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Incredibly belated crack fic: King of Target
Title: King of Target
Genre: Gen
Characters: Sam, demons, a smidge of Dean
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 643
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Sam makes the world's weirdest Target run.
Warnings/tags: Crack, author trying to be funny
A/N: Way back in freaking November, the wonderful![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roxymissrose inspired me to write about Target as a hellgate and King of Hell!Sam, and this ficlet just kind of came out of me. I should have posted it right away but I thought maybe I would make it better and maybe I would incorporate some of the ideas she came up with after I had written it in half an hour like a possessed creature...and it sat and it sat and it sat... Long story short, I have made no improvements and incorporated no more of her great ideas and it may not be much good at all, but when I read it over it made me laugh so I hope it gives other people a smile, too.
FOR YOU,roxymissrose! (If you want it; don't feel obligated. XD) You're welcome/I'm sorry.
Read on AO3
***
Sam finally had to conclude that yes, the Target employees were following him.
He had just stopped in to grab a few necessities, but the Target in Lebanon had recently undergone renovation and reorganization. He didn’t know where anything was anymore and he found himself wandering the aisles, searching for beer and men’s shirts. When you wear as many layers and he and Dean did, you went through a lot of cheap shirts. Especially because they were constantly getting torn in a fight or caked with blood or smeared with grave dirt.
He didn’t really like to bother employees, but there seemed to be a lot of them around. Except that every time he tried to approach one, they got a panicked look in their eyes and ducked behind a display. Sam thought at first that they were just avoiding work.
But eventually it seemed like there were several in his peripheral vision at all times. And when he turned around quickly, a whole line of them scattered.
Sam was just considering leaving and hitting up Goodwill and the alcohol store when he saw a manager approaching him with a smile.
“Welcome to the store, sire,” said the man, whose nametag read “Baal.”
Sam frowned. “Excuse me?”
“We are so honored by your visit,” Baal gushed. “Please, won’t you accompany me to Guest Services?”
Sam followed him, bemused, starting to wonder if this was a case.
When they got to the Guest Services counter, several employees were huddled behind it, talking quietly and watching him with wide eyes. Baal gestured towards the desk.
“You may recline at your leisure, sire,” he declared. “And whenever you’re ready, there’s some paperwork that we really need you to sign. No rush, of course! But it would help things run more smoothly – you know how it is.” Sam blinked and stared at him.
“What is this all about?” he asked.
Baal looked surprised. “Well, your Majesty, we assumed you were inspecting this gate to your kingdom.”
“What? I’m not – I don’t have a kingdom,” Sam protested.
“But you’re King of Hell,” Baal said. He blinked, and his eyes went black. Sam’s breath caught and he stepped back, reaching automatically for the gun tucked into his waistband.
“What are you talking about?”
“You killed the most recent would-be King, and you declared that anyone else who would like to be King would have to go through you,” Baal said patiently.
“I said there wouldn’t be another King.”
“Yes, but if you’re the one defending the throne…” Baal shrugged.
Sam shook his head, deciding to put that aside for now. “And what’s this about a gate?”
Baal frowned again. “All Targets are Hellgates. Isn’t it obvious? I would have thought the color scheme and the pervasive odor of hot dogs and stale popcorn alone would have given it away.”
Just then, a black-eyed employee came up behind him pushing a stroller with a newborn in it. Baal’s face brightened.
“Ah!” he said. “An offering for you, sire.” He bowed obsequiously. “Do with it what you will.”
Sam took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with suppressed anger. “Give…the baby…back to its parents,” he said in a low voice. “RIGHT NOW.”
Baal pursed his lips and shooed the employee away. “That baby is displeasing to His Majesty!” he scolded her. “What were you thinking? Return it at once!”
He turned back to Sam. “Is there anything else I can get you? Something from Housewares, perhaps?”
***
Sam put his shopping bags down on the map table with a huff, calling out for Dean, who came in immediately to paw through the stuff.
“I have good news and bad news,” Sam said.
Dean paused. “Uh oh,” he said. “Okay, start with the good news.”
“The good news is, the beer and shirts were free.”
“Sweet. Why?”
“Uh, well…that’s the bad news.”
Genre: Gen
Characters: Sam, demons, a smidge of Dean
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 643
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: Sam makes the world's weirdest Target run.
Warnings/tags: Crack, author trying to be funny
A/N: Way back in freaking November, the wonderful
roxymissrose inspired me to write about Target as a hellgate and King of Hell!Sam, and this ficlet just kind of came out of me. I should have posted it right away but I thought maybe I would make it better and maybe I would incorporate some of the ideas she came up with after I had written it in half an hour like a possessed creature...and it sat and it sat and it sat... Long story short, I have made no improvements and incorporated no more of her great ideas and it may not be much good at all, but when I read it over it made me laugh so I hope it gives other people a smile, too.FOR YOU,
roxymissrose! (If you want it; don't feel obligated. XD) You're welcome/I'm sorry.Read on AO3
***
Sam finally had to conclude that yes, the Target employees were following him.
He had just stopped in to grab a few necessities, but the Target in Lebanon had recently undergone renovation and reorganization. He didn’t know where anything was anymore and he found himself wandering the aisles, searching for beer and men’s shirts. When you wear as many layers and he and Dean did, you went through a lot of cheap shirts. Especially because they were constantly getting torn in a fight or caked with blood or smeared with grave dirt.
He didn’t really like to bother employees, but there seemed to be a lot of them around. Except that every time he tried to approach one, they got a panicked look in their eyes and ducked behind a display. Sam thought at first that they were just avoiding work.
But eventually it seemed like there were several in his peripheral vision at all times. And when he turned around quickly, a whole line of them scattered.
Sam was just considering leaving and hitting up Goodwill and the alcohol store when he saw a manager approaching him with a smile.
“Welcome to the store, sire,” said the man, whose nametag read “Baal.”
Sam frowned. “Excuse me?”
“We are so honored by your visit,” Baal gushed. “Please, won’t you accompany me to Guest Services?”
Sam followed him, bemused, starting to wonder if this was a case.
When they got to the Guest Services counter, several employees were huddled behind it, talking quietly and watching him with wide eyes. Baal gestured towards the desk.
“You may recline at your leisure, sire,” he declared. “And whenever you’re ready, there’s some paperwork that we really need you to sign. No rush, of course! But it would help things run more smoothly – you know how it is.” Sam blinked and stared at him.
“What is this all about?” he asked.
Baal looked surprised. “Well, your Majesty, we assumed you were inspecting this gate to your kingdom.”
“What? I’m not – I don’t have a kingdom,” Sam protested.
“But you’re King of Hell,” Baal said. He blinked, and his eyes went black. Sam’s breath caught and he stepped back, reaching automatically for the gun tucked into his waistband.
“What are you talking about?”
“You killed the most recent would-be King, and you declared that anyone else who would like to be King would have to go through you,” Baal said patiently.
“I said there wouldn’t be another King.”
“Yes, but if you’re the one defending the throne…” Baal shrugged.
Sam shook his head, deciding to put that aside for now. “And what’s this about a gate?”
Baal frowned again. “All Targets are Hellgates. Isn’t it obvious? I would have thought the color scheme and the pervasive odor of hot dogs and stale popcorn alone would have given it away.”
Just then, a black-eyed employee came up behind him pushing a stroller with a newborn in it. Baal’s face brightened.
“Ah!” he said. “An offering for you, sire.” He bowed obsequiously. “Do with it what you will.”
Sam took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with suppressed anger. “Give…the baby…back to its parents,” he said in a low voice. “RIGHT NOW.”
Baal pursed his lips and shooed the employee away. “That baby is displeasing to His Majesty!” he scolded her. “What were you thinking? Return it at once!”
He turned back to Sam. “Is there anything else I can get you? Something from Housewares, perhaps?”
***
Sam put his shopping bags down on the map table with a huff, calling out for Dean, who came in immediately to paw through the stuff.
“I have good news and bad news,” Sam said.
Dean paused. “Uh oh,” he said. “Okay, start with the good news.”
“The good news is, the beer and shirts were free.”
“Sweet. Why?”
“Uh, well…that’s the bad news.”