A Nasty Nest 9
After a bit of rummaging, Sid pulled a dilapidated wagon out of the barn. The flock fluttered up and over the railings, settling themselves in the hay strewn across the wagon bed. All six men looked at the wagon with a long silence. Gareth broke it, saying, with an air of resignation, "Right. We 'ave a wagon. Would anybody - " He paused to pinion each of the other men with grim eyes. "Would anybody like to tell us all just 'ow we're getting said wagon back to the castle?!"
Gareth ended with a glare at King Richard, who coughed and looked at Galavant. Galavant looked at Sid. The cockatrice perched its neck on the wagon railing and glared at everyone, hissing like a tea kettle on the verge of boiling. Dean heaved a sigh.
"Look, guys. I really don't want to ride a horse for another three hours. Soooo...why don't we harness my horse up to the wagon, and I'll drive the damned thing?"
A quick conference, and all assembled agreed it was a viable approach. "Just...uh...one small addition," Galavant said. "Perhaps we should have Sid ride with you?" He scuffed his feet in the barnyard dust and looked away. "Given as you don't have...ahem...much experience with horses, it might be a good idea." Sam grinned.
Dean opened his mouth to protest his abilities, thought about it, then closed it and cocked a finger at Galavant. "Point."
Galavant relaxed and smiled. "Sid! Horses!" Sid had a momentary harried expression at the idea of wrangling six horses, then shrugged and trotted off down the line of petrified bodies. He returned quickly, riding his mount and guiding the rest, reins looped together. A period of fussing followed. While the others mounted up, Dean's horse, indignant at the thought of being made a cart horse, sidled away with bared teeth when Sid tried to harness him up. Some soft flattery, neck rubbing, and an apple ended the rebellion, and the horse submitted, tail flicking and head tossing. Sid clambered up onto the wagon seat next to Dean, grabbed the reins from him, and they all exited the barnyard. Dean could hear the cockatrice and his hens clucking and muttering, then a red and orange crested head poked between him and Sid, beady eyes fixed on the way ahead.
"So...uh...any plans for those bodies?" Dean called out as the group passed the first one.
King Richard pulled up next to the wagon. "We could haul them to the castle to display them - artistically, of course! - in the castle gardens...it would be the talk of the Seven Realms!" Enchanted by the idea, his eyes unfocused; he was obviously designing just the right arrangement.
Gareth muttered, "Right. Let's remind everyone that your new flock o' pet birds kills people by turnin' them to stone. Great idea." The king shot him a hurt glance. Dean could see his visions of a statuary garden dissipating.
"I rather think we should return them to their families, to do with what they want," said Galavant, on the other side of the wagon.
"If we do that, sir, maybe we could have the families haul them off themselves?" Sid suggested.
He leaned in toward Dean and whispered, "It's not like we have the equipment to get them all to the castle, or the time to haul them all there and then here and there across the countryside."
The cockatrice had kept its head down on the wagon bench while the discussion took place, watching each speaker with beady eyes, taking it all in. It tapped Dean on the thigh with its beak and murmured just loud enough to be heard, "I swore by wings and tail we wouldn't do anything to anyone except their enemies. What more do they want?" Dean shrugged.
"Dude. You killed people. Just gotta live it down, I guess." He eyed the head next to his thigh. "You're lucky we didn't just lop off your head, y'know. It's what I would've done." Sid, listening in, winced and elbowed him hard. The bird lifted its head, peered at Dean, and hissed. Then the neck and head disappeared back into the bed of the wagon.
"You just have to poke the lion, don't you?" Sid muttered. Dean shrugged again.
The ride back to the castle took longer than the ride out, as the horses had to slow down to keep pace with the wagon. By the time they arrived, Dean was regretting his offer to drive; the wagon seat had been as uncomfortable as riding the horse, just in a different way. His ass might be pounded flat, but at least he could swing off the wagon without falling to his knees, which was a relief. Sam slid off his horse next to him, holding the reins out to a nearby stable hand, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Sorry you didn't ride after all?" he said with a smirk. Dean just rubbed his ass and ground his teeth.
"Nobody likes a smart ass, y'know?"
"Better than a sore ass..." Sam snickered. Dean ground his teeth again, and the two turned to follow the others, who were heading to the main castle door, followed by the irascible cockatrice and his harem of hens. The King was climbing the steps, chatting with Galavant, when the doors were flung open, and a man with neat shoulder-length curls and an immaculate, fussy mustache stood framed in the doorway. Everyone stopped. The cockatrice and hens ran into a wall of ankles, and piled up, fluffing and ruffling, behind them. The cockatrice snaked his head around Sam's ankle to peer at this new person.
"Ah!" Richard exclaimed. "The healer! Dean, Sammy - "
"Sam!" Sam gritted out. This time, Dean snickered. Sam switched his glare from the king to his brother.
"Yes, yes. Sammy. Allow me to introduce you to the most amazing fellow - Dr. Neo of Sporin - " He leaned toward Dean and said, in a quieter voice, "He raised Galavant from the dead. Yes, he did!" He paused, as if expecting Sam and Dean to exclaim in amazement. Not receiving the expected response, he gave them a quick frown, then continued, "After Sid killed him."
"Oi! By accident!" Sid protested. Richard waved a dismissive hand.
"Yes, yes, by accident, you keep reminding us." Dean twitched up an eyebrow. "Anyway. Dr. Sporin is the one who brought you here to us." Dean's eyebrows fell into a deep frown. Sam's jaw flexed. They both glared at the man who still stood posing in the doorway.
"Dr. Sporin! You're just in time! The heroes you collected for us solved the crime! And we have cockatrices now!" Sporin blinked and looked down at the flock. The cockatrice regarded him with beady eyes. Sporin flinched back.
"Oh, my, oh goodness me, oh dear - cockatrices?! Are you sure you should have them here?" Sporin asked, wringing his hands.
Galavant slouched, arms crossed, and said, with a weary sigh, "Richard thought Tad Cooper needed a pet. The pet brought his lady friends."
"Really?! But - but - but that means - " The healer leaned forward, and said in a low, warning voice, " - fledgling cockatrices! Baby balls of fluff that could stun you with a look! Oh, I really do think this could be a bad idea! A - a disaster! Waiting to happen!" His voice rose at the end.
Dean, who had fallen into a pose remarkably similar to Galavant's, snorted, and said, "That's what I told them!"
"I swore on wings and tail!" The cockatrice strutted forward, raised his crest, and began marching back and forth on the top step between Sporin and the king. Sporin shrank back, looking ready to dart back into the castle and slam the doors behind himself. "IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM! IiiiiiIi...aaaaaAM!" the lizard-bird started to chant.
"Words! Use your fucking WORDS!" Dean shouted, out of patience. "No singing!"
The cockatrice spread its wings, snaked its head up and back, and glared at Dean. "I. Am. A. Bird of my word!" it spat out, making each word distinct. Then it ruffled its wings, settled them against its back, and swung its head between the king and the healer, stopping in the middle to hiss loudly at Dean. Dean made a face back at it.
"Chill, Dean..." Sam said in a quiet, admonishing voice.
"Of course you are, Sir Cockatrice," the king said, darting a repressive look at Sporin. "By the way, I do hope you don't mind, but I think I'll just call you Tristan? Much easier to say." This time, the cockatrice hissed at the king.
"I have a name already," it said. It posed proudly, folding one lizard-skinned leg up against the other. "My name is Bold And Vicious Killer Of Ugly Flea-Bearing Rats."
Everyone stared at the bird. Then Richard said, "Yes, well, like I said, Tristan. Much shorter."
"You could always call him 'Vicious'," Dean murmured, eyeing the small monster.
"Or 'Killer'," Gareth mused. "I like 'Killer'."
"You would," Sid said, under his breath.
Richard frowned at them all. "Tristan." There was an air of royal finality to his voice.