Characters: Dean, Tony Stark (Gen Xover with Iron Man, Crack)
Summary: Iron Man arrives to save the day! Or, not so much…
Author's Notes: Another one of the 10-character/15-word stories I'm posting up separately, this one for Dean, Tony and "Baby fic." It sounds horrifying, but it actually works pretty well as humor.
For the first time in months, Dean felt like he had a situation well under control. He clutched a demon by the neck with one hand while pouring holy water with the other and reciting the exorcism rite. Things were smoking—or mostly the demon—when all of a sudden the wall blew down.
"What the hell?"
The dust settled and a robot in a red and yellow suit stepped over the rubble. Dean finished the exorcism at record speed and everything vanished except for him, the robot, and the mess. It was two more things than he'd expected.
"Who the hell are you?" he found himself asking, before wisdom had a chance to assert itself.
"Iron Man," the robot answered. He said something soft and inaudible, and light filled the suit helmet, revealing a human face. "I help save people."
"Really. And you're finally showing up now? My brother and I have been fighting the Apocalypse with our bare hands for months, and today was when you decided it was time to throw your hat in the ring?"
"It wasn't just today," the man protested. "But I can't kill the monsters the way you do. Sometimes I can fly them up into space until their heads explode, but not always. And it's messy."
"They're demons, not monsters," Dean said. "And how to kill them depends on the demon."
"If you say so." The guy turned his head suddenly, listening. "There's someone downstairs."
"You stay here, I'll take care of it," Dean said automatically.
"Don't be ridiculous. It's not a demon—it sounds like a baby."
"Tiny human, original packaging. Where are the parents?"
Dean frowned. "The demon got them. Though I didn't know there was a baby. What on earth am I supposed to do with that?"
"Police station, fire station, hospital. Lots of drop-off places in California."
"So why don't you take it, then?"
The guy shifted uncomfortably. "Flying would scare it, and on foot… that's like asking people to chase you with torches and pitchforks."
"How do you know so much about this?" Dean asked suspiciously.
"Tried it once—first the flying, then the not-flying. It was a disaster." The guy straightened up. "So, you've got this covered? Because I have other emergencies to attend to."
"Sure," Dean waved him on. "Do your thing, try to leave a few walls standing."
The guy flew off, and Dean pulled out his gun to head downstairs, ready for trouble in case the baby wasn't the only thing there.
He followed its cries to a corner bedroom, where the howling stopped as soon as he peered over the edge of the crib.
It was a baby all right—footy jammies, a fuzzy blanket, and a mountain of stuffed toys.
He hoped to God the police stations were easy to find in this town, or Sam was going to be in for a terrible surprise.
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