JOB WELL DUNG
WOW: blunt: The Winchesters' latest job doesn't go entirely according to plan, but Dean's determined that the Impala shouldn't suffer as a result. Sammy? Now that's another matter!
A story in three one hundred word drabbles.
Disclaimer: Don't own, but I can dream.
Sam's nose wrinkled in disgust.
"I don't mean to be blunt or nothin' but, man, you stink."
Dean glared; "back at ya compost-boy."
"I mean;" snarled Dean, "what kinda spirit throws people into a dungheap?"
"The pissed spirit of a farmhand who don't wanna be ganked," Sam replied.
Approaching the Impala, Dean thrust an arm across Sam's chest to block his way.
"We're not getting in her covered in this - well - shit."
"We haven't got any other clothes, what're we supposed to do?"
Dean tugged his T shirt off by way of a demonstration.
"C'mon, peel - my baby don't do dung."