High-Stakes Scrabble (Supernatural)
High-Stakes Scrabble
By iamstealthyone
Summary: “You’re going down, Dean. Hard.” The boys play Scrabble. Drabble.
Characters: Sam and Dean.
Rating: PG-13 (Genfic).
Word count: 100
Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Not making money off of them.
Author’s notes: This is a belated birthday drabble for kellifer-fic, who’s entertained me so, so many times with her wonderful fic. She gave me the drabble prompt of the boys bored in a motel room playing a board game like Scrabble, Boggle, or Monopoly. This is the result. :)
Sam eyed the Scrabble board and grinned. No way could Dean overcome a seventy-two point deficit on the final play.
“You’re going down, Dean. Hard.”
Dean smirked, then laid down his tiles, one of them on the red triple-word score square. “‘Quetzal.’ That’s seventy-five points, bitch.”
Sam’s grin faltered. “That’s not a word.”
“Is, too. A quetzal is a Central American bird. Look it up.”
Sam did.
It was.
Dean nudged the laundry pile. “Get busy. And be careful with the striped boxers. I left a skid mark.”
Sam glared, grabbed the clothes, and stalked toward the laundry room.
End
June 2008
By iamstealthyone
Summary: “You’re going down, Dean. Hard.” The boys play Scrabble. Drabble.
Characters: Sam and Dean.
Rating: PG-13 (Genfic).
Word count: 100
Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Not making money off of them.
Author’s notes: This is a belated birthday drabble for kellifer-fic, who’s entertained me so, so many times with her wonderful fic. She gave me the drabble prompt of the boys bored in a motel room playing a board game like Scrabble, Boggle, or Monopoly. This is the result. :)
Sam eyed the Scrabble board and grinned. No way could Dean overcome a seventy-two point deficit on the final play.
“You’re going down, Dean. Hard.”
Dean smirked, then laid down his tiles, one of them on the red triple-word score square. “‘Quetzal.’ That’s seventy-five points, bitch.”
Sam’s grin faltered. “That’s not a word.”
“Is, too. A quetzal is a Central American bird. Look it up.”
Sam did.
It was.
Dean nudged the laundry pile. “Get busy. And be careful with the striped boxers. I left a skid mark.”
Sam glared, grabbed the clothes, and stalked toward the laundry room.
End
June 2008