Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. Just having a little fun with Sam and Dean.
THE OTHER KING O' HELL
By: Vanessa Sgroi
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," muttered Dean, holding up a hand. He turned to face his younger brother. "What do I have to do again?"
"You have to ride a rodeo bull."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm not a bullrider, Sam. I can barely sit on a horse."
"I know, I know," acknowledged Sam. "But Dean, this is the case. This bull is responsible for two deaths already. When we were at the rodeo earlier investigating, I know I saw its eyes flash red. But I don't think it's possessed; I think it's cursed. And I think that if you're able to ride the bull for the required eight seconds, the curse will be broken."
"You think? Great. That's all well and good, Sam. But just how do I do that without getting myself killed? Remember, I know NOTHING about bull riding."
Sam held up a finger. "Ah, I think I have that covered. I talked with Cas..."
"Oh, this oughta be good." He made a continue motion with his finger.
"I spoke with Cas and he thinks he can teach you just enough to get by."
"Cas? Cas, is going to teach me to bull ride? The man...I mean, the angel has trouble working a slushy machine. What could he possibly know about bull riding?"
Sam shrugged. "I dunno. But he seemed pretty confident he could. He said you'd be able to defeat King o' Hell."
Dean's brow crinkled in confusion. "What does Crowley have to do with this?"
Sam barked out a laugh. "Not THE King of Hell; King o' Hell is the name of the bull."
"Tell me you're kidding."
Sam shook his head. "Nope."
"This is like some cruel cosmic joke. So I have to ride the King of Hell for eight seconds to break a curse?" Dean shook his head and ran a hand down his face. "That just sounded all kinds of wrong." He held up a warning finger and wagged it at his brother. "No. Don't say a word. Not a single word."
Sam bit his bottom lip, holding back a chuckle at the look on Dean's face. "Wasn't planning on it."
Heaving a sigh, Dean muttered, "Fine. Let's get Cas here and get this over with."
Cas arrived a short while later and walked into the room with a troubled look on his face. Not that this was anything new. "You're sure about this, Dean?"
"As sure as I can be. Sam said you were confident you could teach me what I needed to know."
"Confident might have been...overstating it a bit."
"Well, that's just great. But we still don't have a choice. So what do you have to do?"
"I just need to touch your forehead. I should be able to convey what little knowledge I have on the subject directly into your mind. It should be just enough knowledge to keep you alive."
Dean turned to face Cas and lifted his head. "Gee, that's reassuring. Do it."
"I must warn you. This will be quick but painful."
"Awesome."
Castiel lifted a finger, placed it in the middle of Dean's forehead.
Dean cried out and fell to his knees as pain pulsed through his head and a white haze enveloped him. A few seconds later, the pain and the fog faded away. He sat up slowly. "Well, that was fun," he panted.
**SPN** **SPN**
Dean eased himself down onto the back of the bull, feeling its heaving breaths and its quivering muscles beneath its hide. Long strings of snot dripped from the beast's nostrils as it snorted and tossed its head. Eyes black with hate rolled in their sockets.
He adjusted the unfamiliar cowboy hat on his head with one hand then gripped the rope tightly with the other hand.
Dean sat tensely as the bull shifted restlessly beneath him. He listened to the countdown. Three-two-one. Dean tapped the gate. It swung open. Bull and rider charged into the arena. Immediately, King o' Hell began to buck, coming down hard on his front hooves and kicking out his back legs. Again and again, he bucked, adding spins and counter-spins to his repertoire.
Dean held on for dear life, tightening his hold on the hemp rope. The cowboy hat flew off his head. The crowd in the stands was nothing but a blur of colors and their roaring filled his ears, mixing with the wild, angry bellows from the bull.
King o' Hell bucked hard again while twisting his body in different directions. Dean felt his grip slip. He dug his knees into bull's sides, seeking purchase. C'mon, c'mon. Sweat ran down his face; stung his eyes.
A horn sounded, barely penetrating the buzzing in his ears. There came a final bellow and a final heave then Dean found himself sailing through the air. He landed on his back and his breath exploded from his lungs. With no time to waste, Dean painfully staggered to his feet, weaved his way toward the gate where the ride began, hoping all the while that the rodeo clowns were doing their jobs and distracting the bull. A quick glance over his shoulder assured him they were. He reached the gate and scrambled over it with the help of several sets of hands. One of them was Sam's.
Dropping to his feet, he wavered in front of Sam and worked to pull in some deep breaths. "That...that was the...longest eight seconds of my life."
"Ten."
Dean blinked at Sam. "Huh? Ten what?"
"Ten seconds." Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders and gave him a happy shake. "You made it ten seconds, dude!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, really! Dean Bentley is at the top of the leader board. You might even win the purse."
"The what?"
"The prize money. You might win it for this event."
"Hey, a win-win for once." Dean grinned, pulled in another breath. His knees wobbled. He dropped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Let's get outta here. I need a drink."
FIN