Title: Hail to the Chief
Author: Sarah :)
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam, gen.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through 3x16.
Word Count: 566
Summary: What do Winchesters do on Election Day?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh.
Final notes: This was written spontaneously in an LJ comment text box for starxd_sparrow as a fic or treat gift. Not betaed or anything, since, you know, I wrote it inside a comment box. Hee! :)

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"Our lives suck," Sam announced dramatically.

Dean looked up from the pistol he was cleaning, bemused expression on his face. "And? Did anything in particular bring on this sudden outburst?"

Sam sighed and slammed the lid down on his laptop. "Do you even know what today is?"

Dean crinkled his face up in confusion, then began counting off on his fingers. "This is a trick question, right? Some kind of Daylight Savings thing?"

"God, Dean, how can you not care? It's November fourth. Election Day. And being as not only do we not actually have a residence, but we're not even technically alive, we can't even go and take part. It's not fair!" He pouted. "This is one of the biggest elections in the history of our country, and all we can do is sit around and watch the returns—-if we're done taking care of that poltergeist in time. Doesn't that bother you?"

Dean shrugged, the very picture of non-committal.

"It must be nice," Sam seethed. "To be as indifferent as you. Some of us actually care about our country, though. This stuff affects us too, Dean! Gas prices? The economy? Does any of it ring a bell?"

Dean rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket. "Yeah, Sammy, I know." He pulled out two pieces of paper and flung one toward his brother. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"Oh, right, because this is going to make everything better." He rolled his eyes. "What is it, a coupon for twenty percent off my next purchase at an adult bookstore? A gas station receipt?" Sam picked the item up off of the floor angrily and read it, then just stared at his brother for a moment.

"Sammy? You okay?"

"Dean…" Sam twisted the paper around in his hands. "Really? You—"

"Yep," Dean grinned. "So no more whining, okay?"

Sam looked down at the voter registration card he held in his hands. "But do you know how illegal this is? Falsifying voting records, I don't—"

"Look, Sammy, you said it yourself—-we're legally dead. It's this or don't vote. No one's going to find out." Dean grinned, pleased with himself. "I'm too good. Anyway, are you in or not? The polling place is just a few blocks away. We still have time."

Smile lighting his face, Sam jumped up from his position at the end of his bed and headed for the door. "Let's get going then. I think that Mr.—" he looked down at the paperwork, ready to fill in his assumed name. "Manilow, Dean? Barry Manilow? Come on!"

Dean snorted. "These things never come without a price. You should know that, Barry."

"Jerk." Sam swiped an arm at Dean's head.

"Bitch," Dean laughed, ducking the shot. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Sam said, opening the door. Turning back toward his brother, he smiled. "Thanks, Dean."

Brushing off Sam's gratitude, Dean stood up and joined him. "Okay, good. So who's running for president again?"

"Dean!"

"What? I just want to be properly informed so I can perform my civic duty to the utmost of my ability."

Sam regarded his brother warily. "Okay, fine. Let's start with the Democrats, okay?"

Dean nodded as the two left the hotel room. "Is Hillary Clinton still running? Because I'd vote for her. Total MILF, don't you think, Sammy?"

To his credit, Sam just gritted his teeth and kept walking.