Winchesters on Ice
In honour of all the incredible things going on in the Winter Olympics 2018, here's a little drabble I wrote pretty much exactly four years ago to celebrate my total awe of people who can go within ten miles of an icy mountainside and still remain vertical.
WINCHESTERS ON ICE
Rating: K+
Genre; Humour
Word Count: 100
Characters: Sam, Dean, the Trickster
Disclaimer: I don't own them
In honour of the Winter Olympics, the Trickster has been up to - well - tricks.
Sam was going to kill the Trickster.
Slowly, painfully and imaginatively; Sam would have his sport.
But first, what Sam was going to do, apart from never move again because that seemed to be the only way to stay on his feet, was die of embarrassment as he scanned the banks of faces around the ice rink he was standing in.
He was inexplicably wearing a silver flared body stocking. Skin-tight and bedecked with green sequins, it left nothing to the imagination.
Yep, death by embarrassment was imminent.
Then Dean stumbled into his line of vision.
"Don't say a friggin' word, Sam."
xxxxx
Dean was resplendent in silver, floaty dress, obscenely short, and sparking with green sequins. His bow legs, clad in tan tights, weaved and wobbled as they held their disorientated owner upright on the ice, eventually failing and splaying gruesomely, leaving Dean scrabbling frantically at Sam's shoulder to avoid a potentially emasculating 'splits' episode.
Suddenly, the brothers froze, staring in disbelief as the Trickster skated toward them, gliding effortlessly like someone born on ice-skates.
"Hey, sport," he nodded to Dean, and turned to Sam, glancing down at the younger Winchester's groin with a quirked eyebrow.
"Bought your packed lunch with you?"
xxxxx
"What's this about, asshat," snorted Dean, clinging grimly to Sam's glittery arm as his feet went wandering again.
"I overheard you both squabbling about which winter sports you'd be 'awesome' at," the Trickster replied; "so I'm giving you the opportunity to find out," he grinned.
"I was talking about freakin' hockey, not this douchey pseudo-ballet;" Dean growled, gesticulating wildly before toppling over backwards with a yelp, flailing legs treating half the arena to a gold-medal-worthy sight.
The Trickster waved and disappeared with a grin as the music struck up.
"… near, far, wherever you are …"
Sam was definitely going to kill the Trickster.
xxxxx
end