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23 June 2014 @ 09:46 pm
Winchesters on holiday, today they meet Weymouth!  
Usually I don’t do requests, after all some of them are physically impossible. But a couple of you brave souls, have asked me to continue the adventures of the Winchesters in Weymouth.  So I thought, I’m bored so here I go again.

Sam yawned and stretched, cursing slightly under his breath as the crick in his neck made itself known. He was never going to complain about motel beds ever again, they might be a bit on the short side for large frame. But the beds in Caravans? He was now convinced the English were a race of hobbits, if these beds were anything to go by. He’d spent a slightly uncomfortable, no make that utterly uncomfortable night sharing a pull out double bed (yeah it was a double bed, if you came from the Shire) with Dean.

Sam groaned as his sore ribs reminded him of how he’d spent his night, it wasn’t too unusual for the brothers to share a bed. Often the last room in the motel had a king size or nothing, and there were the nights, when one of the beds was covered in weapons. And they were too wiped after a hunt to clear them off. Sharing a bed with Dean was an exercise in brotherly affection, tested to the limit.

Sam knew from painful experience, that his brother never slept peacefully. Dean was restless he’d start out perfectly still, but by about three in the morning.  His brother had a whole repertoire of twitches, turns and arm flailing. Which was why he had bruised ribs, this morning and Dean’s snoring could possibly wake the dead.

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, realizing that there was a Dean shaped space beside him.  He smiled and burrowed under the covers and tried to spread out.  Only to shriek in terror when something heavy landed beside him. He opened his eyes cautiously, as he reached for the knife under Dean’s pillow. He was greeted by a pair of warm brown eyes and a cold nose.

“Kizzy, come on off there, Sam doesn’t want to share the bed with you, go and wake Steve instead. You know how much he loves you.”  The Border collie looked up and wagged her tail, as she rolled off the low bed and wandered down the caravan.

Sam looked up and was greeted by Sasha holding a cup of coffee, “Sorry about that, but me and Steve usually sleep out here, mum gets the double room. As far as Kizzy’s concerned as soon as Steve gets up that space is hers.”  She handed the cup to Sam.

“I’m sorry about me and Dean, taking over your bed.  Are you sure your mum doesn’t mind using the single bed?” He sat up and Sasha twitched, when she realized Sam was shirtless.

“Huh? Mum, don’t worry Dean had her eating out of the palm of his hand. But if you hear a thud, it just means she’s fell out of bed again. Plus it’s the least I could do after that honeymoon suite Fic of mine.”  She took a sip of her own coffee as Sam looked up at her, deciding some things were best left alone.

“Where’s Dean, he hates getting up early.  I thought I would end up folding him into the bed to get him up.”

“Dean took one look at the cereal boxes, and decided to hunt down a proper breakfast.  He should be back soon.” Sasha said with a grin.

Sam looked over to the kitchen part of the Caravan, yeah bran flakes wasn’t Dean’s idea of a hearty breakfast.  “What are you guys doing today?” He asked as Sasha perched on the sofa beside him.

“Well mum had a little bit too much sun yesterday, actually considering how red she is. Try way too much sun. So she is staying in with the dogs, unless you’d like to take them with us, when I show you Weymouth.”

Sam shook his head, “I know Dean wouldn’t let you put Kizzy, and errr Sasha in the Impala.”  He said with a grin as the Fan Girl blushed.

The door opened and Dean came in clutching several grease stained bags, “No way am I having more dog hair in my baby. And by the way, how come you’ve got the same name as your husky?”  Dean asked with a smirk.

Sasha squirmed, “Look I was struggling for a user name, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. How the hell was I supposed to know I’d bump into you two?” She said grumpily.

Dean’s lips twitched and he started to speak in a familiar brogue, “We named you Henry Junior, Indiana was the dog.” Dean paraphrased one of his favourite films

“Yeah well I’ve got very fond memories of that dog, sometimes she’s even awake. Aren’t you Sash?”  The three of them looked at the sleeping Black husky, “Best guard dog in the world, if anyone breaks in she snores louder.”   They burst out laughing, as Dean threw one of the paper bags at Sam.

Sam caught in and looked inside, “What the hell is that?” He asked nervously.

“That little brother is the breakfast of kings, according to Stan at the cafe in the village. It’s a bacon butty!”  Dean dug into the bag and produced a sandwich; well that’s what Sam supposed it was. It consisted of two slices of bread thick enough to be a full loaf, and bacon grease oozed gently down the sides.  Dean took a large bite and moaned blissfully.

Sam closed the bag and offered it to Dean, “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass.”  Sam looked at Sasha who got him a bowl of cereal.

Later that morning the three of them walked along the sea front of Weymouth, Dean was eating an ice cream and smiling.  “Man I didn’t think they had all these different flavours over here, I thought it was just Vanilla.” He flicked his tongue over the melting mass, and Sasha’s glasses steamed up, as Dean curled his tongue around the top of the cornet.

Sam rolled his eyes, “Dude of course they have different flavours, although I don’t they’ve ever had an order for Pistachio, coffee and Blackcurrant before.”

Dean shrugged, “True I was going to go for chocolate, but I thought you’d just nag me about being unhealthy. So I asked for a fruit one, just to keep you happy Sam.”  He ignored the way Sam rolled his eyes; he stopped in front of a brightly stripped kiosk. He pointed at it with his ice cream, “What’s that? It’s a bit small for a fortune tellin’ booth. What do you do stand real close, as a hot gypsy feels your bumps?”  Dean asked with a grin.

Sasha looked over to where Dean was pointing; she smiled “ahh not quite, that’s a Punch and Judy show. A very old form of English entertainment, and the bane of Steve’s life.  He hates that bloody puppet. And trust me I know how he feels.”

Sam stared at the puppet theatre, “But it’s for kids look at them sitting there waiting, what’s so awful about it?”

Before Sasha had chance to answer, a shrill, shrieking voice rang out “That’s the way to do it!”

Dean stepped back in shock, “That’s for kids? A voice like that could give you nightmares.”

“Oh you ain’t seen nothing yet, perhaps you might like to watch Mr Punch in all his glory.  Sam will find the historic roots of the show fascinating.” She pointed Sam towards a notice that told the history of Mr Punch, just as the curtains opened and the show began.

Sam was horrified, in all his years of hunting he’d never seen anything so violent. Mr Punch was a hunched backed, red nosed Psychopath, who when he wasn’t beating his poor unfortunate wife, Judy with a stick.  He was attacking their baby, and where the hell did the sausages and the crocodile come from? When Mr Punch beat the policeman round the head with the stick, he said in a shocked voice, “This is for kids? Wow what do you call adult entertainment? Actually having survived some of your Fics, please don’t answer that.” He finished weakly.

Dean starred mesmerized by the violence in front of him, “Please let me gank that little bitch, he’s got creepy, beady black eyes. I swear the bastard’s cursed, no human sounds like that. I say when the show’s over, we salt and burn the creepy assed thing, save the kids from being scarred for life.”

Sasha thought about it for a moment, “I’m pretty sure Steve would drive the getaway car if you did. I tell you what, how about I show you an old fashioned English pub.  While you plot Mr Punch’s demise.” She ushered the boys away from the puppet show, wondering if it would be a bad thing to let Dean cremate the little horror.

They walked over to an old building, the pub rejoiced in the name of The Black Dog.  Dean quirked his eyebrow at Sam, “Please don’t tell me she’s found us a hunt, who the hell calls a pub after a monster? Damn these Brits are confusing, they drive on the wrong side of the road, and there are only what five channels on TV, it’s not natural.”

Sasha patted Dean on the shoulder as she led them inside “I keep telling you, they don’t have cable in Caravans. And this is the oldest pub in Weymouth, goes back to the 1500’s. It’s called the Black dog, after one of the earliest landlord’s dog. It was a Newfoundland and he was quite the attraction in the day.”

Dean shook his head, “See what I mean Sam, they’ve got so little to do, they come and stare at a dog! I’ve said it before Demons I get, the English are crazy.”

He stepped inside and stopped, looking at the uneven stone floor and wood beams on the ceiling. Sam kept walking right into one of the beams; Dean flinched and tried not to laugh, well not too loudly.

Sasha turned round, “whoops, sorry about that, I forgot to mention the ceilings were low. How is the head Sam?” She said sympathetically.

Sam shook his head and checked to see he wasn’t bleeding, “I knew it Hobbits, every single one of them.” He muttered as Dean walked over the bar.

Dean stared at the array of beers on offer, like a child in a toy store before Christmas, “So is any of this ‘Real Ale’? What’s so real about it? Isn’t all English beer warm and flat?”  The conversations in the pub stopped, and everyone turned to look at Dean.

“And suddenly I know how they felt in that pub, in An American Werewolf in London.”  Sam said, as he got ready to defend Dean, in case one of the cliental took offence.

The landlord smiled at him, “Ahh an American gentleman, can I interest you in one of our beers?  We have Chesil, Dorset Knob, and a firm favourite Dorset Piddle Black Hole.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up when he heard that, “The last one, I gotta try the last one.” He beat his hands on the bar with a flourish.

Sam looked nervous, “Err Dean you might want to be a little careful, with that. It’s not your usual drink.” He watched as the landlord gave him a pint glass filled, with a dark evil looking brew.

Dean smirked cockily and lifted the glass to his lips, and in one long drink downed half of it, “Hhhm, kinda chewy, and full bodied not bad though.”  He finished the rest of it in another swallow, “That all you got? I thought this stuff was strong?”

Sasha put her head in her hands, and said “Oh dear, this could get messy. Sam, please tell me you’ve got the Impala’s keys?” She watched as the landlord pulled Dean another pint from a different pump.

Several hours later three figures staggered out of The Black Dog. Sasha was doing her best to keep them in a straight line, as she stepped over the body of one of the bar’s customers who tried to take Dean on in a drinking game.  In the end the landlord had begged her to take her friends and go, before the bow legged one drank his bar dry.

Dean smiled woozily, “I had to uphold Winchester honour, no way was I gonna let some Brit drink me under the ‘hic’ table.  Ain’t that right Sammy!”  He slapped Sam on the shoulder, and his brother burped and turned bright green.

“Whoops sorry little brother, perhaps I should’ve said something about the cider being a bit strong.”  Dean slurred, as he leant further onto to Sam.  Who in turn, leant heavily on Sasha who fell to her knees beneath their combined weight.

Sam gingerly lifted his head, “That wasn’t cider; tha’ was rocket fuel pretending to be cider.” Sam slid down the pub wall, pulling Dean and Sasha with him.  He grinned dopily, and put his head on Dean’s shoulder and fell asleep.

Dean smiled and patted him on the head, “Hey Sash, do you think you can drive the Impala?”

“Christo” Was Sasha’s automatic response, when Dean didn’t flinch. She managed to get her mobile out of her bag. “Hey Steve, can you come and fetch us please? Oh and before we get back to Pebble Bank. Dean wants to run a little errand for you.”

Dizzojay's Dean Dreamsdizzojay on June 23rd, 2014 09:02 pm (UTC)
Heehee, love it - I'm really enjoying the boys' adventures in the wilds of Weymouth. What a good job they have such a fearless tour guide :)

I know the Black Dog, great pub!

And I'm totally with the brothers on Punch and Judy - I'm all for tradition, but that's right up there with bear baiting for sheer entertainment value.

I definitely hope that thee boys can find their way to me next time I'm camping in Somerset!!!

sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on June 24th, 2014 07:08 pm (UTC)
Thank you, it can be exhausting keeping an eye on Dean, he tends to wander off.

The Black Dog, good pub and I loathe Punch and Judy and I can't understand why they still have it here.

I'll be sure to give the boys directions to you, I'm sure they'd enjoy camping with you.
milly_galmilly_gal on June 24th, 2014 02:23 am (UTC)
“Whoops sorry little brother, perhaps I should’ve said something about the cider being a bit strong.” Dean slurred, as he leant further onto to Sam. Who in turn, leant heavily on Sasha who fell to her knees beneath their combined weight.

Sam gingerly lifted his head, “That wasn’t cider; tha’ was rocket fuel pretending to be cider.” Sam slid down the pub wall, pulling Dean and Sasha with him. He grinned dopily, and put his head on Dean’s shoulder and fell asleep.

Dean smiled and patted him on the head, “Hey Sash, do you think you can drive the Impala?”

“Christo” Was Sasha’s automatic response, when Dean didn’t flinch. She managed to get her mobile out of her bag. “Hey Steve, can you come and fetch us please? Oh and before we get back to Pebble Bank. Dean wants to run a little errand for you.”

*Dies of laughing and happy and snorting coffee out my nose!*

PLEASE print these out into a book! *puppy eyes*

Edited at 2014-06-24 02:23 am (UTC)
sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on June 24th, 2014 07:14 pm (UTC)
*Hands you a towel* I'm so happy you're enjoying these little flights of fancy. Do you think it's worth getting these beta'd and then posted elsewhere? Would anyone want to read them?
milly_galmilly_gal on June 25th, 2014 04:28 pm (UTC)
Yes, please do I think everyone would think these hilariously funny and you have such a way with making people feel right in the middle of all that crack and amazing (re-reads THAT sentence and dies laughing)

sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on June 26th, 2014 03:06 pm (UTC)
Ok I'll keep plodding on with them and then tidy them up. I'm all for being in the middle of all that crack!
milly_galmilly_gal on June 27th, 2014 01:41 pm (UTC)
*Grins* Yay! *\o/* Trust me, these are all fabulous, inc the earlier ones you have in the archives and you should so share and offer them to a wider audience :D
Somersomer on June 29th, 2014 06:12 pm (UTC)
Bwahahaha, you're awesome!! And you should have driven the Impala instead of calling Steve. AND NOW YOU HAVE THEM TIPSY, what are you gonna do now? ;)
sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on June 29th, 2014 07:17 pm (UTC)
Thank you, and drive the IMPALA! Are you kidding? I wouldn't let me drive a go kart. I hate to say it, but the poor things were too tipsy to anything other than fall asleep.
Somersomer on June 29th, 2014 07:24 pm (UTC)
Oh, come on. Dean would drive shotgun and he would sit really, really close to help you stear that beast, like nearly-on-your-lap close. Mmh, Dean being drunk and you distracted with Dean so close...yeah, maybe you better call Steve ;) And somnophilia, is all I'm saying *whistels innocently*
JJ1564jj1564 on July 1st, 2014 05:43 am (UTC)
Just caught up with this and it's hilarious! Sam getting drunk on the local cider was brilliant as was Dean upholding the Winchester honour and almost drinking the bar dry! I would love from Dean to gank Mr Punch, saying '... and that's the way to do it, you son of a bitch!'
Off to see what they make of the well-endowed Giant!