Sam bursts into Dean's bedroom, where Dean is just waking up.
"Dean, come for a run with me? You're getting fat"
"Are too. This cooking, nesting thing is all very well, but you never do any exercise."
"That's not true. I exercise. I'm doing my exercises right now, see? Up...down... up... down... up... down..." Dean smirks. "I do this every morning."
Sam frowns. "I don't see any exercise happening.”
“Of course there is. Watch! Up… down…”
“But…” Sam shakes his head. “What are you doing?”
Dean grins, a wicked expression on his face. “And now… the other eyelid…”
This was . . . this was wrong. No, this was an abomination. This needed to be shot and salted and burned and buried after being scattered into separate piles that were first sealed in concrete. This was evil on a level he had never encountered—and he was the one who’d once walked up to Lucifer and put a bullet in his melon.
“C’mon, Dean, try it,” Sam coaxed. “It’s just tofu and wheat germ with soybeans and the crust is made of nine different grains of wheat and oats with whipped rice milk topping—but it’s still pie!”
“Today you will have the honor of playing one of the greatest games ever invented. A game of skill, agility, cunning. A game with one simple rule. Dodge.” Dean nails the kid on the end of the line with the ball as he’s speaking. “Sorry.”
The other kids gape at him for a moment and then the battle is on. As they get the feel of dodgeball Dean sees his brother approaching and turns to greet him.
Big mistake! The ball thumps into the back of his head and he goes down like a felled ox.
“Keep your eyes on the ball,” smirks Sam.
TITLE: Everybody Needs A Hobby
CHARACTERS: Alastair, unnamed demon
WARNINGS: I Big Pretzeled Alastair. You're welcome. Also, a really awful play on words that you ought to see coming.
SPOILERS: Not really.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Alastair would like a tag
that will probably never get used here again. May I have one, too?
Torture and torment were all well and good, but if he didn't take a break every now and then, Alastair might grow bored, and that simply wouldn't do. He slipped away to his private chamber and his collection.
Alastair lifted a block of soap and set his blade to it, whittling away the soft material. Perhaps he would try an elephant. Flakes and chunks of soap fell to the floor.
A sudden knock caused his hand to slip, severing the trunk. “Sir, you’re needed at the racks!”
Oh well! Later he would have to carve it into a new animal.
TITLE: Light On His Feet
CHARACTERS: Dean and Sam
WARNINGS: Bratty little girls
SPOILERS: Not really.
“This sucks out loud!” Dean grumbled.
The only witnesses to the park haunting they were investigating were a group of young girls who refused to speak to them because “boys are smelly and gross!”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “but what can we do?”
Dean straightened out of his dejected slouch when he saw the girls retrieve something from one of their backpacks. A confident smirk lit up his face. “I’ve got this.”
“I’m impressed, Dean!” Sam declared as they headed to the car later. “I had no idea you knew Double Dutch!”
“I think I need to go ice my knees.”
THE BEST CURSE
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: don't own!
Sam looked on, astonished, as Dean licked another pie dish clinically clean.
Sitting on the floor, he was surrounded by the detritus of his binge; four empty pie dishes, a pile of empty fries boxes, an even larger pile of screwed-up burger wrappers, two half-eaten hot-dog buns, and some gnawed pizza-crusts.
"Hey dude", he mumbled, licking his fingers, "I'm famished, toss me that bag of M&M's!"
Sam sighed and reluctantly did as he was bidden.
"Sam," Dean presented a chocolate-stained grin to his brother, "this is one awesome witches curse!"
"Yeah," Sam grimaced; "now try saying that with your jeans done up!"
THE TACO'S REVENGE
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Warnings/spoilers: none (except you might not want to read this while you're eating your dinner!)
Word count: 100
Disclaimer: don't own!
"Dean, you ok in there?"
The locked bathroom door shielded Sam from some very loud and alarming noises.
"Dean, it sounds like the battle of the Somme in there."
He received a pitiful groan in response.
"Was it yesterday’s tacos?"
"How severe is it?"
"Jus' picture a space shuttle launch … "
"Do you need a doctor?"
Sam heard a flush; "no, don’ think so.”
“Sam, do me a favour?”
“Sure dude, what?”
"Sammy, next time I decide to order the 'Vesuvius Tabasco TNT Taco with Double Jalopeno and extra onion rings', kill me before it comes."
Dean was in the middle of his warm-up, and Sam was just finishing stretching, both boys clad in sweat pants and singlets, the sweat gleaming from the sunkissed skin of their muscular arms. Bobby paused for a moment and let fall the bag he was holding as he watched them for a moment.
Just then, Sam looked up and spotted him. "Oh, hey, Bobby, are you coming like that? I mean, aren't you even gonna take your hat off?"
"What are you talking about?" grumbled Bobby.
"You said you'd come exercise with us."
"Ya idjits! I thought you said you had something you wanted to exorcise"
Grand-jete. Pirouette. Plie. En pointe. Prance. Twirl twirl twirl, prance, bow, leg-raise, plie.
“God dammit,” Dean swore as he moved. This whole dancing thing was a lot easier to look at than it actually was to do. He wished he had known that earlier.
“Sam!” Pirouette, pirouette, pause, blink away dizziness, en pointe, leg-raise. “Help!”
Pounding, graceless footsteps thundered toward where Dean was helplessly dancing his life away, and a very short time later, Sam appeared in the doorway.
Then promptly started laughing.
“Next time, Dean,” Sam said, still chuckling, “don't put on cursed shoes!”
Dean knew Sam was gassy at the best of times, but this time he'd really gone over the top. He was spotting Sam, who was busily doing squats with 200lbs of weights on his shoulders. Sammy's form was perfect, his control excellent, but each time he moved into the squat, he let rip with the most dreadful, sonorous fart.
Dean was quite in awe. Except that the smell was breath catching.
"Jesus, Sammy, you've gotta stop with the damned vegetables; you smell like a swamp."
"I happen to like beans, Dean. They're a good source of protein."
"Yeah, well when I want music, I prefer Metallica."
Sam removed his shirt. Step one was complete. Next, he picked up his twenty-pound dumbbells and started doing bicep curls. Step two, done.
Three repetitions of ten bicep curls on each arm done, he nodded to himself over the success of step three.
He wondered about step four, though; it was contingent on one very specific thing happening---
--and then he heard a muffled curse, a sigh, and then Dean grabbed another set of hand-weights next to him.
Sam grinned. Step four, accomplished. Nothing like sibling rivalry to make sure Dean kept his boyish figure. He'd been getting soft.
Crowley smirked as he tacked up the gaudy sign beside the door of the new facility he had set up. It took him a moment or two to get it straight but once he'd finally fixed it in place it looked positively spiffy if he did say it himself.
A passing stranger saw him admiring his handiwork and stepped up to him. "Excuse me, but I think you've spelled that incorrectly."
Biting back the urge to smite, Crowley fixed him with a fisheye stare.
"Nah, mate. It's Exorcise. Sweat out your demons and lose weight by projectile vomiting. The calories will just disappear."
Dean could hear his breath whistling on each exhale, but damned if he was going to stop now! There were only a few minutes left.
“Jab! And one, two, three, four--”
“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”
“Aerobics,” Dean wheezed back, not stopping his jabs and making sure his hips went into it.
“Tell me you're at least watching the chicks in this video,” Sam sighed from somewhere behind him. Dean couldn't be bothered to look.
Dean stopped moving, ignoring the DVD for the moment. “Oh, hey, there are chicks in this! Sweet!”
Stupid Washington Monument. Stupid Washington Monument. Stupid Washington Monument.
Sam chanted that mantra in his head as he ran up the stairs inside the (repeated ad nauseum) Washington Monument. This would be so much easier if he was being chased by something, but noooo, Dean had to win a bet and so Sam had to reenact that stupid scene from the Rocky movie with the nearest national landmark.
Sam groaned as he pounded up another flight of steps, reached the top, and yelled in victory.
Not a second later, “Gonna Fly Now” blasted from the Impala's speakers.
We are off to a great and hilarious start on our Get Into Shape Challenge.
Everyone who signed up for the challenge now has an author tag. If you would like an artist tag, please let me know. If there are additional tags (characters, etc) that you would like, please let me know. And if you are not in the challenge, but have been posting entries to the comm and would like an author and/or artist tag, please let me know so it can be added for you.
Thanks and Have Fun!
(I know I am)
"Dean, I'm trying to sleep."
"Aww, come on, Sammy. What do you get when you're running in front of a car?"
"I don't know, Dean. What DO you get when you're running in front of a car?"
"Oh, my God, Dean. Just go to sleep, will you?"
"For Heaven's sake, Dean, I'm trying to get some shuteye here."
"Sammy, what do you get when you're running behind a car?"
"I don't fucking know, Dean, but you're going to tell me, aren't you?"
"Exhausted, Sammy. That's what you get."
"I'm tired, you jerk! Shut up."
"Been running in front of a car, have you, bitch?"
“And, five, six, seven, eight! Quick quick slow, quick quick slow---”
Dean did his best to watch his footing, but he was deathly afraid of falling.
“Underarm turn, switch hands--”
Arms whirling, Dean and his partner exchanged positions.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean muttered. “You really think there's a succubus here?”
“Why are you worrying about that, Dean,” Sam growled, teeth gritted, “when we're dancing with each other?”
Dean chuckled sourly. “At least you're leading, bitch.”
With a flourish, Sam dipped Dean. “Jerk,” he whispered back.
Author's note: for the record, men following and women leading in my ballroom dance classes is quite common; the teachers are a man and a woman who both lead AND follow. Real life inspiration here!
“Swimmers, on the blocks.”
Sam took a deep breath and got into starting position on the block. He resisted the urge to tug at his Speedo or look at the competition.
“Fifty yards butterfly. Take your mark.”
Sam had his track start ready, and grasped the block.
The buzzer sounding, and Sam leapt off the block, hit the water, and immediately started to butterfly. Or tried.
Twenty seconds later, his competition had already lapped him, and Sam was barely halfway through the first lap.
“Next time,” the tiny girl said cheerfully, “before you butterfly, practice first.”
One day while jogging, Dean noticed a tennis ball lying by the edge of the pathway.
It looked fairly new and in good condition, so he picked the ball up, put it in his pocket and carried on with his run.
He jogged into town, and as he stood waiting at the crossroad for the lights to change, Castiel suddenly materialized beside him and stood gazing at him in mild curiosity.
"Why are you running, Dean?"
"To stay fit, Cas."
"What's that in your pocket?"
"Oh, that must hurt. when I was human I had tennis elbow and the pain was excruciating!"