Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
E/O Challenge: Rain. The MoL did their best to protect us from disco. A 400-word quadrabble by Amberdreams, Dizzo, Edina Clouds, and TheYmp; not necessarily in that order!
A/N: I was fortunate enough to be dubbed an honorary 'Hunter girl' for the day, we were inspired by Amberdreams' gift to Edina Clouds, and this is the result...
~#~
Medallion Man
"Gotta admit this place is a friggin treasure trove," Dean thought as he wandered through previously unexplored rooms, the patter of rain providing a natural backing track. "Ark of the Covenant's probably lying around here somewhere."
He opened the next door, the air suddenly smelt musty, indicative that it had been many years since anyone had entered this room.
It was dark. The only light to infiltrate the gloom came from a small opening in the dust-covered drapes. It was enough to make out a glass cabinet in the corner of the room; a splendid golden medallion it's only occupant.
0x0x0x0
The gold glinted enticingly. Dean felt suddenly furtive, as if Sam was going to pop up through that trapdoor in the floor like a disapproving Jack-in-the-box.
The thought of Sam as a clown made him titter, even while he was approaching the display case as if he was a fish drawn on a line.
He lifted the heavy glass cover and grasped the medallion.
Immediately his fingers closed on the cold metal, a shower of tiny darts rained down from the ceiling. He fell to his knees with a cry. Death by pinpricks was not a dignified way to go.
0x0x0x0
Owwwwww!
Why the hell is there a booby-trap in the goddamn Batcave's basement?
Trying to stand, Dean staggered upright on watery legs, hands pawing clumsily at the multiple tiny darts protruding from his head.
He groaned as the room tilted nauseously, and the world blurred, darkening as consciousness receded, leaving him sprawled untidily on the floor.
Ssssonnnofaaaaah...
Dean's eyes flickered open, blinking woozily as spinning spots of light whirled like a flurry of raindrops around him.
He blinked again.
Okay. He didn't remember that glitterball hanging from the ceiling before.
And why the heck was he wearing a white flared suit?
0x0x0x0
Looking around, Dean could see silent shadowy figures standing, watching, waiting. Judging.
Feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, he was surprised, but oddly comforted, to find the medallion hanging around his neck in a frankly ridiculous nest of chest hair.
Emboldened, he gave in to the overwhelming need to strut.
There was a sudden, repeating stabbing pain in his side
"Ah-ah-ah-ah!" Dean yowled.
"Thank God. You're alive!" breathed Sam.
"Wuh? Did I win?" asked Dean, blearily sitting up.
"I hate to rain on your parade," Sam snorted, "but I found you face down about to drown in a pool of your own drool."
(;,;)