"Son of a--AHH! SHIT!"
Both Winchesters hit the floor and rolled to safety behind an overturned coffee table. Sam groaned and bit his lip from the pain as sticky blood ran from his jacket. Eight 2.5 inch nails were embedded in his arm. Dean had taken two to the shoulder already. What had caused them to be pumped full of nail-bullets? One nasty poltergeist with a bad sense of humor.
"Damn building sight, damn poltergeist," Dean hissed as he pulled at the nails in vain, "We need'ta get outta here and come back with the big guns."
Sam nodded, "On three?"
"On three," Dean nodded, gesturing with his head toward the exit, "One...two...THREE!"
The brothers sprinted for the door and it was only a second before they heard the discharge of the nail gun behind them.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Sam yelled in pain as several nails went into his back and legs. He limped toward the Impala and both heard the reload of the gun.
"No!" hollered Dean when they heard about fifty pings.
It was as if hail was assaulting the side of the car as they drove off. Minutes later they arrived at the motel and Dean closed his eyes in anger as he studied the damage to his car.
"Dammit!" Dean cursed, seeing at least twenty holes in the side of the antique car.
"Dean, you have three nails in your shoulder, forget the car for a minute," coaxed Sam wearily.
Dean growled once but then followed the younger brother up to the motel room.
For the next hour they gently and painfully pulled nails out of each others flesh, eduring the yelps of pain and the sting of peroxide. "I am going to kill that son of a bitch," Dean vowed.