Friendly Fire

In which there is a battle with some very high stakes

Dean crept through the silent halls of the bunker, his weapon in his hand, trying to be as quiet as possible. Jack was at his back, toting his own gun, eyes wide, and breath coming quietly as he fought to be as quiet as Dean.

"Do you hear them?" the young man whispered, clutching his weapon tighter as they paused at a corner so Dean could check around it.

"No," he replied and peeked around to see if the coast was clear. When he saw the hallway to the dormitory wing just as deserted as the others, he motioned Jack forward and they hurried down the hall, slipping past a suspiciously cracked doorway.

Dean held his hand up to motion Jack to a halt, and stepped forward cautiously to check it out. He held his gun in one hand at the opening, and stood to one side of the doorway as he reached out with his other hand.

Jack took up position on the other side and readied his weapon to fire, glancing at Dean for a signal.

Dean gave him a nod and shoved the door open.

Both of them tensed as the inside of the room was revealed.

Nothing.

Some tension left both hunters as they stepped back from the door.

"Thought we had 'em there," Dean said. "Come on."

They turned down the hallway again, when a shadow loomed against the wall. Dean quickly hissed at Jack and they hurried around the next corner, pressing their backs against the wall as footsteps were heard coming cautiously down the hallway toward them.

Dean bit his lip, making sure his weapon was ready and peeked around the corner, readying his gun to fire when bullets whipped by him.

He bit back a yelp and slammed his arm into Jack's chest, flattening him against the wall instinctively, before he grabbed a fistful of the kid's jacket, yanking him further down the hallway as a chuckle echoed behind them. "Come on!" Dean hissed.

They ducked into the kitchen and took a breather, crouching down behind the counter. Dean took the chance to reload.

"Should we find some place we can try to trap them, or should be make a run for the door?" Jack asked, glancing around as if they would be found hiding there any second.

Dean mulled it over. "Well, we know they split up—they could already have us locked down, but I was thinking, if we split up, I can distract them at the main door, draw their fire, and you can make a run for the garage."

Jack nodded. "Okay."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's do this, kid. You just wait until they've got me pinned down and then you run while they're distracted."

"Got it," Jack said.

They got up from their crouched position and crept out of the kitchen on their way toward the war room and the doors. They paused at the doorway and pulled back as a flash of trench coat was seen passing by. Dean held his breath, waiting for the right moment before he turned to Jack, nodded, and then stepped out of the kitchen.

No one was there. Dean was tense, glancing around, waiting for the inevitable attack.

And then it came without warning.

He just barely leapt out of the way in time as a bullet flew past his face. He dove behind a library cart and used it as a shield as he pulled his own gun up, finger on the trigger. But his attacker was nowhere to be seen.

Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. He was going to have to draw fire so Jack could make his escape, so he stood up, acting as if he were making his way to the stairs.

Movement came from the corner of his eye, and he spun around, pulling the trigger and releasing a bullet which hit the wall toward the library where someone swiftly ducked back around the corner.

"Gotcha," Dean smirked and cocked his gun again, striding forward when another bullet came out of nowhere and hit him right under the eye.

"Ow! Dammit!" he cried, ducking hurriedly under the map table, clutching his eye and trying to escape the rest of the hail of bullets that were being sent in his direction. He hoped Jack had made his move and was on his way out because it looked like his only option now was a blaze of glory.

Decided, he kicked a chair out of his way, springing up and swinging his gun up in the direction of the bullets raining down on him. He got off several of his own and there was a grunt from the shadows.

Dean made a break for the stairs, but the clang of his boots on the metal alerted the others to his plans. A hail of bullets sped toward him as he tried to return fire and not trip on the stairs at the same time. His bullets ran out though and he cursed as he looked down. Sam and Cas were hot on his heels, appearing from their hiding places, though they looked like they needed to reload too. Perfect timing.

Dean dashed the last few steps but his foot caught on the last one and he fell, slamming his shin into the metal stair as footsteps pounded up after him.

"Son of a bitch!" he howled as he dropped his gun, clutching his leg.

Sam and Cas stood over him, their guns pointed at him, satisfied looks on their faces.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam said and then shot him in the chest, adding insult to injury as the foam bullet stung and bounced off of him.

Sam and Cas hurried past Dean's prone form as he scrambled to get up, and they swung the door open. Dean growled and lunged after them, forcing more bullets into his gun as he saw them outside the bunker, looking with confusion at the Impala parked there.

"Where's the flag?" Cas asked in confusion.

"Here."

They spun around as Jack popped up from the backseat of the car, a huge grin on his face as he waved a red kerchief around. Dean limped over toward them with a grin and clapped Jack on the shoulder as the young man got out of the car.

"Ha! Looks like we win, bitch," Dean said, grabbing Jack's arm and raising it into the air with the flag proudly displayed. He pointed his gun at his brother and shot him in the stomach.

"Ow!" Sam yelled, rubbing at the spot.

"Yeah, these things hurt!" Dean said. "You shot me in the face, man!"

"Actually, that was me," Cas said almost proudly. Dean glowered and shot the angel in the middle of his forehead. Cas went cross-eyed and frowned. "It does sting a bit more than expected."

"What doesn't sting is sweet victory," Dean crowed, pumping his fist in the air. "That means Jack and I don't have to do dishes or laundry for two weeks!"

"We settled on one week, Dean," Sam tried to protest, but Dean held up his hand.

"Nope, it was two, and you know it."

"Fine," Sam said good naturedly. "You won fair and square anyway."

"This was fun," Jack said, grinning widely as he toted his Nerf gun. "Can we do it again sometime?"

"Hell yeah," Dean told him. "Sam and Cas are gonna want a rematch, after all." He leaned down and whispered in Jack's ear, loud enough for the others to hear. "Maybe next time we'll actually let them win."

"Oh, haha," Sam scoffed. "We totally could have creamed you."

"Sure, Sammy, keep telling yourself that."

"Oh yeah? How about a rematch right now! Loser buys dinner."

"Well, if your masculinity needs that much reassurance, sure, Sam, I'll help you out," Dean smirked.

"Jerk!" Sam cried.

"Bitch," Dean replied as they all ran back into the bunker to have another all-out Nerf war, their laughter echoing off the walls of their home.

Because I honestly couldn't remember the last time I wrote anything fluffy that didn't involve a character being hurt or sick first, I thought I would just write the boys having a pure, honest good time. And do you know how much I would love to see them have a Nerf war in the bunker?