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They tumble into his empty office like they have rabid dogs nipping at their heels. He leans against his desk and tries to catch his breath while the two men, younger and infinitely fitter than he is, proceed to barricade the door with anything they can get their hands on. Not even his sofa is spared the rough treatment. In the end, his once pristine office is left looking like the aftermath of a college house party.
He feels like he should be concerned about being essentially kidnapped and then manhandled—albeit into his own office—but he’s a lot more preoccupied with the fact that only a set of doors and a flimsy barricade is what stands between him and certain death.
All the while continuing their impromptu decimation of his office, Dean, the shorter man, turns toward Sammy (although, from the man’s grimace when called as such, he assumes that Sammy isn’t actually his name, or at least not a well-liked nickname). Neither man has introduced himself, but amid their panicked running and swearing, he’d managed to catch their names.
“What the hell was that, Sammy?” Dean growls out.
Does he want to know? No, not especially.
Does he need to know? Probably yes, as much as it pains him to admit it.
He doesn’t really want anything to do with this, but he feels like it’s something that he should learn—whether he likes it or not—since it has already become his problem.
Sammy, the giant, stares back at Dean with the most exasperated expression he has ever seen on anyone’s face.
“It’s a wolpertinger,” Sammy says with the air of someone who has had to repeat themselves several times already.
“A wolf-what?”
Yes, thank you for asking the pertinent question, Dean. A word alone isn’t enough to explain this situation.
“I told you about it!” Sammy exclaims. He looks about ready to throw up his arms in the air if he wasn’t busy holding the door closed with his weight. “If you’d just listen when I talk about my research, you wouldn’t be surprised every time, Dean!”
Dean doesn't have such hangups and gesticulates angrily with his arms. “You said it was supposed to be a bunny with antlers! Does this thing look like a bunny to you? It has more teeth than a leviathan, for fuck’s sake!”
He doesn’t know what a leviathan is, and, quite frankly, he doesn’t particularly care as long as he never meets one, not with what sounds like an alarmingly large number of teeth.
Sammy gives Dean what he’s starting to call in his head ‘The Bitch Face™’. And yes, the capitals are absolutely necessary. The man truly has a talent. Maybe Sammy should look into pursuing an acting career; he would go far with his mastery of facial expressions and his dimples. The height would probably help too.
Said Sammy finally deems the barricade satisfactory and backs away from the door to face Dean. “Which is why it’s a killer bunny. While a jackalope was the most likely possibility seeing as we're in the US, I also found some lore on wolpertingers. They’re believed to be a hybrid with the head of a rabbit, the body of a squirrel, deer antlers and sometimes pheasant wings and legs. Looks pretty accurate, don’t you think?”
To his dismay, the description is disturbingly similar to what little he’d glimpsed of the creature before it attempted to devour him. He hopes that his bodyguards outside are safe. He doesn’t think they teach how to defend against murderous mammals at the Secret Service.
Dean fumes, more incensed than ever. “It looks like a fucking abomination is what it looks like! Do we know how we’re supposed to kill this thing before it eats us alive?”
Sammy shakes his head. “The books didn’t mention anything on how to kill it. I did find a mention on how to lure a jackalope, however. Apparently, they really like whiskey. Hopefully, the wolpertinger is close enough of a relative to jackalopes to have the same weakness.”
“Oh, hell no. And I’m supposed to buy whiskey for killer bunnies now? What happened to a good old salt-n-burn? And what do we do after we lure it here? Because I’m in no rush to become bunny food.”
“I have some whiskey you can use in here,” he interrupts before a fight can spark between who he’s starting to suspect are brothers—only siblings (or best friends who have known each other for way too long) can find the time to bicker while completely ignoring the dangerous situation they're stuck in. Dean and Sammy both startle as if surprised by his presence. He doesn’t know if he should feel offended. Did they really forget that he was there?
Sammy recovers from his surprise first. “Ugh, right… Yes, that would be great!” Then, in a more decisive voice, Sammy addresses Dean. “There’s really no information on how to kill one, but I figure between our guns and the demon-killing knife, we’ll manage something.”
Well, it seems like his office has been commandeered for the fight against a killer bunny. He hunkers down behind his desk as Dean and Sammy make their preparations for the fight.
This isn’t what he signed up for when he became the president, he laments to himself.