Following are a little series of drabbles written in response to a weekly drabble challenge that runs over on fanfiction.net:
Collective rating: maximum T
Character: Sam and Dean Winchester
word count: 100 each drabble
disclaimer: don't own them!
Challenge Word - Swirl
Dean knew he should have known better, but when he found Samson's comb in the basement, he just couldn't resist a quick brush.
But now he was peering into the mirror from under long silky bangs which hung down over his face and tickled his nose. He scowled at the long lustrous locks that swirled around his shoulders, framing his face in sleek, dark-blond tresses.
"Uh Sam," he called sheepishly; "I think I …" The words died on his lips as Sam appeared before him, furiously pointing to the gleaming cueball that was now his head.
"You think you've got freakin' problems?"
Challenge Word - Swirl
Sam glared down into the bathtub at Dean.
"Don't look at me like that," Dean snapped as the massive silver fishtail that had replaced his legs slapped the water.
Sam shrugged. "How, then, am I supposed to look at the jerk who found Triton's conch in our vaults and decided to try and play Highway to Hell on it?"
The bathwater swirled as the fishtail lashed menacingly. "When I can get outta this tub, I'm so gonna paste your ass," Dean snorted ingraciously; "until then, bitch, make some lunch."
Sam turned with a resigned sigh.
"NO GODDAMNED SUSHI," Dean called after him.
Challenge Word - Swirl
Dean didn't get why Sam was so pissed.
I mean, when a man finds a hat he's gotta try it on, right?
How would Dean know the Helm of friggin' Hades made him invisible?
He only realised when he turned to the mirror and saw, well, nothing.
And he squeaked out a shocked yelp ...
And Sam came running ...
And slammed into his invisible brother with the force of a wildebeest stampede.
Staring woozily at the swirling ceiling, Dean had to concede that the helm was useful for preventing multiple skull fractures
Honestly; you'd think he'd never broken his nose before!
Challenge - mention an animal in your drabble
"What? I'm busy."
"Sorry, but I could use a hand."
"Dean, this incantation won't translate itself."
"It'll have to wait."
*Sigh* "okay, I'm coming."
"I'm in my room."
*grumble* "this had better be goo …"
"Dean, there's a cow. In your room."
"Well spotted Hawkeye."
"This stupid thing."
"Found it in the vault an' I just …"
*facepalm* "Krishna, Hindu Deity; Protector of the Sacred Cow?"
"I only wanted to see how it sounded."
"Sam, quit bitchin', there's a freakin' COW in my room."
"Yep, and it gives a whole new meaning to 'the pile on the carpet'!"
Challenge Word - Fort
Hugging his coffee mug, Sam sat down at the table opposite his brother.
"Hey Sam," Dean announced; "did you know we had Charles Fort's ashes in our vaults?"
Sam froze, eyes widening in awe.
"Yep, but ..."
"The greatest ever researcher and chronicler of the supernatural?" Sam gasped in excitement; "the Godfather of hunting?"
"Yep, I …"
"Dean, that's epic," Sam beamed; "how d'you find out?"
"I'm tryin' to tell you," snapped Dean; "I broke his urn, so I put the ashes in the spare sugar caddy for now."
"You've just put two spoonfuls of our Godfather in your coffee."
Challenge Word - Skeptical
Sam had been skeptical at first.
But, now with Dean standing before him, wiping sticky, turkish-delight flavoured fingers on a snow-flecked fur coat that completely engulfed him, somehow it didn't seem so bizarre.
It was the Batcave, after all …
"So," Sam sighed; "you got to Narnia through some crappy old wardrobe you found in the basement?"
Dean nodded with a grin.
"I met Mr. Tumnus."
Sam studied the liberal coating of icing sugar across Dean's ruddy, cold-flushed cheeks; "I'm guessing you met the Ice Queen too?"
"Yeah," Dean smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"… and, dude; she ain't icy any more!"
Challenge Word - Key
"Dean, how …?"
"It slammed shut behind me," came the muffled voice from inside the locked mummy-case, the final resting place of the pharaoh, dhueshb'haag, whose cobweb-strewn earthly remains were now unceremoniously propped against the wall.
Sam sighed; "can you breathe?"
"Yeah," Dean grumbled; "this thing's riddled with woodworm."
"OK, so where's the key?" asked Sam
"In my pocket," snorted Dean impatiently.
"C'mon Sasquatch, shake a leg; it friggin' stinks in here!"
Sam paused, eyes narrowing slyly; "hmmmmm, let me think …"
Juggling his beer and the remote, Sam slumped contentedly into the couch for a Dean-free episode of Downton Abbey.
He was thinking, honest.