Author's Note: It's my word this week, so I thought I'd better buck up and write a 100-word drabble. So I did. I got the idea from that hilarious outtake of Jensen constantly slipping on the grass as he tries to lead the charge towards the enemy. 100 words, y'all! My own little victory...
Sweet Victory
The Queen of Moons is victorious.
Dean's medieval ass-kicking boots offer no traction on this slippery grass so his knees—and butt—are stained green. His wig, lost during the melee, lies wherever it fell. His war paint is smudged, leaving a red trail across his nose.
He's surrounded by 'dead' Shadow Orcs; false fangs scattered everywhere, crushed underfoot. Some of the Orcs are lying still, others groaning theatrically, and one is snoring loudly—Sam must really have done a number on that guy.
So, okay, yeah, that was kinda fun, Dean thinks, grinning at Sam, who mirrors the gesture.
THE END