Title: (Everything Is) Bigger and Better in Texas
Author: Vesper (Regina)
Warnings: Freakiness ahead, yo. And, adult themes.
Category: Humor, Horror
Keywords: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Summary: They slept in the car that night, after they disposed of the statue. 694 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Archival: If you wish to archive, please link to my website. Please keep all my headers intact.
Notes: At the end.
"I swear to God, Sam, this sucker must've been cursed or irradiated, or something like that--"
"Well, you know what they say about things in Texas."
"Oh, yeah, like I needed to be reminded. Anyway, I had never seen anything like it on this green earth. Just sittin' there on the floor, watching me take a wizz."
Sam snickered. "It can't have been that bad, Dean. I mean, it could have looked up at you and said, 'Move over, man, I need my turn."
Dean guffawed and slapped the table between them.
Sam smiled, a great grin that took up most of his face. "After all, we've seen worse...hey, we've even killed worse." He set down his waxed cardboard cup and reached across the table to the plastic bag, rummaging inside. Not finding what he was looking for, he asked, "Hey, did you make sure they put the Burrito Supreme in here?"
"Oh, that? I already ate that." Dean took a napkin and wiped the sides of his mouth.
"You shouldn't have sent me for food if you weren't prepared to suffer the consequences."
Sam thinned his lips. "Yeah, well, Dean, if I'd known you were going to eat my food, I would have gone myself."
Dean snorted. "You do that next time. Anyway, time to hit the hay...are you gonna...." He pointed backwards, in the direction of the bathroom.
"Naw, man. You go first. I'm gonna see if I can find anything more on this statue."
Dean headed to the bathroom, taking off his over-shirt and tossing it on the bed, and grabbed his duffel from the foot of the bed.
Sam heard the door close, but didn't look up as he opened up his laptop. He navigated to the shortcut for Mozilla Firefox and reached for the bag again, without taking his attention from the screen. Pulling out a soft taco, he settled back to surf and munch at the same time.
A few minutes later he became aware of a soft skittering noise and looked around. Seeing nothing, he went back to clicking.
Two minutes after that, Dean opened the door of the bathroom and said, "Gross, Sammy, just--gross. Look what I pulled out of the drain."
Sam said, "What?" and then looked up. Dean was standing stock still, holding a dark mass pinched between his fingertips.
Sam shook his head, dismayed. "Whatever, Dean, just toss it in the trash." Dean just stood there, looking past Sam.
Sam looked behind him. There was nothing there.
Sam said, "What is it?"
Dean's mouth worked for a few seconds, apparently at a loss for the right words. He finally settled for, "Don't move your feet and, for God's sake, don't startle them."
Sam's eyebrows rose and pinched together. He looked at the floor. It was moving, undulating, dark as coffee beans, and shiny.
"Holy crap," said Sam, low and slow.
"Yeah," Dean agreed.
"What do you think?"
Dean disappeared from the door. He was back a second later with two cans, one of which he tossed it to Sam. Sam caught it out of the air and they lit them in unison. The audible snick and hiss of the flame was echoed from the floor.
They aimed the flames at the chitinous mass and turned them on high. The rustling of wings and legs seemed louder than it was.
"Oh, crap!" Dean said, as some of them swarmed into the air, and he stepped back, bodies crunching under his feet. He moved his flame thrower up and the insects flamed blue and fell out of the air.
Dean said, "God, that stinks."
Sam only pulled back the muscles around his mouth, nostrils flared, and nodded.
Sam and Dean held their breaths, and swept the floor and air with the flame throwers. In a matter of minutes, most of the cockroaches were dead. What few weren't, met the bottom of a well-worn boot.
They slept in the car that night, after they disposed of the statue.
Dean said, after they'd had their eyes closed for about half-an-hour, "Hey, Sam, scale of one to ten?"
Sam said, "Shut up, Dean."
Afterword: Muwahahaha. Oops, sorry. This is what happens when my Supernatural-loving sister asks me to write a story (again!) about Taco Bell, roaches, and a wad of hair.