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: Blow. 100 & 200 word drabbles. #1: If only the Winchesters would actually listen to each other. #2: What doesn't kill them only makes them stronger.
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Where the Wind Blows
"The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going..." - John 3:8
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A/N: If only the Winchesters would actually listen to each other. 100 words.
When Communication Really Blows
"It's in the cabinet over there," said Sam, not looking up from his research.
"It says it's a... 'horn of summoning'?" said Dean, struggling to decipher the crabby handwriting on the dusty label.
Sam sighed. "Below," he added, waving absentmindedly in Dean's direction.
Shrugging, Dean picked up the horn, wiped the mouthpiece, and gave it his best blow.
"What did you do?" shrieked Sam, scrambling to his feet.
"Only what you told me!" Dean countered.
Sam blinked, "No, the next shelf down! Be-low."
"No need to bellow at me," muttered Dean, as a hellbeast's anguished roar echoed through the bunker.
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A/N: What doesn't kill them only makes them stronger. 200 words.
Preventing that Final Blow
"The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old. Blows and wounds scrub away evil, and beatings purge the inmost being" - Proverbs 20:29-30
Dean hobbled into the motel room, switching on the light and dropping the heavy duffel onto the nearest bed with a muffled groan of relief.
Without stopping, he turned back to retrieve his brother who was clinging to the doorframe for all he was worth in order to keep himself upright.
Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders and, while kicking the door shut behind them, somehow managed a slow, controlled collapse in the general direction of the other bed.
"There you go," he said, heaving Sam down. He pulled off his brother's jacket and tugged up his shirt to allow for a more detailed inspection of Sam's wounds. Finally satisfied by what he found, he gently lowered Sam back down and untied and removed his boots.
"Thanks. One more blow and I think I'd have had it," slurred Sam.
Dean clenched his jaw. "It was a good hunt," he said at last, making the most of the opportunity to ruffle Sam's hair.
"You're the best," Sam sighed, slipping into unconsciousness.
Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Dean reached for the remote. He focused on the television and settled himself in for a long night of concussion watch.
(;,;)