chipper
Says it all, really.
Genre: Humour
Rating: K+
Characters: Sam and Dean
Spoilers/Warnings: none
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: Don't own them
FINGERS AND THUMBS
If only Dean were as good at DIY as he was at hunting.
xxxxx
BAM-BAM-BAM
BAM-BAM-BAM
Sam sighed and wearily kneaded his temples; he could feel a migraine brewing.
BAM-BAM-BAM
He wanted to shoot the asshole who donated a set of twelve matching framed classic car prints to the thrift store, and strangle the worker who put them in the window, right where Dean, boggle-eyed and salivating with joy, spotted them.
BAM-BAM-BAM
And now he had to listen to Dean hammering goddamn nails into his goddamn bedroom wall half the goddamn day to hang the goddamn things.
BAM-BAM- AAIEEEEE-OOOOOOWW-AUUGH-SONOFA-FREAKIN-B
Suddenly, it looked like Sam's evening was about to get a whole lot quieter.
xxxxx
end
LOVE HURTS
Dean's injured, Sam's concerned …
xxxxx
Sam watched as Dean emerged from the bathroom.
"Holy crap, … Dean?"
"What?"
Sam stared at Dean's bare back; "where'd you get those scratches on your back?"
Dean flinched; "nowhere, it's nothing," he mumbled, hastily tugging on his T-shirt.
"Bullshit," Sam snorted; "something's got their nails into you; your back's freakin' tiger-striped; let me look."
"No way," Dean grunted; "get your pervy urges someplace else."
"Dean, it could be infected; was it that chupacabra in Boulder?"
Dean shook his head.
"The black Dog in Maine?"
"Sam …"
Sam gasped; "not the werewolf?"
"No!"
"Well, what then?"
Dean sighed.
"Remember the waitress from the diner last week …"
xxxxx
end
