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anactorya · 7 years

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[ficlet] Bang Bang (Dean/Donna, PG, 1.6k)

SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 12 | @anactorya vs. @rosemoonweaver

Prompt: Balloons

Ship: Dean/Donna

Word Count: 1600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, pre-relationship, flirting, Dean’s fear of dogs

Summary: It’s been a crappy birthday, and a supernatural incident in town ought to make it even crappier. Turns out it’s just what Donna needed.

AO3 Link: Here

“What is it with kids’ entertainers?” Donna wrinkles her nose as she surveys the mess of blood, spilled party food, and burst balloons, and tries not to think about the fifteen pre-schoolers who just watched Jolly the Clown go all Psycho on his assistant. The guy’s on his way to the hospital now. He’ll probably make it, but he’ll probably never want to look at Ronald MacDonald again.

Coming up behind her, Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t get it. I mean, there’s enough crap out there to drive most people to black magic, but these guys get to play with whoopee cushions all day. Plus all the free food.” He grabs a chunk of chocolate brownie off of one of the paper plates, then sets it back down with a comedic grimace once he realises the red stuff on top isn’t a piece of cherry.

For a moment, Donna’s selfishly glad that it’s only Dean who showed up today. Sam’s a good guy, she knows, but as far as she can tell, he isn’t much for goofing around. Sometimes you have to relax a little, keep people’s spirits up. Donna didn’t get to be Sheriff without learning that, and she’s grateful that Dean gets it, too. Today, she doesn’t want to have to shoulder the burden herself. It’s hard enough to keep smiling when the only birthday gifts she’s gotten are from her mom (the giant ’21 Today!’ button the guys down at the station gave her as a gag gift doesn’t count); when she knows she’ll be spending tonight alone with Netflix and pizza unless some new supernatural emergency demands her attention.

That last option is sounding pretty good about now. Hunting down monsters with Jody or the Winchesters sure isn’t a picnic, but it beats the nights she’s been spending alone since—

“So, Doug taking you out someplace nice for your birthday?” Dean asks, as if he’s just read her mind.

Donna feels her smile tighten and, judging by the small frown that creases Dean’s brow, he notices it too. “He went down to Florida to stay with his mom when she got sick,” she says. “He isn’t coming back. Told me Saturday.”

Dean makes a face. “Nice timing.”

It should feel good, having her friends get pissed on her behalf, but Donna’s never really been able to get behind it. Not even with Old Doug. Doesn’t actually make her feel any better. That’s why she hasn’t told Jody yet, and it’s why she can’t help but say, “It isn’t his fault. She took a turn for the worse Friday night.”

Dean looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t, just says, “You wanna check out back? I’ll take the storeroom. Just in case there are any more of those freaky-ass balloon animals hanging around.” He shudders, and Donna grimaces in sympathy.

That seemed to be clown-guy’s original plan. Balloon animals were his thing—his clown thing, that is—and he’d found some spell that brought them temporarily to life, distracting the kids and the parents while a bright green rubber boa constrictor (which had to be the laziest balloon animal ever) wrapped itself around his assistant’s neck and tried to squeeze the life out of him. The stabbing thing had apparently been plan B.

“Sure,” Donna says. “If I’m not back in five, come find me. I am not getting murdered by one of those things.”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean gives her a mock salute, and she hangs back a moment to watch him walk toward the storeroom.

Okay, so maybe there’s another reason Donna’s glad he’s here. The charming grins, the eyes you could lose yourself in, the whole teenage-dream-grown-up-even-dreamier package? Well, she’s only human.

Not that she has any illusions. Guys like Doug—New Doug, that is—are more her speed, realistically. And even if she did have illusions, dating somebody who’s a full-time hunter would be a heck of a bad idea.

None of that means she can’t appreciate the view, though.

She lingers a second too long, and Dean glances back and catches her looking. His wink won’t let her feel bad about it, though, and she escapes out back before he can see the flush rising up her cheeks.

There’s nothing back there; just a dumpster and a stack of empty boxes. Donna takes her time checking behind the boxes and inside the dumpster, mostly to be sure there are no nasties lurking, but also to give her blush time to recede.

Only, then, five minutes pass, and Dean hasn’t come out back to check on her.

Maybe he is actually pissed, and wasn’t letting on earlier. Maybe she’s just screwed up one of the few friendships she has outside of work.

Or maybe—

She can’t imagine Dean in trouble, somehow. He talked about witches like he’d seen them a hundred times. Still, she quickens her pace as she heads back inside.

It’s quiet, and Donna’s hand goes automatically to her gun as she edges toward the storeroom. That’s when she hears the noise.

A weird, high-pitched noise, like a growl hopped up on helium. What in the world? Donna takes a deep breath, pushes open the door, and—stops.

Dean’s backed up into a corner, staring wild-eyed at a dog. A dog made out of balloons, which is also what’s giving off the weird helium-growl noise. It yaps at him a couple times, and it sounds like a chihuahua, or anyway some kind of little toy dog that belongs in a Hollywood starlet’s purse. But Dean stays frozen in the corner, looking at it like it’s about to bite his head off. Donna doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look freaked out before, and it’s so unexpected that for a second she just stares.

Then she remembers herself, and casts around for something pointy. She doesn’t want gunshots if she can avoid them, not with half the street still gawking outside the building.

The little yappy dog thing stops barking at Dean, then. It turns around and fixes its beady little eyes on Donna. Which, she has to admit, is actually pretty creepy. Plus, she’s sure they were drawn on with Sharpie earlier.

And she still doesn’t have anything to stab it with. Right about now, she really wishes she hadn’t sent the attempted murder weapon to evidence just yet.

Something catches the light, then. The enormous ’21 today’ button she’s still wearing, pinned to the front of her uniform. In her hurry to get here, she forgot to take it off.

The little dog-thing gives another yip, and Donna hastily holsters her gun, fumbling to unfasten the pin with her other hand. The dog-thing doesn’t wait around: it launches itself at her, jumping up way higher in the air than it has any right to, and hitting harder too. Before she knows it, she’s on her back on the ground, the dog-thing right up in her face. And oh, gross, is it… drooling?

There are tiny little needle-sharp teeth in its drawn-on mouth, and suddenly it doesn’t look quite so funny anymore.

She hears Dean’s footsteps, but before he can reach her, the pin finally gives way. Donna twists it upward, pushes, and there’s a bang that makes her wince and screw her eyes shut.

When she opens them again, there’s burst balloon on the ground all around her, and Dean’s offering a hand to help her to her feet. She takes it gratefully.

On the ground, the only thing left of the balloon dog is its head. It’s lifeless now, its drawn-on eyes and mouth turned back to Sharpie.

“That was pretty awesome,” Dean tells her, with a crooked smile. “Hell, you did better than me.”

“Not a fan of dogs, huh?” Donna asks, because it’s the first thing that pops into her head.

Dean grimaces. “Yeah. You could say that.” He rubs at the back of his neck, frowning faintly, and then changes the subject. “So, Stabby the Clown’s behind bars. Guess we’re done with cleanup now.”

“Yeah.” Donna feels her smile fade. “So, you heading out?”

He pauses, then gives a little shrug. “I guess so. Unless, I dunno, you want to grab a bite after you’re done with work? Celebrate a job well done?”

It’s a pity thing. It has to be. He knows she’s alone on her birthday, and he’s doing what any friend would do. Donna tells herself that as sternly as she can, but she can’t help the little flip that her stomach does before she smiles and says, “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be super.”

Dean grins, actually looking a little relieved, but before she has time to wonder at it, the storeroom door swings open again. It’s Stevie, the new guy: Doug’s replacement.

“Everything okay, Sheriff?” he asks. “Thought I heard something.”

Donna smiles, maybe a little too brightly for the question. “Everything’s just fine.”

It’s not a date. It’s not a date, and it would be a bad idea if it was.

Donna keeps telling herself that, even as she fixes her hair and opts for a kinda-nice blouse instead of the jeans and sweater she’d normally wear to go get a burger with a friend. She tells herself that even as she digs a lipstick out of the bottom of her makeup bag—a bold shade of pink, more than she’d usually dare to wear, and barely touched since her friend Mira persuaded her to buy it last month.

She’s still telling herself that when Dean rings the doorbell, dead on time. It’s only when he lifts his eyebrows and says, “Looking good,” in a tone of undisguised admiration, and hands her a gas-station bouquet with the head of a yappy little balloon dog stuck in the middle, that she stops.

And maybe, she thinks—maybe, this is going to be an okay birthday after all.

#spnrareshipcc #deandonna #rosemoonweaver #my fic #ficlet #supernatural #dean winchester #donna hanscum

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