A/N: A little prompt fill left over on fic_promptly on Dreamwidth. The prompt was: "The Losers, Jensen & any, tripping over one of his niece's roller skates was not the way he expected to be taken down."
This shouldn't have been the way things went down. How was it possible that he lived through the worst carnage in the thickiest thickness of hot, sweaty, sticky, smelly – god, the man funk was everywhere! – battle, only to perish now because of a stupid roller skate?
Come on, Jensen, pull yourself together.
Breathing would be good. Yeah, step one definitely needed to be breathing, 'cause lying on your back on the hardwood floor – This has to be concrete painted to look like wood, because, damn, it's hard! – gasping like a fish out of water was so not cool.
Moving on to step two now that precious oxygen had finally made it into the lungs and on up to the vastly more important brain. Sitting up now would probably be a good idea - much more helpful to determining the location of the bad guys, because they were definitely not on the ceiling.
Perimeter still secure. Good. I might have a chance.
Step three would be to stand. One foot then the oth-
Oh no, nonononono. Come on ankle, don't be a slutty actress in a horror flick. Get moving before Leatherface chainsaws you off my leg.
Nope. That was not working. He was dead. The hero of the day was going down, and all because of his niece's roller skate.
Ah, you can't do that to her. She'll spend the rest of her life wallowing in a guilt-ridden existence alone with her thirty-seven cats, one of which will be a three-legged, ugly-ass Persian named Tripod the Snugglepuss. It's too sad. Man up, Jensen. You're a genius, figure it out.
Voices carried through from outside the door. They were smart, using search-and-destroy military tactics. He'd have to think fast…
I need a decoy.
Bingo.
Lying still, going back to the whole not breathing thing, waiting for the door to crack open… There was a foot, a hand, a head, the other foot coming through-
Now!
"Ooof!"
No time for hesitating, he sprang back up and took his shot, pressing the trigger again and again and again. There was no way his enemy was coming back from this one.
"Jensen…Did you ambush me with a fucking roller skate?"
Busted.
"No…I was moving it out of the way. Your timing was just really bad."
Pooch refused to look at him. That was never a good sign.
"I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna get up, then I'm gonna kill you."
Pooch talking all casual and pleasant while threatening him was an even worse sign.
"You can't kill me because you're already dead. I took all your points. My vest still has five more hits on it. See the flashing lights? That means I-"
Pooch was getting to his feet.
Um…shit…I'm about to die. For real. New tactic.
"Ow! Owowowow! It hurts, Pooch! Oh God, I think it's broken!"
"Oh, sure, now you hurt. You were fine like a half second ago."
At least Pooch stopped moving.
"No, look, I really hurt it. See? Would you call that more violet or indigo?"
And there was concern face. He was in the clear!
"Shit, Jay, I think you sprained it."
"Told you I wasn't faking."
"Okay, stay there, let me get the others. Looks like game's over."
Yes!
"Does that mean I won?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever Jensen. You win. Here, ice it with this. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
"Haha! Victory is mine! No one can take down a Class A ninja like-"
Why is my vest bleeping?
"You lose."
"Awwwww, dammit, Cougs!"
The End!
