Drabble, Drabble, Drabble
Hi all, I finally found some time to write. I know I have ongoing stories to update (cringes) and am a month plus behind in reading and reviewing the authors I have on alert (grovels and begs forgiveness) but this just popped out and said "write me". This came about when my friend Beautiful Ally dared me to write a drabble that had to have the sentence "You owe me fifty dollars" in it. For the next two and a half hours my muse went wild, and I now have three ficlets, supposed to be hundred word drabbles, but boy did they go over, and the last one was a lot longer and angstier than I planned, but oh well. I'll have some time this week to finally catch up on this site and when I do I'll be working on my other fics but till then here is a little something I hope you like. Oh, and of course I don't own them, but if I did they could inspire me to write a heck of a lot faster. (Imagines half naked Winchesters washing the Impala in the hot sun while I sip an iced tea...) For another take on these drabbles you can visit Beautiful Ally's One for you, which are all completed fics and has something for everyone :)
First fic: Prompt: "You owe me fifty dollars."
Sam sighed; his clothes were dripping and he smelled like the inside of a toilet. That made sense of course seeing as he'd just been slogging through a sewer. A sewer that was flowing with water from the recent rainstorm. He heard a distinct squelching as he walked, and pushed his drenched locks away from his eyes. His hand came away covered in something that he didn't even want to identify. He turned and looked at his smirking brother. A brother that was conspicuously dry, having stayed safely out of said sewer.
"You owe me fifty dollars," Sam growled.
Dean's smirk became a pronounced grin. "Sure. I'll wait till you get out of those wet clothes though. Don't want to spoil the money. And dude, you need a shower. You're rancid."
Sam glared at his sibling, wondering if the jury would let him off for fratricide if he told them it had been Dean daring him. Then he had a thought, and grinned.
"Fine, but you're taking me out to dinner too." He marched ahead, so his brother wouldn't see the look in his eye. Dean only had a couple of clean items left to wear, and Sam knew just what he was going to use to get even...
The end of number one.
Prompt: Has to have sentence "Yeah, well don't dream of cute furry little bunnies!"
Dean swore violently as he reloaded. He took aim and fired at the ghost currently lifting his brother in the air by the throat. It dissipated and Sam fell to the ground, but before Dean could check on him the other ghost materialized behind him. He felt an icy grip tear away the shotgun and roughly shove him sideways. He spun and regained his balance, only to see the business end of his own gun pointing at him. Then there was the sound of a blast, and his shotgun fell to the floor as the ghost holding it vaporized.
Dean swallowed at the close call and grinned over at Sam. His brother was reloading his own gun which he'd discharged to save Dean.
"So, seems Casper and his buddy are a bit more feisty than we gave them credit for. Guess we'd better hustle and find those bones, huh?" He led the way to the basement, where in a macabre twist the two would-be burglars turned ghosts had been killed and buried by the former owner. He'd been in a nursing home and had finally spilled the beans after being told of the number of accidents any new owners had.
"Easy hunt," Sam muttered, as he followed behind Dean. "Piece of cake. Be home before you know it."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda," Dean singsonged.
In a few minutes that were luckily spook-free they found the bones, dug them up, salted and burned them. It was ironically when they were leaving that Sam received the most bruises, as he fell down the slippery stairs in the near dark (lights are for wussies, thanks a lot, Dean) and scraped his shin and another unmentionable part.
Finally safely back in the motel room Sam popped a couple painkillers while his brother flipped channels. Dean was grinning at the commercial for Energizer batteries and poked Sam in his hurting side.
Sam groaned and Dean looked worried for a moment, then realized the noise was mostly theatrical.
"Sleep well, Samantha, and don't let the bed bugs bite," Dean said, yanking the covers up over Sam and patting him on the head like he was a five year old.
"Yeah, well don't dream of cute furry little bunnies!" Sam retorted.
"Weak, bro, weak. Do I need to teach you how to comeback again? Get it, comeback, again?"
Sam groaned and turned over, pulling the covers over his head. "Next time I pick the hunt. And you...you do the research in the library. Nighty night." Sam grinned into the pillow, knowing exactly what look his brother now wore.
Dean swallowed, and that night he dreamed of cute furry little bunnies-cute furry little bunnies that had big teeth and made him sit and read books for hours on end.
The End of number two.
Prompt: Has to have sentence "Dude you better be alright, or I'm going to kill you."
"Turn left!"
Dean swung the wheel viciously, mentally apologizing to his baby.
"Turn right!"
Again the steering wheel was put to the test, the Impala almost groaning as she made the sharp turn.
"Turn left!"
"Son of a ..." Dean felt the shudder as the wheels scraped the sidewalk before the long black car straightened.
Sam twisted around in his seat, then sank back in relief. "I think we lost them."
"For now," Dean muttered.
He brought the car to a gentle stop by a large dumpster in the empty alley, and the brothers quickly got out and took the tarp from the trunk. They covered the Impala and pulled up a half broken shopping cart that was lying on its side by the dumpster, settling it on her hood as though it had been there all along. Then they took cover behind the garbage container and waited.
The flashing lights went past the alley entrance without stopping, and Sam looked at his brother, giving a small smile. Then the flashing lights backtracked and the brothers lay flat on the ground.
A door slammed, and the sound of a police radio could be heard as footsteps came down the alley towards where the Winchesters hid. They held their breaths as the footsteps stopped by the dumpster. A flashlight shone around the large garbage container, and an authoritative voice stated, "Police! Come out of there now with your hands up!"
The brothers didn't move, and the flashlight was banged against the dumpster, followed by the sound of a gun cocking.
"All right, all right, keep yer shirt on!" a raspy voice said from within the dumpster.
Sam and Dean looked at each other incredulously, but otherwise stayed still as a raggedy old man crawled out of the container they were hiding behind and dropped to the ground in front of the officer.
"Whatta ya want?" the man complained.
"Harry, how many times have I told you to go to the shelter on Fourth? You want me to bring you to the station again?" the police officer said.
"Naw," Harry said, scratching under his arm. "Sides, the shelter on'y has mac an' cheese fer dinner tonight, and I know there is better stuff here from that party they threw last night," he said, pointing to the restaurant exit door a bit down the alley.
The officer shook his head, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Fine, but go there to sleep tonight, it's going to get cold."
"'Kay," Harry replied, about to go back into the dumpster.
"Oh, and one more thing. Did you see a couple of guys come past here, maybe in a classic black car? They're wanted by the FBI and were spotted in the cemetery earlier by a Good Samaritan."
"There a reward?" Harry asked, interest suddenly piqued.
"Nope," the officer lied, knowing just what Harry would do with the reward money and not wanting the man to get into further trouble. "Just thought you could help me out."
Harry paused a moment, rubbing his chin as if he was thinking, and the Winchester brothers tensed.
"Nah, can't say as they went by," Harry said. He turned and went back into the dumpster, clearly dismissing the officer.
The police officer looked around, but the light was dim and he didn't see anything out of the ordinary on a cursory glance. Besides, reward or no, Harry usually helped him out, and the officer had given him money from time to time. He spoke into the mike, "All clear," and left.
Once the police car's lights were well gone Harry got out of the dumpster and the Winchesters slowly rose as well. Two pairs of eyes looked warily at another pair of rheumy and bloodshot ones.
"Thanks," Dean began, but Harry cut him off.
"One hunnered or I blab."
Sam grinned at his brother, who looked startled and then offended.
"No way!" Dean retorted.
Before either brother realized what was happening, the old tramp moved quickly, grabbing the closest Winchester and yanking his head back, placing a rusty looking knife at his throat.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy. I'm getting you the money, okay?" Dean said, eyes on his brother, body flushing with adrenaline.
"Make it two hunnnerd and hurry it up," the vagabond said, pressing the tip of the blade into Sam's neck. A trickle of blood slid down his brother's throat as Sam swallowed a gasp, and Dean bared his teeth. Any good feeling he might have had towards the now standing dead man had evaporated, and his hand was reaching for his weapon, his eyes picking his spot on the grungy body.
The sudden shrilling of a siren going by broke the tense tableau and Sam moved; twisting out of the man's grip as Dean drew his gun.
"Don't, they'll hear," Sam hissed and then groaned as he felt a sharp pain in his side. He kicked Harry away from him and Dean brought his gun down on the tramp's head, knocking him out. He took hold of the knife carefully with a handkerchief and tossed it to the bottom of the trash container, then turned to Sam.
"Dude, you better be alright or I'm going to kill you," Dean said, looking his brother over worriedly.
"I'm fine," Sam murmured and then swayed as he stood up fully.
"Fine, then you bleed all over my car and I'm going to kill you," Dean said as he saw the stain growing on Sam's shirt.
Sam reached for the tarp, and Dean batted his hands away. "I got it," he said roughly.
He yanked off the shopping cart and took the tarp off the car, putting it back in the trunk and retrieving the first aid kit. Then he helped Sam into the passenger side, brushing away his brother's protests that he was fine.
Dean lifted Sam's shirt, and gently swiped at the blood, revealing a shallow cut. He sighed in relief, then remembered that the blade had been who-knows-where. He quickly and efficiently cleaned and bandaged the wound, then did the same for the one on Sam's neck which was also superficial. Then he took out two tablets and a small bottle of water.
"Take them, you need the antibiotics just in case, that dude was filthy," Dean said, offering Sam the pills.
"I said I'm fine," Sam replied, but took the pills anyway, knowing he couldn't afford to get sick.
Quickly looking around and making sure they hadn't left anything behind, Dean got in the driver's side and started the Impala. Sam swung the passenger door shut and the sleek black car backed up, then drove forward, going out the other end of the alley and back towards the open road and freedom.
Left behind on the ground, slowly coming to and then groggily looking around was a piece of human detritus that might have made friends if not for its greed.
The End of number three.
That's all, folks! And thanks for reading :)