Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
Whoomp, there it is!
I've never heard that song before. It's quite catchy. In an earworm-I-could-probably-live-without way, but catchy. It also made my dancing a bit hard to explain, but my husband is used to finding me dancing strangely to music only I can hear, so he wasn't too discombobulated once I assured him that the dancing would not interfere with the preparation of his dinner.
Chapter Thirty
As Crowley watched, Godzilla The Rampaging Libido came stomping towards him, seemingly oblivious to the comparatively small figure of the King of Hell.
"Aaaaaaaaaargh!" went Crowley as a gigantic scaly foot stomped down mere feet from him, making the ground under him shake. "Aaaaaaaaargh!"
Seriously, he won't want to chase you, Dean assured him, He's got absolutely no interest in you.
"Are you sure about that?" squeaked Crowley.
Quite sure, said Dean. Of course, he may just step on you by accident and never even notice.
Crowley tried to run.
The problem being, of course, that he wasn't technically 'running', because he wasn't technically 'standing' on 'ground'. He was in Dean's head. And though he intended to 'run' to get 'away', there was apparently no escape from the huge, stomping creature that occupied Dean's mind.
"I can't get away!" Crowley shrieked, "It's like it's going wherever I go!"
It's my libido, and you're in my head, Dean observed, So of course it's everywhere, and wherever you go, there you are.
"That's very Buddhist," muttered Crowley, dodging another huge footfall, "But it doesn't help me if I'm about to get squashed! Hey, you!" he shouted. "Yes, you, the horny bastard who's trying to turn me into toe jam! Bugger off!"
Don't think it heard you.
Scuttling out of the way of a set of toe claws the size of VW Beetle cars, Crowley cast his mind back to Sam's performance in the diner. Reasoning with Dean Winchester didn't work, and subtle was about as effective as a teaspoon against an avalanche; something drastic was needed to frighten the monstrous thing into retreat.
Crowley put on a burst of speed until he could get clear of the reptilian feet, and peer up at the monster's head. It glanced down at him, probably only seeing him as a small speck on the landscape, and therefore a legitimate place to leave a footprint.
Throwing wide his arms, Crowley began to sing.
"Whoa-whoa when my baby, when my baby smiles at me I go to Rio, De Janiero…"
Dafuq? went Dean.
"My oh me oh," warbled Crowley, waving his arms.
Dude, are you singing Peter Allen? asked Dean.
"I go wild and then I have to do the Samba!" Crowley sang, producing a surprisingly sprightly version of the dance, "And La Bamba!"
Hey, knock it off! complained Dean, That guy was totally gay!
"Now I'm not the kind of person with a passionate persuasion for dancing," crooned Crowley, swaying, "Or romancing, but I give in to the rhythm and my feet follow the beating of my heart…"
Libidozilla let out a strangled roar of confusion.
"Whoa-whoa, when my baby, when my baby smiles at me I go to Rio," Crowley sashayed around in a circle, "De Janeiro, I'm a Salsa fellow…"
The gigantic lizard staggered backwards with a cry of distress as Crowley broke into a hip-waggling salsa routine. "When my baby smiles at me the sun'll lighten up my life, and I am free at last, what a blast!" He kicked off his shoes, grabbed them, and started to shake them like a pair of maracas.
Wailing in distress, Dean's libido turned away.
"Whoa-whoa, when my baby, when my baby smiles at me I feel like Tarzan, of the jungle!" Crowley wiggled and waggled.
Maybe it was the thought of His Hellside Majesty wearing a leopard-skin lap-lap that was the final straw; the enormous creature began to stomp away in the opposite direction, picking up speed as it went.
Wow, Dean marveled, I don't know whether to be outraged or impressed, nobody's scared it away like that since there was this time when I was seventeen and I hooked up with this girl at school and she started talkin' about running away to get married. I had no idea you had that guy Downstairs.
"We don't," snapped Crowley, putting his shoes back on, "We just use his music to torture homophobes."
I had no idea you could dance, either, Dean gave the distinct impression that he was giggling.
"I've been to Carnaval, you know," sniffed Crowley. "Danced with Portela, a couple of times. A wonderful place for making deals, when everybody's in a holiday mood. " He looked around. There was a small boat shed by the lake; he thought he heard yapping coming from there.
"What's that over there?" he wondered out loud.
Dean didn't have an answer for him.
"Can I hear… can I hear dog noises?"
Dean didn't reply; he seemed to have gone completely silent. With a sigh, Crowley headed for the small structure.
"Hello?" he called, "Are there any creatures, with tentacles and/or fangs and/or unfortunately pungent body odour hanging around here? Give a chap warning this time."
"There's just me," replied a young-sounding voice. Curiosity piqued, Crowley made his way around the shed.
Sitting on the floor was a child. A boy, who couldn't have been much more than eight years old. When he looked up at Crowley, the demon saw that he had sandy blonde hair, large green eyes, and a scattering of freckles across his high cheekbones. "Who are you?"
"I'm Crowley," the King of Hell responded, too startled to think of anything glib to say, "Who are you?"
"I'm Dean." He reached out to pat the puppies that were yipping and chewing at his hands. "These little guys are my friends. But we're all tangled up." The child mournfully indicated the tangle of heavy, tarred rope that had ensnared boy and pups. His rosebud mouth drew into an unhappy pout.
"Oh dear," said Crowley. "How did that happen?"
"I'm not sure," replied the child, eyes wide and guileless, "But we're stuck pretty good."
"What are you doing here?" asked Crowley.
The boy turned a worried expression to him. "I'm supposed to be looking after my little brother," he said sadly, "But I don't think I can do it properly. Not like this. We tried to get out, didn't we?" he patted the puppies. "We tried real hard." The fluffy little ball of roly-poly puppy wagged their little tails, and turned large mournful eyes upwards.
"Well, that's no good," said Crowley with forced jollity, "How about I give you a hand to get unstuck?"
Hope blossomed in the green eyes. "Could you do that?"
"Well, I'm right here," said Crowley, "If you want me to, that is."
The boy seemed to consider the idea. "Yeah," he said finally, "If you could get us untangled, that would be awesome!"
"Right then," Crowley forced an avuncular smile onto his face, "Let's have a look, shall we? Did you happen to find an end anywhere?"
Whether it was because he was a demon or whether it was because he was able to pick at it from the outside, he found and end quickly. The rope was tangled rather than tied. However, when he found an end or loop and pulled at it, it just seemed to make another part of the whole mess enmesh even more firmly.
"Well, this isn't working," Crowley decided, "We have to try something else. Are you sure you don't know how exactly this happened?"
The boy shook his head. "I thought maybe I could cut through it if I had my pocket knife," he said in a disappointed tone, "But I must've dropped it."
Crowley looked around on the floor. "It might work, if it's here. What does it look like?"
"It's unusual," the boy offered him a ridiculously photogenic smile, "It's got a bone handle, and these marks down the side that look like teeth."
Crowley stared at him. "Really?" he said slowly. "That sounds like a very unusual knife indeed. I'd really like to see it."
"I don't think it's here," sighed the boy.
"I wonder," mused Crowley. "Dean, I want you to try something for me. I want you to imagine your pocket knife."
"Imagine it?" the child echoed. "You mean, like, think about it?"
"Exactly!" beamed Crowley, "Get a picture of it in your mind, as good as you can remember it, and tell me all about it, and how much you wish you had it right now."
"Uh, okay." Sounding a bit dubious, the boy closed his eyes. "It's mine. It was given to me. It's got a bone handle, and these marks like teeth, and it's a really good blade. It can cut through anything. It never has to get sharpened. Usually, I know where it is, all the time. I wish I had it with me right now, so I could get out of this…"
There was a dull clatter on the floor.
The First Blade had fallen, apparently out of nowhere, at Crowley's feet.
"That's it!" chirped the child, smiling at him as if he'd done a wonderful trick, "That's my knife!"
"Well, isn't that good timing?" chortled Crowley, reaching down to pick up the weapon. "Now, let's see if I can use it – just to cut through 'rope', I can probably do this…"
The cords and skeins of the rope parted like butter under the Blade, until he was able to drag the lot clear of the boy and the puppies. The child didn't seem to be at all startled by the way that the tangled rope dissolved away to nothing once he was free of it.
"There we are," chortled Crowley, "All done."
The boy looked down: there were some smears of tar on him, and on the little puppies, but he was freed. "Thanks," he said, his voice dropping half an octave.
"Oh, you're welcome," replied Crowley. "Now, why don't you and your little pals run along? I'm sure you have somewhere you're supposed to be."
"Yes, I do," the boy said in that deepening voice. "I'll have my knife back now, thank you."
"What, this?" Crowley glanced down at the Blade in his hand. "You know, I'm a bit worried about a youngster like you having a weapon like this. Why don't I take it for you? You might hurt yourself."
"I won't." The boy started to stand up; by the time he'd finished, he was a teenager, taller than Crowley. "It's mine."
"Oh, er, well, if you're sure." Crowley blinked – the teen in front of him flickered, then like a video on fast forward, he was aging before Crowley's eyes. "I suppose you know what you're doi-eeeeeek!"
The weapon in his hand was no longer the First Blade.
It was Dean Winchester's demon-killing knife.
With a shudder, he thrust it into the grown man's hand, and looked up.
Green eyes smirked cockily back at him. "Sure you don't want to try to take it?" he asked.
"No, no, no, that's all right," Crowley tweeted, "It's all yours chum, wouldn't want to have any…"
A bowel-watering growl came from below them.
Crowley looked down to see that the puppies had grown too. They were no longer adorable little balls of fluff: they were two fully grown dogs, large, muscular, covered in battlescars, with snaggled teeth and yellowed fangs showing.
They looked at him, and growled. They looked… hungry.
"Er," he stuttered, "They were… smaller before."
"These guys?" grinned 'Dean, "Oh, this one here, this is Guilt, and this is Self-Doubt. They've been my companions since I was a kid. They're never gonna leave me now."
"Oh, well," Crowley took a couple of steps back, "Looks like you're back to your old self now, yes?"
"Pretty much, I think," Dean agreed, wiping at a smear of tar on his shirt. He looked back up. "I think you might want to leave now."
"I think I agree," Crowley was still eyeing the dogs, who eyed him back, "Still, I don't suppose Guilt or Self-Doubt will want anything to do with me, hmmmmm? I don't have either of them, so I'm sure I'll taste terrible, ha ha…"
The slow smile Dean gave him stopped his attempt at mirth in its tracks.
"Did it occur to you that they might be two of the things that make me such an awesome Hunter?" he drawled with obvious amusement.
"Er…"
Guilt let out a sharp bark, and took a stalking step forward. Self-Doubt did the same.
"Hey, Crowley," Dean grinned.
"What?" yapped Crowley, backing away with the dogs matching him step for step.
"I hope you can run as well as you dance."
The snarling animals snapping at his heels, His Majesty turned and sprinted back towards the sheds.
I'm wondering who will be more traumatised by this episode, Dean or Crowley. But now Fergus the plot bunny has just about finished this story, so feed him reviews to get him over the line, because Reviews Are The Giant Lizard Stomping On The People Who Annoy You In The Japanese City Of Life!