Blackstar Goes to Fresh-Kill Mountain

Disclaimer: Seeing as I didn't write Warriors, I don't own these characters. I don't own the video "Charlie the Unicorn," either. I do however, own this fic idea, what with the whole crossover idea. Steal it and you're dead.

I was re-watching my favourite movies on YouTube last week, and got the greatest idea: WarriorsxCharlie the Unicorn crossover. If you haven't seen Charlie the Unicorn, watch it now, it's brilliant and absolutely hilarious. The link wouldn't work, so type it in on YouTube and watch the first one.

So you've seen it? Good! This was originally going to be a (long) oneshot, but when I finished the first bit I got so excited that I changed my mind. Now, I've decided that it'll be published in three parts because I just can't wait! (Yes, I'm hyper at the moment, aren't I) Anyway, enjoy!

Part I

I was dreaming about flying chimichangas.

I wasn't quite sure what exactly they were, but it seemed that they were some kind of food involving shredded squirrel's meat, juniper berries, and poppy seeds wrapped together in a crisp borage leaf. The strange little things streaked through the air around my white head, fluttering teasingly while dripping their mouth-watering juices everywhere. I reared on my hind legs, swiping fervently with large black forepaws and coming up empty.

I was getting frustrated now. Frustrated and reckless. Determined to catch one, I sprang, launching myself at a chimichanga as it flitted past my nose and unsheathing my sharp claws at the same time. A rush of proud smugness went through me as I brought my paw back, the leaf-wrapped squirrel speared on the end.

I lowered my muzzle, preparing to sink my teeth into the chimichanga, to feel its delicious flavour wash over my tongue. Its wonderful smell was all around me, tantalizing, inviting wonderful--

"Heeey, Blackstar!"

The chimichanga disappeared from beneath my nose as a high-pitched she-cat's voice jolted me awake. My eyelids flew open, and I blinked in the blinding sunlight that suddenly surrounded me. I lay unmoving, still as a rock, staring fixedly at the blue sky above, not wanting to believe what had just happened. I had been so close... I squeezed my eyes shut again, refusing to be forced to return to this chimichanga-free world.

My name is Blackstar. I'm leader of ShadowClan, the best Clan in the forest. Seriously, look at the facts, okay? We're stereotyped as evil and cold-hearted and all that jazz, but are we really? Have you actually met us? Because we're not, you thick-skulled badger-head, you're one who has the problems.

Sure, you may get the impression that we don't give dung towards kittypets and rogues, and it's true. One-hundred percent, no-doubt-about-it factual. Now, what, may I ask, is wrong with that? It's part of the warrior code to be hostile towards other cats, idiot! It's been set in stone for more seasons past than even the crankiest, most-ancient elders can remember. Well, until you count ThunderClan into the picture. That just dungs up the whole thought of a Clan, now, doesn't it?

To get my point across, we're better. A thousand times better than those hedgehog-sucking ThunderClanners that everybody seems to love, what with all their, "Oh my StarClan, LOOK! A kittypet-who's-not-actually-one-because-she's-from-the-horseplace! Let's invite her and her kits into our Clan and get our young warriors AKA Spiderleg to rape her, hooray!"

No, I don't think so. All we're doing is following the warrior code, like we should. Everyone knows ThunderClan is a bunch of soft-hearted whack-jobs who play with the rules we have been following for generations like a mossball. At least we can stick with our traditions without using honey! (Er...one of Littlecloud's analogies. Don't ask, okay?)

Or, how about this one I heard from some stupid WindClan kit at a Gathering the other night: ShadowClan are mean because they try to take the other Clans' territories. Hah. I laughed at that load of dung, I truly did. I mean, come on! We have to survive, don't we? It's not our fault that their defensive protection stinks like rotting crowfood, and--

The she-cat's mew sounded again. It was close by my head, and I started; I had almost forgotten why I was awake and not dreaming about eating chimichangas. I growled inwardly as I remembered.

"Hey, Blackstar, wake up!"

Another voice came beside the first, this one an odd clash between a tom and she-cat's. Low and rasping yet overlaid with a strange female tone, I knew it anywhere.

"Yeah, Blackstar, you silly sleepy head. Wake up!"

I groaned in defeat. Getting to my paws, I licked my chest fur crossly and surveyed my surroundings.

I was situated near the top of the Big Maple, the tallest tree in ShadowClan territory. I vaguely remembered falling asleep here, lying in the crook formed where a branch jutted from the gnarled trunk.

Reluctantly searching for the speakers that had woken me from my oh-so-wonderful nap, I turned my head slightly and nearly jumped out of my fur: a huge pair of green eyes were less than a mouse-length away, staring into mine.

Oh, foxdung. Not you.

Leaning over me, manicured claws sunk into the maple bark, was Fireheart.

The ThunderClan cat had been leader of his Clan until it was revealed that he was...different. It's difficult to explain, really, but...basically, he was demoted from his high-ranking position when he admitted that he was...not like other toms.

He wasn't really all that disappointed to have to step down from being leader and lose his name, though, because in his eyes it just gave him more free time to "let out his spirit." He now got his claws painted professionally every week, and had dyed his dark ginger fur bright pink. And there was, of course, that last, "minor" change...his sudden infatuation with me.

It was true. I, Blackstar, noble ShadowClan's leader, was being pined over by a fuchsia, homosexual kittypet. I was seriously considering suicide.

Standing just behind Fireheart, a little ways up the maple-trunk above me, was a thick-furred blue cat. At first, you would think she was very pretty, taking into consideration the sleek, well-groomed pelt and long, charcoal tail. But when you notice her eyes...well, let's just say your opinion changes.

You see, Mistyfoot of RiverClan had been leading a patrol that skirted the outside of the lake when Pouncepaw, the idiot, had spotted a silvery fish randomly flopping about on the Twolegs' half-bridge. So what does he do? He runs out and tries to catch it! It didn't work, of course, but Mistyfoot, knowing how unstable the soggy wooden slices were, had bounded out after her apprentice to save him from falling into the water below.

To sum it up in a nut-shell...something went wrong, and Mistyfoot skidded out of control until she tripped on a tree root, went flying, and bashed her head on a rock.

When she regained consciousness, her blue eyes were crossed and swirling around in their sockets like the lake water during a thunderstorm. When she managed to babble out words, her meow was so disoriented it was hard to make out exactly what she was saying. It seemed that her already-pyscho dead mother, Bluestar, had come to her in a dream and told her that it was Mistyfoot's destiny to find out what a rehab was. So now, Mistyfoot was just as whack as basically every cat in the forest (except for ShadowClan, of course).

Seeing the two most out-of-their-head cats in the entire forest right there in front of me, leaning over me while I slept and urging me to wake up like the sun would not rise tomorrow, I knew this could not be good.

I groaned as I lifted my head.

"Oh, StarClan, you guys," I muttered. "This had better be pretty hacking important! Is the forest on fire?"

I saw Mistyfoot's whiskers twitch, and Fireheart bowed his head in silent laughter. I swear I heard him murmur to himself, "aww, isn't he just adorable?! I must have him for my very own." I shivered both unintentionally and uncontrollably.

The blue-gray she-cat mewed cheerily, "no, Blackstar, we found a map, to Fresh-Kill Mountain! Fresh-Kill Mountain, Blackstar!"

Fireheart nosed her aside to add, "yeah, Blackstar, we're going to Fresh-Kill Mountain! Come with us, Blackstar!"

Butting back in, Mistyfoot nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Blackstar, it'll be an adventure! We're going on an adventure, Blackstar!"

In my mind, I was smacking my forehead with my fleshy pink pad: who would ever go anywhere with these imbeciles, of all cats? "Yeah, Fresh-Kill Mountain, right. I'm just gonna, you know, go back to sleep now." I laid my white head back onto my dark paws and closed my eyes, begging StarClan for another chance at the chimichangas. It was not to be.

"Nooo! Blackstar!" Mistyfoot wailed, launching herself at me. I scrabbled away from her unsheathed claws as they flew directly towards my face, pulling my body out of the crook and squirming further along the branch. As I approached the narrowest part, created solely of thin twigs and leaves, the limb trembled under my weight. I hoped Mistyfoot and Fireheart would get the message and leave me alone.

Of course, they didn't.

Mistyfoot leaped at me again, this time landing full on my back. My eyes stretched wide as the branch swung, uncontrollably, up and down, ready to snap under our combined mass. "You have to come with us to Fresh-Kill Mountain!" she yowled in my ear.

Meanwhile, Fireheart had his green eyes fixed on my, er, lower abdomen as the branch shook. I had a feeling that all those extra mice I'd eaten were taking their toll, and that my backside was jiggling. Digging my claws deeper into the maple bark, I tensed my muscles in a desperate attempt for it to stop. You sick, twisted perv of a tom...

"Yeah, Blackstar," the pink warrior murmured, still staring at my arse, "fresh-Kill Mountain! It's a land of sweets..." Ugh. "And joy..." Oh, dear. "And joyness..." Why was I getting the feeling that Fireheart was trying to get me to come just so he could wait for us to be alone and then drag me into some porn-house?

Mistyfoot continued to jump on me, and the feeble branch swayed crazily. Up, and down, up, and down, up, and down... The ground rose and fell to meet me, and I was starting to feel sick. "Please stop bouncing on me," I groaned.

"Fresh-Kill Mountain, Blackstar!" was the reply from above.

"Yeah, Fresh-Kill Mountain!" squealed Fireheart happily.

Bile rose in my throat, and I was about to puke it up all over that sleek, pink fur. In fact, I longed to. But Mistyfoot's sharp claws were digging into my skin, and all I could think of was getting off the Star-damned branch already. The words burst from my throat before I could hold them back.

"Alright, fine! I'll go with you to Fresh-Kill Mountain."

Yes? No? Maybe so? PLEASE review and tell me what you thought (constructive criticism would be great!) and I'll start working on Part II ASAP.

Thanks so much!

--Queen Annie-Ferny Cullen