As the story progressed, it drifted from the original prompt quite a bit, and is now too long to be a comment fic! But apart from that ... I hope it's a hit!
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel
Word Count: 1,800
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Well, this was really awkward.
Dean would have sighed had he been physically capable of doing so, but for the moment he just settled with sitting on his chair very, very still.
Freakin' Sam was going to have a field day about this.
He was always moaning about Dean poking around in the bunker's vaults and getting into trouble, but of course, he was always exaggerating. Dean didn't 'poke around' in the vaults; he always had a valid reason for being there. It wasn't his fault he had an enquiring mind.
How was he to know that those old seeds he found last year would grow into a triffid? Although, watching it chase Sam around the bunker was worth the week's worth of sulky bitchfaces afterwards. And, that incident with the clurichauns back in the summer - all two hundred and seventeen of them - had, in hindsight, actually been quite funny; although it hadn't done much for the Winchesters' alcohol stock, or - for that matter - their housekeeping, given the amount of puking going on. And as for the singing, well … who would think that fairies even knew words like that?
But this? Sam was going to be pissed; totally and monumentally pissed. Pissed as a pissy thing winning the lifetime pissed-off award in Pissville.
Having said that, Dean wasn't too thrilled about the whole fiasco either.
He'd only gone into the library looking for spells and charms that might make the place look a bit more 'Hallowe'eny'. In truth, what he actually wanted were some of those cool floating candles that they have at Hogwarts, because those were just all kinds of awesome, but he was open to anything. Especially when he had found a promising book, full of Samhain charms, and his eye had settled on a transmogrifying spell.
An idea had blossomed.
He'd turn a couple of Sam's stupid apples into pumpkins; that would save a trip downtown to face the Hallowe'en crowds. Instead of buying pumpkins, he'd make his own! He'd save himself some time and, even better, he'd save some money. Take that Sam! Now who's the brains of the outfit?
But now Dean was feeling a bit foolish. He hadn't been able to help getting distracted when 'Back in Black' had come on the radio, so no-one surely could blame him for drawing the pentacle upside down. Thus pointing the spell not at the apples, but himself …
That's right …
Dean was a pumpkin.
He was one darn awesome pumpkin, all big and round and orange and …
Oh, who was he kidding?
He was a freaking pumpkin.
Dean was jolted out of his irritable musings by Sam's voice echoing through the bunker.
"Dean, hey man, where are you?"
Dean immediately yelled out, "In here damnit!" But then he realised that he was a pumpkin and as such didn't possess vocal cords, or a mouth, or any of the other mechanisms fundamental to coherent speech. It didn't stop him trying again though.
"SAM! C'MON – IN HERE!"
Sam paused. He could have sworn he heard something, but he had no idea what. It certainly wasn't Dean's voice; it was high-pitched and tinny, vaguely reminiscent of a mosquito whine.
He paused, standing stock still.
"Dean..?" he called cautiously.
"pumpkinpumpkin," came the response, from the library. Sam was sure of it.
He ran into the library, "Dean, c'mon man, where are you?"
"Over here, Sam, c'mon, get your ass over here NOW!" was what Dean yelled.
It didn't take long for Sam to find a lone pumpkin sitting on a chair, atop a crumpled mound of Dean's clothes.
The pumpkin was positively vibrating with fury.
Sam palmed his face with a groan.
It took a couple of hours for Sam to piece together a picture of the evening's events; the spell book and the apples (it's not like Dean was ever going to eat them) were the only clues he needed.
His head dropped into his hands and he stared glumly at the pumpkin. "You're such a moron!"
Sam picked his errant brother up and looked him square in the point where he guessed a pumpkin's eyes would be. If this particular pumpkin did have eyes it would have been shooting him an indignant glare right at this time.
This particular pumpkin did not take kindly to being described as a moron.
"pumpkinpumpkinbitchpumpkin," it grumbled sulkily.
Sam carried his brother to the bunker's main hall, and plonked him on the table next to his laptop which was still sitting there, displaying a raft of data from where he had been researching the brothers' current poltergeist hunt before his attention was blindsided by the world's most annoying pumpkin.
He stared at the pumpkin, then at the laptop, then back again. He realised that he didn't have a clue where to even start.
Scraping his hand through his hair, he watched the pumpkin vibrating angrily. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew the pumpkin was angry, but he was pretty sure that if this pumpkin had hands, they wouldn't be doing anything remotely polite right now.
In fact, there was a lot about this pumpkin that he didn't know. Like how the hell it could talk? Okay, so its vocabulary wasn't exactly impressive, but it was way more loquacious than most fruit he'd ever encountered.
But, although there were undoubted benefits to having a pumpkin for a brother, for instance, no-one surfing porn on Sam's laptop, no blaring rock music when Sam was trying to concentrate, and no smelly feet on the table, Sam was forced to concede that he was duty bound to do his best to 'unpumpkinise' his brother.
"Dean, I'm gonna have to go back into the library," Sam sighed; "it's all very well looking on the internet, but what am I looking for? I'm pretty sure Wikipedia doesn't have a 'what to do when your brother turns himself into a pumpkin' page."
He ignored the huffy non-glare the pumpkin shot him as he turned away.
"Just-just … don't turn yourself into anything else while I'm gone," Sam muttered; "just stay there. Don't move," he added somewhat redundantly.
"pumpkinpumpkinbitemepumpkin…" came the ingracious response.
Sam would be the first to admit that he took longer than he was anticipating.
He never imagined that transmogrifying spellwork could be so complicated – and so absorbing. A whole hour had gone by in the blink of an eye; an hour spent reading though a raft of dusty texts, but finally he felt confident that he would have the information he needed to restore Dean to his former, pre-pumpkin – glory.
He strolled back into the main hall laden with an armful of reading material, and deposited it onto the table, next to his laptop.
"Okay Dean," he began; "so it looks like we've …"
Sam's blood froze.
The tabletop was devoid of pumpkins.
Where the hell was he?
Suddenly, he heard a sound from the kitchen; a clatter of utensils.
"Dean?" Sam dared to hope that Dean had somehow managed to transmogrify himself from a pumpkin back into a pain-in-the-ass-big-brother, and was in the kitchen brewing a coffee.
Charging into the kitchen, he was met by the sight not of Dean, but instead of Castiel. Castiel standing at the counter, messily scooping the innards out of a very large pumpkin.
"Hello Sam," he stated matter-of-factly as he spooned a lump of fibrous orange goo from the hole he'd already sliced through the pumpkin's dome. "I thought I would surprise Dean for his Hallowe'en celebrations!"
"You've surprised him alright," Sam whimpered; it was his only coherent thought before he crumpled into a dead faint on the floor.
Sam awoke to fingertips tapping his face.
"Sam? C'mon man, wake up!"
"That's it, c'mon, don't make me slap you again!"
"That's me, now get your ass up off the floor, I ain't getting any younger."
"But I thought …" Sam turned and pointed up to the lobotomised pumpkin sitting on the worktop in front of the devastated looking angel. He also spotted the shopping bag discarded on the floor in the corner of the room, unnoticed by him previously, which would have told him that Castiel had purchased his pumpkin that very day. "I thought that … You were a pumpkin!"
Dean cleared his throat as the tips of his ears flushed pink.
"Uh, yeah. Well, I kinda was," he grunted. "But apparently, the spell I used was pretty weak magic, and it wore off after a coupla hours – while you were reading in the library. I ended up sitting on the table next to your laptop feeling like a complete dick."
"Where were you when I came back then?" Sam groaned as he sat up.
Dean's ears flushed a darker shade of pink. "Yeah well, you remember when you found the pumpkin – me - sitting on top of my clothes in the library?"
"Yeah, well those were the clothes I was wearing when I, you know, kinda … changed."
A picture was starting to form, and it wasn't a pleasant one.
"Then when I changed back, and my clothes were still in the library …"
Sam grimaced nauseously. "You were naked and you were sitting on the dining table?"
"Yeah, so I went to my room to – you know – get dressed."
Sam sighed. "Heck Dean, I thought …" he looked up at Castiel's half-carved pumpkin. "No forget it; you don't want to know what I thought."
"C'mon champ," Dean encouraged, rising to his feet; "time to get up." He held out a hand to support Sam to his feet, and glanced across to Castiel who stood looking utterly bemused by how him going out and secretly buying a pumpkin could cause so much upheaval.
"Should I continue?" the angel asked solemnly, "I do not wish to cause any more distress."
"Nah, carry on - you're fine," grinned Dean. "Clowns and pumpkins – they always give Sammy a funny turn, don't they bro'?"
Sam pointed a brief scowl in Dean's direction in response before speaking up.
"Dean, you got any matches?"
"What, for Cas' pumpkin?" Dean replied, rummaging absently in his pocket.
Sam shook his head. "Screw Cas' pumpkin," Sam snorted; "after it's had your naked ass sprawled all over it, I'm burning that damn dining table!"