![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zannesAuthor's Note: Unbeta'ed. Again, I forgot to keep note of the original prompter's name. I'm sorry!
“Pestilence is one sick son of a bitch,” Dean muttered from his position on top of the cabinet.
“I think that goes without saying,” Sam replied from his own perch somewhere behind Dean. “With him being Pestilence, it’s kind of in his job description.”
If Dean could maneuver in any direction he’d be able to fully indicate the level of his ire, but any movement set the cabinet teetering precariously. “Very funny, jackass!”
The best he could do under the circumstances was to nudge Sam in the face with his boot, making the cabinet moan in complaint.
“Stop that!” Sam hissed, his hand tightening around Dean’s ankle. “You’re drawing their attention!”
The hundreds of lab mice that were scattered over the countertops and across the floor turned as one at the sound, their beady red eyes seeming to focus on Sam and Dean.
“Whose bright idea was it to break into the CDC?” Dean growled.
“Uh…yours,” Sam pointed out. “After Crowley told us Pestilence would still be here.”
“I expected, y’know, more evil mojo with the whole disease thing,” Dean said more conversationally, Sam’s eyes widening at his brother’s sudden calm. “Not David Banner’s lab.”
“Are you comparing one of the Four Horsemen to the Incredible Hulk?” Sam asked in disbelief.
“Green horse, am I right? And the Hulk wasn’t a little fella.”
Sam groaned, dropping his head onto his hands, and the cabinet shifted once more.
“Stop moving, Sam!” The calm was entirely gone from Dean’s voice, an alarmed edge making it rise in pitch as his hands gripped the edge of the cabinet. This was the only place the lab mice couldn’t reach, though a few industrious ones had attempted to climb the mortared walls and electrical wiring to reach their prey.
“I thought Lucifer’s minions would be a little...taller,” Dean said, eyeing one lucky mouse that was taking a breather on top of the light switch only a few feet away. “What do these guys have again?”
“You don’t want to know,” Sam assured him. “Just don’t let any of them bite you.”
The manic chittering of their audience fell silent, and the mice swung their muzzles toward the closed door where distant footsteps and a hearty whistling could be heard. As one, those still milling about on the ledges crawled forward and fell over the edges of the tables like a furry waterfall, squeaking in pain as their small bodies thumped to the tiled floor and others followed swiftly after to bury them beneath a writhing mass of bodies.
“Either that’s our guy, or the night custodian is going to have an unpleasant surprise when he comes in to empty the trashcans,” Dean said.
“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked breathlessly, wrinkling his nose at the moving carpet of mice below.
“Rock,” Dean ordered, and began trying to his damnedest to throw them to the tiny, buck-toothed wolves. “This thing’ll squash the ones between here and the door, then we run like hell, and burn this place down on the way out.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed, and threw his weight into it.
“Pestilence is one sick son of a bitch,” Dean muttered from his position on top of the cabinet.
“I think that goes without saying,” Sam replied from his own perch somewhere behind Dean. “With him being Pestilence, it’s kind of in his job description.”
If Dean could maneuver in any direction he’d be able to fully indicate the level of his ire, but any movement set the cabinet teetering precariously. “Very funny, jackass!”
The best he could do under the circumstances was to nudge Sam in the face with his boot, making the cabinet moan in complaint.
“Stop that!” Sam hissed, his hand tightening around Dean’s ankle. “You’re drawing their attention!”
The hundreds of lab mice that were scattered over the countertops and across the floor turned as one at the sound, their beady red eyes seeming to focus on Sam and Dean.
“Whose bright idea was it to break into the CDC?” Dean growled.
“Uh…yours,” Sam pointed out. “After Crowley told us Pestilence would still be here.”
“I expected, y’know, more evil mojo with the whole disease thing,” Dean said more conversationally, Sam’s eyes widening at his brother’s sudden calm. “Not David Banner’s lab.”
“Are you comparing one of the Four Horsemen to the Incredible Hulk?” Sam asked in disbelief.
“Green horse, am I right? And the Hulk wasn’t a little fella.”
Sam groaned, dropping his head onto his hands, and the cabinet shifted once more.
“Stop moving, Sam!” The calm was entirely gone from Dean’s voice, an alarmed edge making it rise in pitch as his hands gripped the edge of the cabinet. This was the only place the lab mice couldn’t reach, though a few industrious ones had attempted to climb the mortared walls and electrical wiring to reach their prey.
“I thought Lucifer’s minions would be a little...taller,” Dean said, eyeing one lucky mouse that was taking a breather on top of the light switch only a few feet away. “What do these guys have again?”
“You don’t want to know,” Sam assured him. “Just don’t let any of them bite you.”
The manic chittering of their audience fell silent, and the mice swung their muzzles toward the closed door where distant footsteps and a hearty whistling could be heard. As one, those still milling about on the ledges crawled forward and fell over the edges of the tables like a furry waterfall, squeaking in pain as their small bodies thumped to the tiled floor and others followed swiftly after to bury them beneath a writhing mass of bodies.
“Either that’s our guy, or the night custodian is going to have an unpleasant surprise when he comes in to empty the trashcans,” Dean said.
“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked breathlessly, wrinkling his nose at the moving carpet of mice below.
“Rock,” Dean ordered, and began trying to his damnedest to throw them to the tiny, buck-toothed wolves. “This thing’ll squash the ones between here and the door, then we run like hell, and burn this place down on the way out.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed, and threw his weight into it.
