By Edina Clouds, Amberdreams and Dizzo

Once again we are delighted to present our collaborative triabble combining the E/O Challenge word "kit" with a word of our own "plaid." We each took it in turns to write a 100 word chapter, we'll let you decide whose is whose - because we're nice like that.

We don't own the boys, and they should be forever grateful for that.


A plethora of fireworks lit up the night sky. Rockets exploded in a cacophony of sound that heralded the New Year and camouflaged the blast of shotguns as the Winchesters fired salt-round after salt-round into the hoard of pissed-off spirits.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean shouted, grabbing more ammo from their kit. "Bobby ... would ya hurry up ... we're almost out."

"Just need one more thing," the older hunter murmured as, rolling up the sleeve of his plaid-shirt, he ran a thin silver blade across his arm. Droplets of warm blood dripped into a bowl, mixing with other ingredients - the potion was complete.



"Whadaya mean, balls!"

"Don't panic; plan B," Bobby yelled as he yanked Dean away by his collar.

Sam kept firing desperately.

Dean looked at the pile of plaid in horror.

"You gotta be joking, Bobby…"

"Just strip, ya idjit."

Sam couldn't believe it when the army of Gaelic spirits suddenly stopped, and he was even more gobsmacked when he saw why.

Dean was kitted out in full Campbell-chieftain regalia, bandy legs bare under the kilt, Bobby behind him armed with - were those bagpipes?

"Don't you dare laugh, Sam Winchester! I feel like a Scottish version of the Pied Piper!"


"You are, kinda," Bobby replied; "We gotta lead them into that valley, and read the incantation over this potion to send 'em back to 1156."

He wrestled briefly with the bagpipes producing a series of dissonant wailing squeaks that sounded like the all-America cat-wringing championships.

Cringing, Sam shouldered their kit and reached to adjust the crumpled plaid encircling Dean's waist, only to be slapped away.

"Touch my sporran dude, I'll hurt you."

"But …"

Helplessly, Sam watched Dean's kilt unravel and drop to the ground.

Bobby gaped, ignoring the yowl of his deflating bagpipes.

"Well, I guess that answers that question then!"



Happy new year to you all, thanks for reading!