Supernatural fic: Killing Rights
Title: Killing Rights
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Pairing: none, gen
Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchester brothers or anything to do with Supernatural.
Summary: In which they argue about laundry and Dean's ballet career.
Notes: Dialogue only, not something I usually do. Not completely cracktastic, just a little bit.
“That is not a good look for you, y’know.”
“I don’t know, Dean. I think I can pull off the ‘I-just-killed-a-demon’ grunge quite well.”
“In your dreams - you can barely pull off a t-shirt and jeans. And what’s with all this ‘I just killed a demon’ crap. I think you’ll find I did most of the killing.”
“Falling over your own feet into a puddle of mud does not constitute killing a demon.”
“Neither does screaming like a girl, dude.”
“I did not scream like a girl! I didn’t scream period.”
“Yeah, and I’m a ballet dancer.”
“Really? You know - I can just see you in a tutu.”
“Be quiet.”
“Only if you accept I did not scream. Or the next bar we go into I am going to introduce you as ‘my brother, the ballet dancer’.”
“No one would believe it, I’m not the right build. You, however…”
“‘You should see him in Swan Lake… Yes he does wear tights, but he shaves his legs anyway, says he likes the way they feel…’”
“Okay, okay - you didn’t scream, you let out a manly yelp of terror. Happy?”
“Not particularly, I’m still covered in monster guts.”
“The monster I killed.”
“I killed.”
“I shot it.”
“It was still moving - I had to chop its head off.”
“You just did that because it ripped your shirt. Anyway, after you did that I burnt the son of a bitch.”
“It was already dead… and this is my favourite shirt.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn it tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have if you’d done the laundry.”
“You could have done it.”
“It was your turn, still is actually.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to turns.”
“You didn’t: I decided.”
“Well, I’m the eldest, so I undecide.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Does now. Go do the laundry, I’ve got no clean underwear.”
“It’s your turn.”
“We’ve covered that, and I seem to remember deciding it was yours.”
“It’s 3 am.”
“Tough shit, Shirley. The bag’s in the corner.”
“…”
“Oooh, nice comeback, Sammy. Always wondered if you knew what that finger was for. Now run along… and don’t forget the fabric softener.”
“Fabric softener?”
“Yeah… and those monster guts will need a separate machine. You should probably boil ‘em off.”
“Dean?... Hey! Don’t throw your shirt at me! Ugh. Now I have viscera in my hair.”
“Ooh, big word.”
“Means guts, Dean.”
“I know what it means! And don’t mix the whites with the coloureds.”
“I know how to do washing, jerk.”
“Good boy. Now remember to be quiet when you come back. I’m tired after killing that monster.”
“…I killed it.”
“I heard that.”
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Pairing: none, gen
Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchester brothers or anything to do with Supernatural.
Summary: In which they argue about laundry and Dean's ballet career.
Notes: Dialogue only, not something I usually do. Not completely cracktastic, just a little bit.
“That is not a good look for you, y’know.”
“I don’t know, Dean. I think I can pull off the ‘I-just-killed-a-demon’ grunge quite well.”
“In your dreams - you can barely pull off a t-shirt and jeans. And what’s with all this ‘I just killed a demon’ crap. I think you’ll find I did most of the killing.”
“Falling over your own feet into a puddle of mud does not constitute killing a demon.”
“Neither does screaming like a girl, dude.”
“I did not scream like a girl! I didn’t scream period.”
“Yeah, and I’m a ballet dancer.”
“Really? You know - I can just see you in a tutu.”
“Be quiet.”
“Only if you accept I did not scream. Or the next bar we go into I am going to introduce you as ‘my brother, the ballet dancer’.”
“No one would believe it, I’m not the right build. You, however…”
“‘You should see him in Swan Lake… Yes he does wear tights, but he shaves his legs anyway, says he likes the way they feel…’”
“Okay, okay - you didn’t scream, you let out a manly yelp of terror. Happy?”
“Not particularly, I’m still covered in monster guts.”
“The monster I killed.”
“I killed.”
“I shot it.”
“It was still moving - I had to chop its head off.”
“You just did that because it ripped your shirt. Anyway, after you did that I burnt the son of a bitch.”
“It was already dead… and this is my favourite shirt.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn it tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have if you’d done the laundry.”
“You could have done it.”
“It was your turn, still is actually.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to turns.”
“You didn’t: I decided.”
“Well, I’m the eldest, so I undecide.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Does now. Go do the laundry, I’ve got no clean underwear.”
“It’s your turn.”
“We’ve covered that, and I seem to remember deciding it was yours.”
“It’s 3 am.”
“Tough shit, Shirley. The bag’s in the corner.”
“…”
“Oooh, nice comeback, Sammy. Always wondered if you knew what that finger was for. Now run along… and don’t forget the fabric softener.”
“Fabric softener?”
“Yeah… and those monster guts will need a separate machine. You should probably boil ‘em off.”
“Dean?... Hey! Don’t throw your shirt at me! Ugh. Now I have viscera in my hair.”
“Ooh, big word.”
“Means guts, Dean.”
“I know what it means! And don’t mix the whites with the coloureds.”
“I know how to do washing, jerk.”
“Good boy. Now remember to be quiet when you come back. I’m tired after killing that monster.”
“…I killed it.”
“I heard that.”