A/N: Okay, so... idunno. It just happened, and there it is. Could this be considered crack? Probably not entirely, but whatever. Enjoy my rampant insanity; I know I do.
Also, I'd like to take a moment to thank all of the people who have reviewed my stories. I realize I don't often reply to said reviews, because a) I am socially retarded, and exceedingly bad at accepting compliments; and b) I spend a great deal of time with my Gram, helping her out and doing housework. Just know that every review makes me incredibly happy, and I thank you from the bottom of my somewhat soggy (but still tasty and delicious!) pineapple-flavored heart.
P.S. I have been watching WAY too much Psych. XD
Summary: Sam has a really great idea, but forgets about the escape route. Dean gets some fancy new hair product. fail!crack. My mind is a steel sieve.
Fireworks
"Shit." A weird green glow lit the dilapidated basement, illuminating the crumpled beer cans and grungy fliers that littered the floor.
"Shit!" The sonuvabitch was directly in between Sam and Dean, and the stairs leading up to salvation. It's scaled stomach was pulsing and expanding, vibrant, pregnant with explosive light.
"Shit!"
"Yeah, thanks Dean! I get the poi-!" Before he could finish, Dean had barreled into him full force, knocking them both into the far corner of the room. There they sprawled haphazardly behind a pile of old car parts, Sam's knee near his brother's ear, Dean's back against the wall. Or was that the floor?
Everything happened in half-second intervals, time skipping like a broken record. A high-pitched whine caught Dean's ear just before a booming noise shook the basement, scattering dust from the rafters. His hands automatically reached for Sammy's ears, covering them against the violent cacophony.
When the light died down and the only noise that remained was a ringing in Dean's ears, he let go, falling back onto what he now knew was definitely the floor. Sam rose, offering a hand, and Dean took it, cringing as he stood. Back. Pain. Ow.
He stared at his brother for a moment. "Fireworks, Sam? Really?" He had his meanest, hardest, 'what the fuck were you thinking' big brother face on, but something was amiss. Sam's jaw muscle twitched, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, just staring at Dean. But not directly at him.
The laughter came then, raw and throaty, and Dean kinda wanted to punch his little brother now. Not too hard, just enough to knock the wind out of him. He was distracted from his thoughts of revenge by a slow cool trickle down the side of his neck. Reaching up, he slid his fingers through the gooey substance, traced it all the way up to... his hair. It was covered in the stuff. Looked at his fingers. Green goo. Green monster goo.
"Oh, that is just gross!" Sam was now doubled over, leaning against the wall for support as Dean flailed his arm around trying to get the guts off of him. Eventually he settled for rubbing his head on the back of baby brother's shirt as Sam slapped at him helplessly, still caught up in trying to breathe properly through his laughter.
And as pissed off as Dean was, as much as it sucked that he probably wouldn't be able to hear anything below a loud yell for at least a couple days... he smiled.