FLOWER POWER

Chapter 3

xxxxx

A plan was hatched, and it involved Dean's faithful lighter and a large amount of gasoline. Unfortunately, it also involved getting Pedro outside if possible, to avoid incinerating the bunker.

On the basis that neither brother knew if the triffid could manage stairs, they realised that they would have to see to it that Pedro met his maker within the bunker, then carry him outside for a bonfire.

The plan, such as it was, was hatched from under the war-room table, as Pedro had finally managed to break into the Main Hall, and the Winchesters had dived under there instinctively as the nearest place of cover they could find. Luckily, it appeared that Pedro, despite patrolling the main hall several times hadn't realised they were there yet.

Apparently Pedro wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Eventually Dean spoke up. "Sam do we have any weedkiller?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, why the fuck would we have weedkiller? When was the last time we did any gardening? We don't even have a goddamn garden!"

Dean snorted. "Okay, princess, I only asked."

A few moments of glum silence later, and Dean spoke up again. "Right, I've had enough of this; I'm gonna make a run for it – and grab that samurai sword off the wall."

"Wait," Sam reached out and gripped Dean's shoulder; "that thing's fast, can you make it?"

Dean shrugged; "Pedro's a freaking plant, Sam, not a kangaroo – if I can't outrun him, it's time to retire."

Sam sighed, knowing that Dean's mind was set. "Just be careful right? I've no idea what the cure for triffid poison is."

"Yes Mom," Dean grunted as he slid, belly-down out from under the table.

It didn't take long for Pedro to realise that one of his quarry was escaping, and as Dean heaved himself to his feet, Pedro was scuttling on his ever growing rootball across the flagstoned floor toward him, hissing and clicking and sounding about as seriously pissed off as a plant can sound.

Dean lunged towards the main hall's interior wall, his eyes set on the long gleaming blade of the samurai sword he'd secretly always hankered to use ever since he first saw it.

He was so focussed on that, he didn't see the long coiling tendril that whipped out and in the space of a second, wrapped itself around his left ankle, sending him faceplanting across the floor.

"OOOFFF…" Dean grunted as all the air was flattened out of his lungs, leaving him sprawled prone across the floor seeing stars, and absolutely not seeing the triffid which was trundling across the floor toward him.

Scrambling out from under the table, Sam watched in horror as the predator circled its helpless prey. Dean lay on the floor, panting miserably, and looking up into the … part of Pedro's trunk where he might have had eyes, if he did indeed have any … and awaiting his fate.

The horrible slimy stamen uncoiled from within the mass of writhing tendrils at the top of the plant, and Dean closed his eyes. He wondered what death by triffid poison felt like. He hoped it might feel cool and mellow, just like being really, really stoned, but deep down, he knew he could never get that lucky.

But the sting never came.

Dean recoiled as he felt the stamen on his face, cold, sticky ooze coating his cheek and down his neck. He realised that the aggressive hissing, clicking and general pissed-off-ness of the plant had subsided into a soft sound that could only be described as a coo.

The stamen continued its wandering journey, and gentle cooing or not, Dean was not happy about the general direction in which it was travelling.

"SAAAM," he yelled; "Pedro's gettin' fresh with me!"

It was then that Sam realised – the plant didn't want to hurt Dean, it wanted to be friends with him. Very close friends judging by where the stamen was heading next.

Sam stood, open-mouthed and watched the spectacle unfolding before him. It was like the horticultural equivalent of a dog humping someone's leg. He wasn't sure if it was disturbing or hilarious – or perhaps hilariously disturbing.

xxxxx

Now that he'd realised that Dean wasn't in any apparent danger, Sam had to concede that watching his writhing, cussing brother sprawling on the floor being molested by the ugliest plant in existence was a pretty popcorn-worthy sight. But it gave him a dilemma. As entertaining as it was, he couldn't allow this to continue. What if Dean had been right about the tree babies? That was wrong in all sorts of ways that Sam didn't even want to think about. Then, suppose the plant didn't take rejection well? Perhaps it might turn back into the poison-spitting killer that all the lore books said it was.

But all things considered, Sam realised he didn't want to kill it any more.

He thought fast.

His mind wandered to a spell he found in a book he'd recently been studying in the library, and an idea blossomed.

"Hey Dean, don't move … I'll be back in a sec."

"Don't move?" Dean snapped, "Where'y going? I'm being harassed by a freaking tree, and you say don't move. ARE YOU NUTS?"

But Sam was gone, sprinting to the library.

Managing to clamber up onto his hands and knees, Dean crawled forward, trying to shake off a myriad wandering tendrils, and failing miserably, as the a clump of the tendrils dragged him back int the plant's embrace and continued their wandering.

"What the .. WAHHEEEY! Dean yelped, gyrating wildly; "get the hell away from my …"

He was interrupted by Sam's return.

Wildhaired, and breathless, Sam was carrying an ancient grimoire under his arm, a knife, and a bowl of water as he tore back into the main hall, skidding to a halt beside Dean and his overfamiliar floral friend.

"Hold on Dean," he panted.

"No," Dean snapped, squirming wildly; "he's the one that's doing all the holding OOOONNN … and you really don't wanna know where!"

Sam placed the bowl of water on the floor, and quickly stepped up to the spectacle before him. On the basis that the plant was distracted (and judging by the look on Dean's face, Sam SO didn't want to know what by), he whipped out the knife he was carrying, and quickly cut off one of the smaller tendrils growing out of the trunk.

Pedro hesitated, letting out a threatening hiss as Sam stepped back.

Sam quickly flicked his lighter and set fire to the tendril. He opened the grimoire and began to read from it; drawing, as he did, a sigil in mid-air with the smoke of the burning tendril. The incantation was in an archaic language, something that Dean had never heard before and, given his current situation, really didn't care about.

The effect was instantaneous.

To both brothers' incalculable relief, the giant plant disappeared, and Dean saw a tiny flash of orange pop into his peripheral vision.

There was a faint plop as the tiny orange shape dropped into the bowl of water that Sam had carefully placed underneath it.

Rolling over onto his back, Dean flopped bonelessly back into the sticky puddle of green gunk that surrounded him.

"What the hell…?" he groaned.

Sam shrugged. "Zoroastran transmogrifying spell," he replied economically; "I found it in the library about a month ago."

Dean reached up to wipe his face clean, succeeding only in transferring more green sludge onto it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Once I realised that Pedro didn't actually want to kill you, he just …"

"Yeah … just," Dean growled; "let's 'just' leave it at that!"

Sam grinned; "well, you know, I didn't really want to kill him - it's not his fault that he's got questionable taste - and so I thought … well you always wanted a goldfish."

Dean sat up and stared into the bowl at the little shimmering orange creature swimming around the bowl.

"Goldfish?" He looked up at Sam.

"It's still Pedro, he just – well, he can't get out of the bowl, for a start."

Dean stared at the little goldfish, ignoring the green slime that dripped off his nose onto the floor.

"He'll need an aquarium," Dean began; "and one of those bubbly filter things … and some plants. Oh, d'y reckon I can get him one of those pirate shipwreck decorations?"

Sam gave a shrug and smiled; "up to you Dean. He's your goldfish."

Dean's face lit up.

"Mine? My goldfish?"

"Well, yeah," Sam nodded; "why not. Pedro's gotta be less trouble now than when he was a giant, ugly touchy-feely plant."

"Yeah, you're not wrong," Dean agreed.

Both men paused momentarily, staring at the little bemused goldfish.

"Hey Sam?"

"What?"

"I changed my mind, he can't be Pedro any more…"

"His name's George."

xxxxx

end