Author's Note: This humor is tongue (as well as some other things) in cheek. Still T-rated, but the fangirl runs strong within me due to the prolific prompting... as we all know, fangirls are just plain cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs...
At the behest of Cherry, the boys hung a thin green cloth over the entire rear wall with a hammer and nails. "Very good, boys," purred Cherry, twirling her lock of hair like mad. "We also just knocked handyman!Sam out of the park!"
I hope your hair falls out, thought Sam savagely.
"Now, hook that electrical pump up to the inflatable kiddie pool," instructed Fangirl, tone broaching no argument.
Dean knifed the rubber wad out of its box, found the pump, and plugged it in. Already, the pool began to expand, the duckies along the side rising to life. To Dean, it looked like the 2-D yellow creatures were mocking him with their flat, expressionless blue eyes: laughing at him for his absurdity. The whirring of the pump was loud, but, unfortunately, not loud enough to drown out the redheaded Sister.
"Now, we will try out the green screen with a simple prompt," said Lolita, who had recovered form her faint with makeup intact. "Sam and Dean dressed as fangirls!"
"DRESS THEM OTAKU! DRESS THEM OTAKU!"cried the ninja, bouncing in her seat.
"If you stop yelling, fine!"
The boys had no warning: the small inset screen that showed them a view of themselves suddenly jiggled. A blink later, and Winchesters were in short mini skirts, thigh-high stockings, loafers, and rather thin white 'SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE!' t-shirts. Dean had his very short hair in two tiny bows, and Sam's chin-length cut was held back with a hairband bedecked with a massive flower. Though these outfits would have looked great on any other girl, the boys' body proportions were all out of whack, not to mention the hair on every piece of exposed skin. To the boys, it felt terribly odd to look down and see their normal clothes, only to look at the screen and see themselves...
Sam blushed and clenched his jaw. Dean exhaled long and low. "Stay strong," he ground out quietly to Sam. The girls were trying smelling salts to resuscitate Otaku, whose limbs had locked up like a fainting goat.
"I know," replied Sam, equally quiet. "Just give Shirley enough time..."
"That was excellent, fellas!" crowed Cherry, returning to her seat. "Let's do a few more, shall we? Show me...farmer!Winchesters, Fangirl!"
"Oldie, but goody," said Fangirl, taping away. The boys watched their image blur, then come into focus again with them wearing overalls, straw hats, and boots. A piece of wheat hung from Sam's mouth (he had to wet his lips to assure himself it wasn't actually there) and Dean was, by all appearances, holding a pitchfork. Subconsciously, Dean thought he felt the slight weight of the kerchief around his neck.
"Hope whomever prompted that one, liked it," said Lolita, wrinkling her nose. "Shall we try cowboys!Winchesters?"
This time, the images of the boys resurfaced decked in plaid, ten-gallon hats, spurs, dual holstered pistols, and those same, stupid kerchiefs.
"This is humiliating," wheedled Sam.
"Put on your ass-less chaps and deal with it," said Fangirl sweetly. A few keystrokes later, and they were, indeed, wearing ass-less chaps. "Don't worry, Sammy-kins," she continued. "A little humiliation does the heart good! Well, at least my heart."
"Just take it like a man," said Dean supportively.
"Looks like the kiddie pool is ready!" called Lolita happily. "Start opening those containers of custard in Box 2, boys!"
"It's wrasslin' time!" hooted Fangirl.
Sam and Dean looked at each other. Long-suffering did not begin to cover it. "You take it like a man," snarked Sam.
"Just shut up," replied Dean, beginning to empty out the plastic containers.
It only went downhill from there. After the wrestling match in the custard pool (in the proffered and creepily size-accurate swim trunk included in Box 2), both brothers did what they had to do with minimal mental engagement. Dean and Sam were both implementing tactics they had used in hell and Lucifer's Cage respectively to survive the horrible tortures: namely, think of something else, and pretend you're not there.
"Lick it, yeah, like that," encouraged one fangirl faintly, from the gaggle around the main screen.
"Give it some tongue action," urged another.
"That stuff on the end needs cleaning off," said a third.
Dean stared at the piece of celery in his hand, smeared with peanut butter, and gave another sigh. "This is so wrong on so many levels."
Sam had his face covered with his hand, so his voice was muffled. "Don't get me started."
"Oh, poor Sammy feels left out," coddled Lolita.
"Dean's mouth looks tired," commented Fangirl.
"Perhaps Sam should tag-team?" suggested Otaku.
Sam's eyes widened with horror as Dean shoved the celery into his grasp. "You'll learn," the older Winchester chided. "To keep your mouth shut."
"Actually, he needs to keep it wide open," corrected Lolita.
"Put a sock in it, Goth Barbie!" insisted Dean. "How many more acts do we have to do?"
"Well, with the double-ups, we've gone through about two-hundred so far..."
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"
"Chill, Dean," said Sam, eyeing the tongue marks on the celery with disgust. "This is for Bobby."
"Yeah," groaned Dean, fists clenched. "I know."
"While Sam works that celery," continued Lolita cheerfully. "Dean can take the green screen for a solo ride. Split the feed, girls, so we can capture both."
"Activating rockstar!Dean imagery!" said Fangirl with glee. The stage Dean was suddenly standing on, complete with light show and towers of fire, lit up Dean's angular and stoic face most handsomely.
Taptaptappity-tap went Fangirl's black fingernails. "And Santa!Dean." Taptaptap. "And wizard!Dean." Taptaptaptap. "And policeofficer!Dean - "
"Hey!" giggled Cherry Pie, also tapping away. "I want in! Time for some nurse!Dean."
"Oooh," moaned Otaku agreeably as the white uniform appeared on Dean's body. "Give me shots!"
"Take your medicine," added Lolita vulgarly. "Give it more lips, Sammy-poo!"
With great care as to where he put his gaze, Dean glanced over to his grossly occupied brother. When will this end?
Shirley had better hurry up, Sam gazed back. Or something not-nice is gonna bust loose up in my brain...