A/N: I was supposed to be working on NaNoWriMo (or maybe my homework) when my friend, Victory Tastes Like Chocolate, suggested the details of this plot bunny and it took over. Totally wrote this in no time flat. Unbeta'd, not even read through... You get the picture. Hope you like it anyway.

Squirt Guns

Dean shut the motel room door behind him with his foot, juggling plastic bags. "Hey, Sammy!" he called, depositing his load on the creaky table. "Come on out, dude! You've been soaking in there for half an hour."

The shower shut off with a yelled insult from Sam, but Dean just grinned. Digging through a plastic bag, he unearthed his treasure. Mischief glinted in his eyes. After a quick stop to fill it up (that he'd already made in the gas station,) and he was ready to go. Now to wait for Sam.

He heard clothes rustling in the bathroom, and he knew the time had come. He crouched behind the bed closest to the door for cover, peeking just over the top. Soon, now. Just a little bit longer….

Sam opened the bathroom door in a billow of steam, towel wrapped around his waist and dry clothes piled high. Dean leveled his gun and squirted him in the face.

Sam stopped dead, and swiped a hand across his face, snarling, "Dean!"

The older brother fell back onto his butt with laughter. "Oh, god!" he gasped. "So worth it."

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam griped. He spotted the water pistol in his brother's hand where it was draped over his knee. He dropped the bundle of clothes on his bed, then pointed at it with an accusing finger. "Is that what I think it is?"

Dean twirled the gun around by its trigger guard and pretended to holster it at his hip. "You bet, Sammy. That Supernatural fan was so right—water guns for holy water is genius!"

Or at least, that's what Dean thought until he found himself staring down a laughing demon, empty water gun held out pointlessly.

"Come on, Sam, it's a demon hunt! This is the perfect time to try it out," Dean said as he tried to get his brother to take the other bright orange pistol. Sam's arms were folded and he showed no indication of taking it any time soon.

"Fine, you old stick in the mud," Dean grumbled, tossing it into the trunk of the Impala. He tucked his own pistol down the front of his jeans and slammed the hood. "I'll just have all the fun, Samantha." He stalked off.

Behind Dean's back, Sam rolled his eyes and followed.

They'd managed to corral the demon into the warehouse, but it had been too smart to fall into their Devil's Trap. Its anger shook the walls. It was about to lunge forward when Dean yanked the orange pistol out of his jeans and pointed it, finger on the trigger.

That was when he'd felt the inexplicable wetness. He glanced down. Water soaked his crotch. He looked back up, glare shifting from the cackling demon to the gun held in both hands. The plastic tip was completely gone, apparently yanked off as he pulled it out of his jeans. A few remaining trickles of water slid down his hand. Dean stared down at the chunk of orange plastic on the concrete floor.

The demon was laughing hard enough to split his sides. Calmly, Sam stepped forward and slammed the demon-killing knife into its unprotected back, and the creature died with a grin on its face.

Sam turned back to his brother who was still staring in horror at the plastic piece on the floor. "You were right, Dean," Sam said, a grin twitching at his lips, "water guns are genius."

The End.