|Heads or Tails
Author: DeanBean PM
Dean always picked scissors and he always lost. Maybe this would be differentRated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor - Dean W. & Sam W. - Words: 476 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 9 - Published: 10-29-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5474541
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Heads or Tails
Summary: Dean always picked scissors and he always lost. Maybe this would be different.
Word Count: 414
A/N: Written as part of my prompt table. More prompt tables can be found in my fanfiction prompt community, d2_prompts. The link can be found in my profile.
The werewolf was dead, killed with a silver bullet straight to the heart courtesy of Dean Winchesters Colt 1911. The gunshot had cracked through the sounds of vicious growling and panted breaths, creating a stillness that was almost oppressing in its suddenness.
"That was fun" Dean said with a smirk, turning to face Sam who was staring down at the carcass of the dead animal, nose crinkled as the foul smell; damp fur matted with a combination of blood and dirt, knowing that the hunt wasn't over yet and what they had to do next was far from fun.
"Since you're in such a good mood, you can bury it" Sam put forth with a grin of his own.
"What!" Dean almost squeaked in protest, "No, no fair – I shot the bastard, you bury it"
Sam shook his head in amusement, "We could make it fair," balling his hand into a fist and placing it on his other palm he continued, "Ready?" a small smile working its way to his lips as he suggested the decision decider to his brother.
"No, no more 'rock, paper, scissors'," Shaking his head in disagreement, knowing that if he agreed he was sure to lose, just like he always did, "Do it my way this time"
Sam folded his arms across his chest, watching as Dean rooted around in his jacket moment before making a sound of accomplishment and holding his hand up for Sam to see.
"A nickel?" Shaking his head as a frown of confusion worked its way onto Sam's face, "I'm not a kid Dean, you can't pay me to..."
"Flip it you idiot!" Dean cut Sam off, shaking his head in disgust. How Sam got into Stanford sometimes amazed him.
Sam scratched embarrassedly at the back of his neck, hoping the midnight sky would hide the blush he would feel on his cheeks.
"Heads or tails?" Dean asked, poising the nickel, ready to flip it up into the air.
"Heads...no wait...yeah, heads" Sam said, shaking his head, happy with his decision.
"Better get that shovel ready Sammy-boy," Dean said with a sly grin, flipping the coin up into the air and grabbing it before slapping it down onto the back of his other hand, the coin still covered.
It could have only been seconds but it seemed so much longer as Dean slowly pulled back his hand, the darkness not allowing him to see the marking on the coin for a moment.