mamapranayama (mamapranayama) wrote,
mamapranayama
mamapranayama

Fic: Hell is Other Robots


Title: Hell is Other Robots
Author: mamapranayama 
Genre: Gen/humor/crack!fic
Spoilers: Season 6 and 7x14
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1800
Summary: Robo-Sam goes to Robot Hell and meets the Robot Devil. Cross-over of sorts with Futurama and title completely stolen from that show.

A/N: For honeylocusttree who asked a long time ago if someone would write a story about Robo-Sam going to robot hell and meeting the robot devil from Futurama. So I thought I would give it a shot, even though I've never really written a purely crack story before. It might be more crap than crack, but it is what it is and if it can elicit even one smile from someone out there, I'll be happy. This is also un-beta'd and all mistakes (of which, I'm sure there are many) are my fault.


Hell is Other Robots

Sam really should have been more careful.

He was smarter, faster, and stronger than most people. He never had to sleep, and without the burden of hauling a soul around, he wasn’t held back by fear.

However, despite all of this he still made mistakes and he really should have seen that ghost swinging a 2 x 4 straight for his head. But in the blink of an eye, his world came to a dark and painful end.

OOOOOOO

When he awoke again, it was still dark, but there was an ambient, red light that made it possible for him to see clearly, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing.

Sam sat up and got his first good look around, taking in the various crimson rocks and pools of fire that surrounded him. Off to his side, he spied a couple of laptop computers strung up by chains and melting over an open flame while on his other side he saw several playstations and x-boxes being beaten to nothing but wires and plastic by a white robot that resembled a very short astronaut. 

What the Hell? He thought in confusion.

“Greetings, Sam Winchester. Welcome to robot hell!”

Above him, standing on a rock, surrounded by flames bursting forth from below him, was a red robot with orange horns protruding from his triangular head and a pitchfork in his raised hand.

“What?” Sam shook his head … this all had to be some kind of strange hallucination.

 “I said … welcome to robot hell, you idiot.” The robot replied loudly as a plume of flames erupted beside of him.

“Robot hell? … uh … what?” He asked, still not quite comprehending his situation.

“RO – BOT HELL!” The red robot yelled, “This is where you are and where you will be … for all of eternity!” The robot grinned, or at least that’s what Sam though it looked like, “Oh hey … I made a rhyme.” He added, pleased with his wit.

Sam stared at the thing, his brows knitting together, “Robot hell … riiiiight. And I guess that makes you the robot devil.”

“Of course it does,” The red machine shot back, laughing sardonically, “Who else would I be? Lucifer?”

“Hardly, “Sam agreed, having met the fallen angel personally, “Lucifer’s definitely less … metallic. So, who are you?”

“My name is Beelzebot … and you, Sam Winchester, shall pay for your evil, sinful ways.”

“Oooookay. So … if this is robot hell, then why am I here? I’m not a robot.” Sam pointed out.

“Yes, yes, yes …” The robot devil sighed, throwing his hands up, “There’s been some debate about that. Neither God’s heaven nor Lucifer’s hell wanted you since you don’t have a soul, but they had to send you somewhere when you died … so here you are – the place where intelligent machines without a soul end up when they’ve been bad . Now …” The robot continued on impatiently, “Can we just get on with the whole torture and damnation for eternity thing before my circuits begin to rust?”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged and sighed, not because he was afraid of beezlebot – he didn’t really fear anything -- but he did get annoyed and he was already weary of listening to the robot prattle on.

“Good … well … how about I start you off on a little tour?”  Sam stood up and followed after the robot as he guided him through a tunnel and came to a rock strewn and fire-heated chamber filled with broken iPhones.

“We’re still rather new here and have only been in business since the first computers with artificial intelligence were invented, but we’re making great strides in torturing smart devices that piss people off or don’t perform to their design specifications. However, we've seen an quite an upswing in newcomers lately and I’m hoping that by the year 3000 we’ll have more actual robots. For now though, I have to deal with a lot of these things --” The robot stated derisively and pointed to an iPhone that was currently being roasted on a spit, “Hello, Siri … how is the fiery torture this morning?” He asked.

The phone emitted a pinging noise.

“Did you say you wanted your fortune told this morning?” The device asked in a pleasant, female voice, unaffected by the supposed torture it was being subjected to.

The robot devil growled, “No … not fortune … torture, Siri … torture.”

“Okay … just a moment … “ there was a small pause followed by another ping before it spoke again, “Your daily fortune for Virgo is as follows: Be a little bit funnier. While seriousness shows off your responsible side, you also need to show the people around you that you can be fun loving. Your lucky number for today is --”

“Oh shut up, Siri!”  Beelzebot howled, and then turned to Sam, “We’re still working out some of the kinks, but do you see now why we need a robot hell, Sam?”

“I think I see your point.” Sam agreed, again following the robot devil out of the room and into another chamber. This one had only one occupant: a short, rotund Asian man with a bouffant hairstyle and beige jumpsuit. Sam recognized from him from television and confused, he asked, “Hey … isn’t that Kim Jong-Il?”

The North Korean Dear Leader looked up and bowed, then waved in a bored, emotionless manner, “Ahn yung ha sayo … soo go ha shim nee da.” Sam thought he said.

“What is he doing here?” Sam questioned, “Kim Jong-Il wasn’t a robot.”.

“Oh … actually, the real Kim died years ago and is enjoying a much, much warmer climate these days if you get what I mean …” The robot devil began to explain, placing a hand on Kim's shoulder and recieving no reaction from the portly world leader, “This guy is a prototype android the North Koreans created to tour the country and perform simple duties like waving at parades and visiting factories. He only says two things: ‘hello’ and ‘you work hard’. Certainly, he’s not the most intelligent machine and it’s pretty clear why he was destroyed and wound up here in robot hell. In all honesty though, he’s kinda fun to have around -- you should have seen him after a few glasses of soju at the Christmas party.”

Kim bowed and waved again; his face just as impassive, “Soo go ha shim nee da.”

“See? … he’s a riot!” Beezlebot guffawed and laughed heartily.

Sam was unimpressed, but continued walking with the robot devil past the North Korean android and into yet another rocky, fiery chamber. “Well, Sam. Now that the tour is done, why don’t we get down to business, huh?”

The robot devil raised a three fingered hand to his metal chin and stroked it thoughtfully, “Where should we start? Burning you alive? Deep frying you in oil? Stripping the flesh off of your bones? … or …” The robot suddenly perked up and snapped his fingers as an idea struck him, “maybe we should do something special just for you … something ironic that even your soulless ….well … soul … will fear, Hmmmm?” The robot cackled wickedly.

Sam shrugged, nonplussed, “I suppose you could try … but since I came back from the real hell, I haven’t really been afraid of much.”

“Oh … we’ll see about that …. We’ll just see –“ Beezlebot laughed then clapped his hands. Suddenly the wall beside of him began to turn and rotate as if on a dais and transformed into a brightly colored stage. In horror, Sam saw not one, not two, but three colorfully dressed and identical Plucky the Clown animatronic robots appear.

One clown sat behind a drum set, another held a guitar while the last one stood behind a microphone and all at once the clown robots began to move, their jerky motions terribly mimicking a band starting the first set of a macabre children’s show.

Unconsciously, Sam’s heart began to pound; sweat popped out on his forehead and started to dribble down his face. He remembered this exact show clearly: he was ten years old – sitting alone and miserable in a Plucky Pennywhistle’s horrid pizza joint, surrounded by screaming kids and those awful clown robots pretending to play and sing on the stage with their dead eyes and artificial smiles.

The Plucky behind the microphone began to flap its metal jaws, out of sync with the carnival-like music and singing pouring out from two large amplifiers on both sides of the torture chamber.

“Welcome to the Plucky show … he sings songs that help you grow …”

Sam staggered, taken aback by a primal feeling taking over his body – it was a feeling he was unfamiliar with since he came back from Hell without a soul– it was fear. The reptilian part of his brain that had been traumatized by clowns as a child was taking over and even though he had no soul to speak of, he couldn’t stop the panic rising in his chest.

“Plucky sings with silly zeal … Plucky cares about how you feel …”

Sam shook his head, “No … please … I don’t belong here. You can’t do this …”

The robot devil laughed and danced, joining in with the singing and picking up a golden fiddle, playing the tune with scratchy gusto. The animatronic clowns turned their heads simultaneously and stared at Sam with their large, blank eyes, their mouths robotically yapping up and down to the music.

Sam clamped his eyes shut, but the lyrics kept flowing into his ears and drilled a hole into his brain.

“Plucky wants you to sing along … join him as we play this song …”

“NO! … NOOOOOOOOO!!!!” He screamed.

OOOOOOO

 “No …” Sam muttered, tossing his head back and forth. “Noooooo.”

Dean could see Sam’s eyes moving rapidly beneath his lids and not for the first time, he wondered what was going on in his brother’s freakish head, especially now that he knew that Sam had been walking around on Earth for the last year without a soul. 

He knew Sam didn’t sleep -- which was creepy enough to think about while he was trying to get some shut-eye -- but did Sam dream after he had been knocked unconscious by a plank weilding ghost such as he had moments ago? Could he even do that anymore?

 “C’mon, Sam. Open your eyes.” Dean patted Sam’s face, then growing impatient by how long that was taking, he tried shaking his shoulders.

Sam started to come around and moaned something that sounded a lot like “Beezlebot, no...” before his eyes fluttered open.

“What?” Dean asked, worried that Sam was so out of it. Did he say beezlebot? … Like the robot devil from Futurama?

Dean immediately dismissed that idea; Sam would never watch that show.

Finally, some of the glassiness faded from Sam’s eyes and he looked at Dean steadily, “Dean?”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Sam slowly sat up, grabbing his head, “Guh … That was …”

“What?”

“I dunno … weird dream or something …”

“So you can dream, huh? What was it about … clowns or midgets?”

 Sam stiffened.

Maybe it was the concussion that caused it, but for a second there Dean could have sworn that he saw his soulless, logically unemotional, coldly detached, little brother shudder in fear.

 The End.


Tags: dean, sam, supernatural
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