Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
E/O Challenge: Bra. 4 x 100-word drabbles where things aren't as supportive as they could be. #1: Dean's cursed. A chase and changes ensue. #2: Dean's bearing up well, but Sam's psychologically scarred. #3: Maybe Dean's had enough? #4: It's the details that can give you away. All spoiler free!
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Lack of Support
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A/N: Dean's cursed. A chase and changes ensue.
Witch's Curse
Dean's body burned as it changed and twisted under the impact of the witch's curse.
Sam looked on in shock, not quite able to process what he was seeing.
"No time for this now, let's get her," screamed Dean, racing after the fleeing witch.
Dean threw a wild punch that connected. The witch screeched as she tripped and fell from the roof of the building to her death below.
Sam caught up and they both stared down, lost in thought. "What are we going to do about... this?"
"Definitely getting myself a decent sports bra," winced Dean, rubbing her chest.
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A/N: Dean's bearing up well, but Sam's psychologically scarred. Continuation.
Witch's Curse 2
"Guys are like bras, they hookup behind your back."
"Jeez, would you look at the rack on me?" Dean smirked, as she stared at her reflection while adjusting her new bra. She looked up at her younger brother to see his face blazing scarlet with embarrassment. "On second thoughts, keep your eyes up here, soldier."
"So how do we reverse this spell?" asked Sam, keeping a determined gaze locked on Dean's eyes.
"Ah yeah. Can you clear outta here for an hour? I'm expecting Cas any minute."
Sam made a choking noise.
Dean gave him an odd look. "He's gonna mojo me back; apparently it's dangerous to anyone nearby."
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A/N: Maybe Dean's had enough? More of my pointless Crowley/Dean meanderings.
A Last Drink at Crowley's
"If you can say, 'It's a braw bricht moonlicht nicht', Then yer a'richt, ye ken." - 'Wee Deoch an Doris', Sir Harry Lauder
They'd saved Sam and Castiel and so there was an unaccustomed warm feeling in Crowley's chest from the satisfaction of a job well done. Or maybe it was all the celebratory scotch.
"Fancy a nightcap?" he asked Dean.
"You sure that's a good idea?" answered the bleary-looking hunter.
"It's a braw, bricht, moonlicht nicht," recited Crowley, with a hint of Scottish burr, as he poured himself a measure of Glen Craig. Not too much, they don't make it anymore!
"A bra what?" Dean slurred.
Sassenach, thought Crowley, and filled Dean's glass with the cheapest, blended whiskey he had to hand.
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A/N: It's the details that can give you away. For Lily.
The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same
They'd been following the suspected shifter, when she'd ducked down a side road.
Sam ran after her. "I'll try to cut her off," called Dean, heading the other way.
The brothers met midway down an alley. "She must've somehow got past me," apologized Dean, straightening his jacket.
Almost without a second thought, Sam plunged his silver knife into Dean's heart.
Sam watched the look-a-like dissolve, as a bleeding, jacketless Dean crawled out from a nearby dumpster.
"How did you know it wasn't me?"
"It didn't have time to change," Sam laughed, pointing at the creature. "Look, you're wearing a bra!"
(;,;)