Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Summary: He's not that sort of doctor, really!
Disclaimer: I do not own Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog or any related plots and characters. They are the property of Joss Whedon and others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: For horrible_fic
's Act Two Flash Challenge
"I'll take out your appendix — painfully
No, no. Even with the growl and the threatening pose, it wasn't quite right. Billy adjusted his goggles, looking at himself in the mirror. There had to be something — aha!
He snatched up the knife from his plate, brandishing it as menacingly as he could. "I'll take out your appendix — paaainfully
Still no. Even with the gnashing of teeth, it just wasn't scary. He had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't work with a butcher's knife instead, either.
He took out a notepad, crossing the line off. Number fourteen, and none of them were even half up to par yet.
He tried the next one, striking a slightly more doctor-y pose. "I'll give the world an evil-ectomy."
"What are you doing?"
Billy whipped his goggles off — they were a stylistic choice, really, and he couldn't see through them at all
— and turned, ready to— well, apparently ready to stab someone with his butterknife. But it was just Moist. "Oh, Jesus Moist, I thought you were— someone else. Someone dryer."
"Most people are," Moist said with a nod. He glanced at the notepad. "Catchphrases, huh?"
"I'll need one for the Evil League of Evil. You can't get a locker until they hear your catchphrase, you know." Not that he'd keep anything in the locker (the place was filled with supervillains; they'd steal his stuff before he could even remember the combination, he was sure) but it was a status
Moist nodded again, completely understanding. Good old Moist. "But wouldn't an evil-ectomy be, like, removing the evil? Isn't that the opposite of what you do?"
He considered it a moment. "You're right. But a good-ectomy
just doesn't sound right." He sighed, stuffing the notepad into his pocket. He'd just have to think of something else.
"What about something not so medically themed? I mean, it might give people the wrong impression."
He was right, again; there wasn't much that annoyed Billy more than people who asked him for medical advice while he was on the job. He was sick of having to explain that he wasn't really that
sort of doctor.
"What about 'You can's spell drastic measures
Billy clapped him on the shoulder, sending drops of water — he hoped it was water, but he'd never quite worked up the will to ask — in all directions. "Stick to the moistening."---
Once again, Captain Hammer was beating the daylights out of him.
"What about the Hippocratic Oath, huh?" Hammer asked, smashing his head against a car hood. "More like the Hippocrit's Oath with you, isn't it?"
"I'm not—" BANG! "—that kind—" CRASH! "—of doctor!"
"Really, now?" Hammer lifted him by the front of his white coat until they were eye level. "You probably don't have a degree at all, do you? I'll bet you never even finished college."
"I do!" he cried angrily, struggling. "I have a PhD!"
Hammer gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh, yeah? In what?"
"In — in Horribleness!" Okay, really it was in Evil Studies, but— wait! That was it! His catchphrase! He had to write it down — his notebook, it was in his pocket, if he could only reach—
Captain Hammer punched him in the face.