"Dean," Sam spoke calmly, eyeing the Impala suspiciously as his brother pulled up to the Bunker and parked.
"Yeah?" Dean asked innocently, driver's side door propped open.
"Why is the car filled with toilet paper?"
"Oh, that," Dean commented, scratching the back of his head, "Well, if we're supposed to be stuck inside for a while, we're going to need a lot of toilet paper."
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"This virus is respiratory, Dean," Sam explained slowly, "It affects the lungs. You don't need to hoard toilet paper; it doesn't give you the shits."
"Yeah, but-" Dean began, but his brother interrupted, "Take it back. Now."
Dean muttered mutinously, "Who made you an expert on this thing anyway?"
Instead of climbing back into the Chevy, Dean got out and moved to the trunk, unlocking it.
"Don't tell me there's more," Sam warned.
"Not toilet paper," his brother bent down with the lid of the trunk up, "But I thought we could use more hand sanitizer."
Dean straightened up, holding two bottles of Purell in each hand and looking quite pleased with himself.
"Dean!" Sam cried in exasperation.
"What?"
Author's Note:
Just a little lighthearted drabble I wanted to write to help bring just a bit of humour to your lives.
Please, please please stay safe out there, my friends. Wash your hands, don't touch your face, practice social distancing and don't hoard food, toiletries, etc.