Title: Dawn of the Lepus
Genre: Humour, crack!fic
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Word count: ~2500
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
Summary: The Men of Letters' cookbook should be taken with a pinch of salt... and then possibly burned.
Author note: As a small child, I was totally traumatised by a late night, unsupervised viewing of 'Night of the Lepus'. This is like therapy! Thank you dizzojay for a great picture. Happy Halloween!
"Pulling rabbits out of a hat, all I get is polite applause" – 'Pulling Rabbits Out of a Hat', Sparks
Sam was sitting on top of the counter, kicking his feet while happily munching his way through a heavenly quinoa and kale 'power salad' drizzled with the most gorgeously piquant lemon vinaigrette, only to have his mood shattered when Dean sauntered into the kitchen. His brother was obviously going to make one of his usual disparaging comments, so Sam instinctively pulled the bowl closer to his body even though he knew there was no danger of Dean trying to steal it from him.
From my cold dead hands, vowed Sam, thinking that he'd definitely be returning to the pop-up salad bar if it ever found its way back to Lebanon.
"Urgh, how can you eat that crap," said Dean, on cue and as predicted.
"Well, I like it," replied Sam mildly, because really, there was no point arguing with someone who had no intention of listening or considering an alternative view on tofu.
"No one likes it," declared Dean, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice; presumably at the thought of eating vegetable matter that hadn't been deep fried at least twice.
"How would you know anyway?" Sam sighed.
Dean paused. He took a long careful look around, as if they hadn't been stuck in the bunker for over a week now without either venturing out or receiving visitors. "I've eaten... salad," Dean revealed at last, speaking in hushed, almost scandalized, tones.
"When?" scoffed Sam. "I've never seen you."
"There was that one time... in Canada," said Dean, seeming indignant, yet still not terribly believable.
"Where was I during this epic event?"
Dean shifted his weight from one foot to another and back again. "You weren't there."
Sam rolled his eyes. "It can't have been that bad, surely."
"Don't call me Shirley," winked Dean, clearly trying to change the subject. He sighed at Sam's put-upon expression and grimaced. "Never again. Now, make it taste like meat and that's another matter."
Sam had just come up with the most perfect, pleasingly-witty rejoinder when Dean apparently decided the conversation was over and rushed out of the room; presumably to clean his teeth of the remembered taste of vegetables.
Sam was looking through one of the bunker's many storerooms which was something he liked to do on occasion. The contents might already be catalogued, but just going through those indexes themselves was a massive undertaking.
Not to mention, the Men of Letters had a disconcerting habit of putting the most innocuous of items slap-bang next to cursed objects with some seriously twisted-mojo. He glanced at the row of shelves and noticed a prime example; where a potion to disguise the taste of cough mixture sat innocently beside an emerald-encrusted necklace that could be used to remotely strangle its wearer to death.
Wait, what was that again?
He looked closer. He rubbed his chin as he pondered what he'd seen.
Hmm, I could use that on Dean.
"Here, try this," said Sam, waving a plate under Dean's nose with a flourish, almost managing to brain his brother in his enthusiasm.
"What is it?" asked Dean suspiciously, rendered cross-eyed as he tried to focus on the plate's contents.
Dean stared at the vegetables as if committing the sight of them to memory; from the way he scrunched up his face it wasn't a pleasant one.
It's probably the first time he's actually ever seen one, thought Sam. "Try it," he promoted, raising the plate nearer.
"No!" Dean shuddered and took a hurried couple of steps back.
For a moment, Sam felt a crushing sense of disappointment, but then a sudden inspiration sprang fully formed into his mind and a wicked grin gradually took up residence on his face.
"I dare you."
Dean looked conflicted.
"I double dare you," hissed Sam, his grin widening.
Dean looked torn.
Okay, time for the big guns, thought Sam. He put on his best kicked-puppy look and peered up at Dean through his eyelashes - not easy given their height discrepancy. "Please? For me?"
Dean sighed. "Okay," he replied, already looking like he regretted it.
Sam watched avidly as his brother screwed up his face even more than before and struggled to force himself to bring the carrot up to his lips.
Dean bit into the carrot with a loud crunch, making a sound of disgust before he even started chewing. He paused. His face went slack in shock. He started chewing vigorously.
"Hmmm, ish r'ly good," he declared through a mouthful of carrot pulp.
Sam sat back with a satisfied smirk.
"What did you cook it in? Bacon?" Dean smacked his lips. "Ooh! And is that a hint of maple syrup?" He made 'grabby-hand' motions at the rest of vegetables on the plate.
Sam passed them over. "Nope, they're not cooked."
Dean stuffed another couple of carrots into his mouth. "How?" He managed to ask with only a minimum of spray.
"I treated them with a magical hormone spray."
Dean stopped chewing instantly and instead looked sick. "Hormones?" he gulped.
"It's fine," said Sam airily. "They're 100% natural and organic."
Dean wrinkled his nose, he wasn't sure he found that as reassuring as his brother seemed to, but food was food and this was particularly good. Shrugging, he helped himself to another carrot.
The next day Sam found his brother slumped over the kitchen table, groaning as if he was dying. "Hey, what's up?"
Dean groaned again and rubbed at his abdomen. "My stomach hurts. I don't feel so good. Maybe it was those carrots?"
Sam frowned, he'd eaten a couple and he felt fine. "How many did you eat?"
"All of them," replied Dean in a small voice.
Sam turned to look at the kitchen counter. "The whole plateful?"
"No. All of them."
Sam blinked in surprised. "That was a whole sackful! No wonder you've got stomach ache!" he laughed. "I was going use them for a sugar-free spiced carrot cake recipe I found online; I know how much you like cake."
Sam didn't know what he could have possibly said for Dean to stop his groaning long enough give him such a dirty look, but he was distracted by a thought that suddenly occurred to him.
"Hold on, those weren't even treated..."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe I've developed a taste for veggies, after all." He gave another ear-splitting groan. "I'm gonna go burrow under my covers for the rest of the day," he moaned, as he staggered from the room.
Sam glanced up from drowning the last of his organic seed and oat muesli in skim milk when Dean practically bounced into the room wearing what Sam had taken to calling the 'dead guy' robe. He grimaced at the sight of the loosely belted gown hanging half-open.
"Stop flouncing around, dude. The last thing I need this early in the morning is to get an eyeful of your junk swinging in the breeze."
"Jewels, Sammy. Jewels," Dean smirked. "And stop your whining; it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"Hence the long therapy list," muttered Sam, stirring his breakfast. He blinked, distracted as he noted the state of Dean's feet for once not encased in the equally revolting 'dead guy' slippers.
"Dude, your feet are filthy."
Dean peered down, surprised at the sight of the long streaks of dirt running between his toes. He scowled at Sam. "What's the point of my drawing up a cleaning roster if you don't stick to it?" he growled.
Sam flushed. "Ah, yes. Anyway," he continued, searching for any hope of a segue to a less controversial topic. "You seriously need to cut those toenails, they're practically talons."
"They have grown quick," Dean agreed. "Perhaps there's something to this health food stuff after all?"
"Yes!" said Sam, seizing onto the successful change in subject. "You do seem bright-eyed and bushy tailed this morning. Feeling better generally, I take it?"
"I feel grr-eat," said Dean, doing his best Tony the Tiger impression. "Although, I did have some odd dreams..."
"Yeah, I was woken up by what felt like a couple of rumbles, the place practically shook. Do you think it was an earthquake?"
Dean shook his head, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I should have guessed you wouldn't know what it feels like when the earth moves."
Sam was about to respond with some suitably devastating put down when was he interrupted by his brother snatching his bowl of breakfast from his hands.
"Hey, that's mine," Sam spluttered in shock, as he watched Dean shovel spoonfuls of the toasted oaty goodness into his mouth.
Dean belched happily and handed back the now empty bowl. "Not bad, but it'd be better if you'd used almond milk instead."
Sam was still open-mouthed in surprise a good minute or so after Dean had turned and walked out.
"I guess I'm off to the grocery store then," he muttered, thinking that it was a long time until lunch.
Sam was browsing through the local convenience store. Not for the first time he wished it carried a more worldly stock. Heck, even a Gas and Sip would be an improvement, he thought as he mourned the passing of the pop-up deli that had departed to pastures new, almost certainly never to be seen again.
He was bored enough to be distracted by the sounds of a loud conversation coming from by the cash register. A couple of half-familiar looking old fellas that Sam had seen around town before, were shooting the breeze.
"...kids said they were up by the monument when they were chased by some huge beast that came lolloping out at them," said one old timer.
"Bah, it was probably drugs. Those youngsters and their bath bombs," said the other, shaking his head at the folly of youth.
"Salts," corrected Sam, automatically.
The old timers stared at Sam as if unsure what to make of him. Since it was a look he'd been receiving from his brother and father for most of his life, he continued unabashed.
"They're called bath salts," he clarified, clearing his throat at the speculative gaze this information earned him. "Or so I'm told, not that I take them myself," he stuttered.
"Hmph," retorted the first guy. "Anyway, one of 'em had a nasty set of scratches on him. So, if you've any sense you'll avoid the area."
Sam nodded, intending no such thing. About time we found ourselves a hunt. And this one's right on our doorstep, he thought.
Dean rolled his eyes as his brother crashed through the undergrowth.
"Can you keep it down?" he hissed. "It's not going to be much of a hunt if you scare off whatever it is."
"Sorry," said Sam, as he stumbled over a root underfoot. "But with all these fields, did we have to walk through the only forest around here? I can hardly see a thing!"
"Forest!? It's barely a dozen trees," tutted Dean. "Plus there's a full moon over head. Perhaps you should eat some of your carrots," he chuckled. As if to demonstrate he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large carrot, biting into it with gusto.
Sam watched in undisguised bemusement as Dean chomped his way through the vegetable. "As if you'd leave me any. And with all that crunching..."He paused as he realized that Dean's eyes were shining with a lurid green light.
Dean smacked his lips loudly, turning to look at Sam curiously. Sam took a sudden intake of breath on noticing that Dean's top front teeth had trebled in size and length and now protruded down and out of his mouth.
"W-what's up, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice and distorted and deep; well, even deeper than usual, even deeper than Castiel, Sam realized.
Without seeming to be aware of his actions, Dean cast off his clothing, while his body bulged and his skin sprouted long, silky fur. His ears elongated and stretched up over his head, before flopping back down, as he continued to grow considerably both taller and wider until he was towering over Sam, almost equal to the height of the trees.
"D-Dean?" Sam called.
The returning cry might have been his name; it was difficult to tell with all the roaring. Sam turned and fled. I knew those carrots were too good to be true, he thought as he scrambled behind a tree and out of range of Dean's giant paws and their wickedly long claws. He sighed in relief as the giant bunny that had once been his brother lopped off in a different direction, fortunately further away from town.
It must wear off soon, he thought as he realized Dean must have been the creature the old timers from the store were talking about. I wonder how many he's eaten?
A sudden twisting-pulling sensation in his stomach reminded him he'd eaten some himself. As the moon called to him, he bent down to untie his laces. No point ruining perfectly good boots, he decided, as all conscious thoughts were swept away.
When Sam awoke, the first light of dawn was just starting to spread from the east. He stood and stretched; considering he'd presumably been hopping around all night in just his own fur coat he felt surprising good.
The thundering crashing and enraged roaring from nearby made him realize his brother was still transformed and jumping about in the vicinity.
Yep, Dean definitely ate considerable more carrots.
"I suppose I ought to stop him before he catches myxomatosis," he muttered.
That gives me an idea... It was crazy--although no crazier than the thought of Dean as a 20 foot rabbit--but it just might work...
Sam sighed at the sight of the ragged remnants of what had once been his clothes. At least his boots had survived unscathed, he just hoped he didn't see anyone or his self-respect might not.
Shivering in the early morning chill, he set up off back to the bunker at a fast pace.
"What I don't understand is how you managed to stop me," said Dean, once they were back in the bunker. He rubbed a hand across his face as he tried to absorb his brother's explanation of recent events.
"Bright Eyes," said Sam in a smug tone that implied those words explained everything.
"I played it very loudly though the Impala's stereo and it seemed to keep you at bay."
"Gotta love that Art Garfunkel," Dean chuckled. "Well, seeing how you saved me, I'm not gonna ask how you happened to have the soundtrack to hand," he added with a wink. "Especially since I remember you sobbed your way through Watership Down after you forced Dad to hire it on VHS."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"And no more salad! From now on, it's a strict diet of cheeseburger and fries," ordered Dean.
Sam nodded his understanding. Although, there'll definitely be extra onions for mine, he decided, an evil gleam in his eye.
Dean jumped to his feet. "Right! I'm feeling a bit... frisky. I need to get out of here. Don't wait up, I'm gonna go hit the bars and see if I can't catch myself a little tail."
Sam's eye's widened as he watched his brother's departing back. "I think you might already still have one," he muttered under his breath.
"Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes.
They got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses.
And what's with all the carrots?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
It must be bunnies!" - Anya, 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'