Title: War of the Winchesters
Words: 381 words
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: general
Warnings: just some fun
Author's Notes: Takes place after Devil's Trap.
Dean Winchester padded down the sterile hallway of the hospital he had called home for the past three months. Well, he hadn't called it home, his 'home' was stuck in Bobby's junkyard who knows how many miles away. His home got squished by a demonically driven semi-truck. He didn't really call this place anything. It was just a stop in this game called life. And where the nurses were hot (thank God).
Moving stealthily down the hallway, keeping close to the walls, ducking in and out of doorways, Dean made his way towards the elevators.
Sam Winchester, coincidentally, was also walking down the hallway of the same hospital at the same moment.
To the casual observer, they were two unconnected people walking down the hall. One might have been able to tell that Dean was probably doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing, but other than that he looked like any other patient, and Sam just looked like your average visitor. Except for what both boys clutched in their hands.
The small weapons were grasped loosely in one hand. In the other hand, if one looked closely, one might catch a glimpse of small pellet-like objects.
Both boys neared the joining corner of their respective hallways. Sensing his enemy was near, Sam pressed his body against the wall at the corner and readied his weapon. Bringing it to his lips, Sam fired with a forceful breath.
"Dammit!" A moist, white paper substance struck Dean in the neck. If one listened closely, they might hear the chorus to "We are the Champions" coming from Sam's direction at this precise moment.
Another one soon followed the first. And another one. A wave of pellets began to pelt the walls and floor around Dean, some actually hitting their target.
Dean ducked into a nearby doorway and loaded his straw and began firing a volley of spit balls at his unseen enemy. He would be damned if he let his little brother win.
"Boys!"
With that one word a cease fire was issued in the War of the Winchesters. But not before a final pellet landed on the forehead of their father. Now, no one knows for sure whose spit produced the ball, but I can tell you for sure that it wasn't Sam's.