Summary: Meg and her brother blocked by holy water in Salvation. Some things are universally constant where siblings are concerned. POV Meg
A/N: Obviously this never happened, but I just had this little scene in my head and it made me smirk.
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"No escape routes." Her brother shrugged, engrossed in the healing burns on his left foot. "I didn't think we'd need an escape route."
"You know, you could have at least picked a room without a conveniently distracting rat population."
He looked up and frowned. "What rats?"
"The rats that knocked over the pipe and distracted us? Let John get away?"
"That wasn't a rat," he started sliding his feet back into his socks. "I don't know what it was."
"A rat. With a pipe. In the warehouse."
"There weren't any rats! I don't know what made that noise."
"It was a rat."
"Wasn't," he muttered.
Meg rolled her eyes.
Her brother pulled his shoes on, wincing a little. Holy Water burns were annoyingly slow to heal. "Is it almost done?" he asked tying his laces.
Meg looked back over at the stream of Holy Water from the pipe. The pressure might be dropping slightly, but... "No." She looked up at the network of pipes on the ceiling, lightly tapping the back of her head against the wall. "This blows, and not in a pleasant way."
"He'll be long gone. Our father is going to annihilate us."
"Not me." Meg grinned smugly. "I slashed the tires on John's truck."
"You slashed his tires?" he smirked. "How very meat-sack of you."
Meg huffed. "Whatever. It'll slow him down enough to catch him." She unfolded her arms and twiddled with her necklaces, then poked a finger through the bloody hole in her shirt to make sure the gunshot wound had completely healed, which of course it had. "I still can't believe you shot me, you ass."
He shrugged. "It was a fake gun, chill already."
"And what was up with your entrance?"
"Hey! That was my menacing walk."
"Yeah, menacing, right. Mincing, maybe."
"My menacing walk strikes terror into the hearts of mortals!"
"Bull. It looked like you'd just had a wedgie. You should work on that."
Her brother muttered something that sounded like "I am so glad I shot you," as he stood up.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," he said, disingenuously.
Meg bared her teeth at her brother in a narrow grin and turned to watch the water again, fountaining in a steady stream from the spout on the wall, spraying through the air, swiftly flowing along the floor, down through the grate and down into the drainage system in an unending trickle.
"Meg? Do you really have to piddle too?"
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