Title: Captain Hammer's Tool
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Summary: With no tools at hand, how else was he supposed to work?
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
It just wasn't working.
Captain Hammer stared at the mess around him. Most of the boards were broken in two, or had fist-shaped holes in them. It turned out that, although he had enough strength for hammering nails with his fists to not hurt him
, it really hurt the wood.
So building a treehouse wasn't as easy as he thought. It had to be done, though — he was pretty sure his nephew would be damn disappointed if he didn't get his birthday gift after all, and the treehouse was already a last-moment, made-up-on-the-spot promise.
Maybe he wasn't the best uncle, but he tried. It wasn't his fault the kid cried and wet himself whenever he came around.
But half a bottle of Jack Daniels and a few dozen broken boards later, he was at a loss. He had yet to successfully put two boards together. If his fist wouldn't work, he needed — he needed something
. Something he could handle and direct without putting too much force behind it. But not a hammer. How embarrassing would it be for Captain Hammer to actually need to use a hammer?
He sat down, looking around his basement. There wasn't a lot in the way of tools there. He had some weights — weights that he insisted he didn't need, but that he used just in case
anyway — but those were far too big and heavy; he'd just break more boards for them. There was a washer-dryer, but that was out of the question, too, as was the chair he sat on. The boxes were filled with breakable stuff and much too weak.
There really wasn't anything there for him to use. He considered trying his fist again. Maybe his thumb, if he was very careful, or...
He blinked, then looked down at his crotch.
It could work. Hopefully. He'd never tried it before, but — hey, why not? He could even get some pretty good bragging rights from it.
He looked around. There wasn't anyone there, of course. It was his
basement, after all, and he lived alone so as to be all stoic and secretive.
He set up a board, grabbed a nail, and unzipped his pants.