Status: I lost the third part of this fic so I MIGHT come back and finish it.
Stroking A Rock
Chapter One
Dean glared at the diabolical object in front of him.
And to Dean, it glared back. It was the stone of one thousand centuries. It had defeated many, and no one had yet to conquer this brave rock.
The rock of course stared at Dean in awe. For never had the rock been touched by such pure, unblemished beauty. If this rock hard stone could lick its lips, it would.
Dean stalked his way over to this fine masterpiece of earth. He sized up the rock, silently judging how hard it would be to pry the dragon slaying sword out of its broad backside. Dean bent over the rock, grabbed the end of the sword, and pulled with enough force to kill a million Wendigos. When the sword would not budge, Dean started thinking of other tactics to get the sword out of this monstrosity. He could use explosives, or perhaps a chainsaw. But something told him force wasn’t going to work this time.
Slowly, Dean kneeled beside the stone, questioning the sanity of his plan.
“Would you mind giving me some privacy please?”
Bobby’s old friend simply nodded and told him “That is a priceless artifact, be cautious with it please.” And with that, she walked out the door, shutting it behind her.
Dean sighed and started his ridiculous plan. He was certain it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. A dragon had to be slayed here.
So, Dean started. He lay one rough, callused hand against the smooth, cool stone. In his best effort not to laugh, or roll his eyes, he whispered seductively, “If you give me that sword, I can do absolutely anything you want.” He held his breath. “Anything.” he whispered again softly, feeling completely mad. He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, and jerked them open again when the stone suddenly burned hot. Dean yanked his hand away, panting slightly.
“What the Hell..” he spoke to himself, and the air around him, and maybe the stone itself.
The stone groaned inwardly when Dean pulled hard against the sword stuck inside. The rock expected him to keep pulling on it, kicking it, hitting it. Anything Dean wanted, he could do to the rock as he pleased.
The rock never felt so helpless. But it had to keep the sword. It had protected the sword for many decades, many centuries. It resigned itself to just lay and wait until this beautiful spectacle of a man grew weary of his efforts to pry the sword from the stone.
So when Dean stopped, and knelt down beside the rock, its non-existant breath hitched. The stone was confused, disgruntled, and actually a bit afraid.
And to Dean, it glared back. It was the stone of one thousand centuries. It had defeated many, and no one had yet to conquer this brave rock.
The rock of course stared at Dean in awe. For never had the rock been touched by such pure, unblemished beauty. If this rock hard stone could lick its lips, it would.
Dean stalked his way over to this fine masterpiece of earth. He sized up the rock, silently judging how hard it would be to pry the dragon slaying sword out of its broad backside. Dean bent over the rock, grabbed the end of the sword, and pulled with enough force to kill a million Wendigos. When the sword would not budge, Dean started thinking of other tactics to get the sword out of this monstrosity. He could use explosives, or perhaps a chainsaw. But something told him force wasn’t going to work this time.
Slowly, Dean kneeled beside the stone, questioning the sanity of his plan.
“Would you mind giving me some privacy please?”
Bobby’s old friend simply nodded and told him “That is a priceless artifact, be cautious with it please.” And with that, she walked out the door, shutting it behind her.
Dean sighed and started his ridiculous plan. He was certain it wouldn’t work, but he had to try. A dragon had to be slayed here.
So, Dean started. He lay one rough, callused hand against the smooth, cool stone. In his best effort not to laugh, or roll his eyes, he whispered seductively, “If you give me that sword, I can do absolutely anything you want.” He held his breath. “Anything.” he whispered again softly, feeling completely mad. He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, and jerked them open again when the stone suddenly burned hot. Dean yanked his hand away, panting slightly.
“What the Hell..” he spoke to himself, and the air around him, and maybe the stone itself.
The stone groaned inwardly when Dean pulled hard against the sword stuck inside. The rock expected him to keep pulling on it, kicking it, hitting it. Anything Dean wanted, he could do to the rock as he pleased.
The rock never felt so helpless. But it had to keep the sword. It had protected the sword for many decades, many centuries. It resigned itself to just lay and wait until this beautiful spectacle of a man grew weary of his efforts to pry the sword from the stone.
So when Dean stopped, and knelt down beside the rock, its non-existant breath hitched. The stone was confused, disgruntled, and actually a bit afraid.