"Dean! Stop playing with that sword," an exasperated Sam complained as his brother swash-buckled his way around the library, thrusting at invisible foes.
"Killjoy! Why don't you grab the other blade and spar with me, Sammy?"
"I might... if I wanted an eye put out, which I don't!"
:
"You always ruin my fun, Sasquatch." Dean griped, crashing onto a chair.
Sam sighed. "Someone needs to exhibit the common sense you sorely lack!"
:
"Dude, if we meet a sword-fighting ghost, we'll be at a gross disadvantage."
"Have we EVER met a sword-fighting ghost, Dean?"
"No,... doesn't mean we won't."
"Whatever. Salt rounds beat swords hands-down," Sam observed, shrugging.
:
"En garde," Dean yelled, brandishing the sword in his brother's direction.
"Dude," Sam whined. "Just...stop!."