All drabbles are a maximum T rating.
The Trickster's been up to - well - tricks again! I was having way too much fun with this, so it ended up as a story in three 100-word drabbles!
"Oh, that freakin' asshat's really gone and done it this time," groaned 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 he 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."
The boys get ready for a Hallowe'en party but the best laid schemes of angels and men often go awry ...
Dean stood proudly outside the bunker, resplendent in a disturbingly figure-hugging Batman costume.
Beside him stood the Impala. Sporting massive gleaming black wings, red go-faster stripes, and tyres that looked like they belonged on the space shuttle, she basked under Dean's admiring gaze.
"Batman's gotta have his Batmobile," Dean crowed, lovingly patting her glossy black fender; "an' she makes the best Batmobile EVER!"
Behind Dean, and eternally grateful that Batman's long, black cape covered the obscene bulge of Dean's spandex-clad ass, Sam adjusted his bowler hat. Alfred had never looked so good.
He glanced at his watch. "Dean, we're gonna be late."
"But I can't go without Robin," Dean whined; "I'll look freakin' stupid!"
Sam perused Dean's foam-padded pecs, complete with integrated Kevlar nipples and tried to ignore the crushing irony of that statement.
"CAS', WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Dean yelled into the bunker's entrance; "C'mon dude, shake a leg!"
They paused on hearing the rapid pitter-patter of footsteps on the bunker's metal staircase. "Coming," the angel yelled breathlessly; "I collected my Robin costume this morning, and I've been having problems with it."
As he emerged into the daylight, the brothers' hearts simultaneously sank.
"My beak didn't fit."
Not all Superheroes wear a cape … (wee!chesters)
Six-year-old Sam sat at the rickety table in their latest motel base and watched as Dean carefully placed a steaming bowl of Spaghettios in front of him.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled; "eat up 'fore it gets cold, then we can go and look at my Spiderman comic book. I got it from the dime store yesterday with some money I got for washing the receptionist's car. She gave me enough for a candy bar too, so we can share that as well – but only after you've finished your Spaghettios."
"'kay Dean," Sam grinned a gap-toothed grin, his face already smeared with orange sauce.
"It'd be so cool to be a Superhero, woul'nt it Sammy," Dean mused as he chewed on the last remaining crust of bread in the cupboard. "If I was goin' to invent a superhero, I'd make it so that he could go invisible, and spy on the bad guys, then – ZAP – he'd burn them all up with lightning bolts that he fires from his eyes! He'd run like lightning too, an' his name would be Captain Thunderbolt."
Sam giggled, "but Dean, if he fired lightning from his eyes, he'd burn his face all up!"
"No, he wouldn't, see," Dean retorted; "'cause his skin would be made of … uh, um, well … uh, you know, like, fireproof stuff."
Sam looked back down at the comic and gazed intently at the printed images across the page. Lost in thought, he traced a fingertip across the brightly coloured shapes and words that he saw there.
"I don't need to invent a superhero," he murmured absently.
"Why not?" Dean asked; "superheroes are so cool."
"Yeah, I know they are," Sam replied quietly as he looked back up from the book at Dean; "I already know a real one."