's a rabbit."
"You know what I mean. It's a female jackalope. They don't have horns."
"Now you're just being stupid."
"Deny it all you want. Is there anything else we need to look into here?"
"Nope."
"Then let's go back to the car. The sun's almost down. We should find a motel."
"You're just scared," said Dean.
"Am not."
"Sure you are. Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin' down the bloody trail…"
"Whatever."
They walked back to Wall Drug Store and heard the wind rustling the grass behind them. Then Dean realized a disturbing fact: there was no wind. Something was following them, or some things. He turned. Sure enough, there was a small shape following them.
"Sam!" Dean yelled as he stopped. He turned, pistol out, and fired twice. It dropped on the first shot, right in front of them. It was a small rabbit, and on top of its head was a pair of antlers. And all around the three of them, Sam, Dean, and the rabbit, there were rustling noises, as if a thousand tiny reapers were running at the brothers, itching for blood.
"Let's go," Sam said.
They ran for the store, not bothering to shoot behind them. Professionals knew you didn't hit anything that way. And they looked back as rarely as they could stand. A hunter knew that he had to keep in mind what was going on around him, but he also knew that looking back slowed you down.
They made it to the front doors and burst in. The place was closed, the lights were off, but somehow the doors were unlocked. They quickly rectified that error. The silhouettes of a dozen horny rabbits crashed against the glass. It cracked. Dean and Sam ran.
"Where now?" Dean yelled.
"The chapel! There's only one way in."
"Yeah. And their numbers count for nothing."
They went into the chapel and went almost to the back wall, facing back to the doorway. There was no door to close, but their pistols were aimed and ready.
A swarm of lupine doom came through and was blasted apart. But for every dead rabbit, two replaced it.
"You believe in jackalopes now?" shouted Sam over the noise of the gunfire.
"No."
"What?"
"I just don't think there's enough proof."
"There's one goring your leg."
"Thanks." *blam* "But I still don't believe in them."
They finished the horde but not without cost. Sam was out of bullets and Dean only had two left, in addition to a leg with small puncture wounds in it. They sighed with relief.
Then a jackalope burst through the window behind them. Dean blew it apart with his final two rounds.
"Man, I'm out."
"Me too."
"Let's find some weapons."
They made it to the museum, where they ran into Scotty MacGillicutty.
"Watch where yer goin'," Scotty said.
"Sorry sir," said Sam. He grabbed a bow and arrow off a nearby display stand and Dean grabbed a revolver.
A jackalope tore around the corner and Sam fired an arrow at it, but the weapon was only a prop and the arrow had no force. Dean, realizing that his was also a model, simply threw it at the jackalope, knocking it unconscious.
"We're being attacked by jackalopes," said Sam.
"There's no proof of that," said Dean.
"I was afraid of that. There ain't a weapon in here that works, though."
"You know where we can get one?"
"Only gun I know of is the Gatling gun, but we only got a thousand rounds for it."
"It'll have to do," Sam said.
They went to the storage shed and shut the door behind them. Jackalopes pounded at the door behind them, cracking it. They frantically assembled the Gatling gun and attached the ammunition belt.
Dean took over and aimed the gun at the door, just as the fluffle broke through. "I'll blow you suckers to Coney Island!" he shouted and opened fire. Rabbit entrails were splattered against the doorframe and the hallway leading into the room, not to mention the room itself, Sam, and Scotty. By the time the last bullet in the gun was fired, the swarm had been turned into a gooey mess that could best be described by the words "spaghetti with meatballs."
* * *
Sam and Dean cruised down highway 90 in the Impala, the sun rising low in the sky.
"Well," said Dean, "that was the dumbest hunt we've ever been on."
"What about the time we got Melanie the Magical Unicorn."
"Second dumbest hunt we've ever been on."
"I kinda feel guilty about all the damage we did to that store, Dean."
"Don't worry. They'll probably have enough hamburger to last them for months."
"Did you have to keep firing that gun, even after all the jackalopes were gone?"
"Just being thorough. It's not like I have a vendetta against tourist traps or anything. They're kinda fun."
"Good to know. You do realize that if you continue down this road you'll reach Mount Rushmore?"
Dean jerked the car into a 180° and sped in the other direction.