Characters: Sam and Dean
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: don't own them
The trickster's been up to, well, tricks again!
“Oh, that freakin’ asshat’s really gone and done it this time,” growled Dean.
Looking down, Sam scanned his purple spandex-clad body, complete with gold lightning flash across his chest and nodded; “I’m gonna tear him apart with my teeth,” he snarled.
Dean scowled, as he studied the black spandex expanse of his own body, complete with ostentatious silver ‘T; emblazoned between a pair of lethally pointed chrome nipples, and a disturbingly large bulge beneath his silver briefs.
“The Trickster’s turned us into comic book superheroes, the dick,” Sam snorted; “apparently you’re Thunderman and I’m Lightning.”
“Kill me now,” sighed Dean
“I mean,” Dean snorted; “who the hell dresses like this to fight crime?” He threw his arms upwards in exasperation; “if we don’t throttle ourselves with our capes, we’ll probably end up getting arrested for indecent exposure!”
On that subject, Sam had been trying very hard not to stare at the comically large bulge that Dean’s nether regions had suddenly acquired. he noted that didn’t appear to have been similarly blessed, but then he guessed that was the curse of the sidekick.
He couldn’t imagine it was all real; if it was then, heck, it was no wonder Dean was bow-legged.
“And look at this,” Dean’s indigant tirade continued; “don’t comic-book writers have brains?” He took a step forward and as his foot touched the ground, a deafening peal of thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the ground beneath them.
“STUPIDEST. SUPERPOWER. EVER.” He snorted; “how am I ever supposed to sneak up on anyone?”
Sam was about to respond when a sudden flash of blinding light lit up the ground behind him, leaving a smoking scorch mark on the asphalt and a faint odour of singed nylon lingering in the air.
“Could always be worse,” he sighed; “at least you don’t fart lightning.”