Dean was seriously beginning to regret agreeing they couldn't just skip hunts because they might be inconvenient. Of course, on the other hand, he'd probably feel bad if he were indirectly responsible for any continued murders of drag queens by the ghost of one very pissed, creative, and recently murdered male diva. His (or was it her?) cremation indicated there was a small piece left behind some place.
Long story short, he and Sam were both taking cover on opposite sides of the dressing room of the local drag show. They'd come in full drag to draw the spirit out. It had worked in spades. It seemed to be going pretty well until one of Sam's heels broke and he went down like a moose stepping in a gopher hole. Sure, it had looked funny as hell, but if he was out of commission...
"You okay over there, Sammy? Anything broken?"
"I think my ankle's just strained," the tone of Sam's slightly muffled reply confirmed Dean's suspicions that even if the damage wasn't serious, it was painful.
The ghost was slowly advancing toward them, flinging anything it could get its hands on as it came. Dean didn't really feel like being pelted by various cosmetics, but he needed to check on Sam. He popped up long enough to fire a shot of rock salt into the middle of the room before he made a run for the spot he'd last heard Sam.
Running in heels sucked, but at least the dress allowed for an uninhibited stride, even if it was breezy. Dean gave up on running a little over halfway and dove. He smirked at Sam, from his sliding stop on the floor.
"I know I've said it several times already, but, dude, you make an ugly lady."
Sam just rolled his eyes. "I think I saw what we're looking for on the far end of the room. Remember how that other, uh, queen said our spirit got in a cat fight the day before the murder?"
"Yeah, Stella was very... helpful," Dean acknowledged with another smirk. "Stella" had also seemed very taken with Sam, much to his dismay and his older brother's amusement.
"The wig 'she' was wearing is over there at her makeup station. Her face got scratched, so there might be some blood."
"Okay. I'll go; you cover me." Dean reloaded his shotgun and passed it off to Sam, fishing a lighter out of the top of his dress.
Sam blinked. "I can't believe I just saw you do that..."
"What? I don't have any pockets in this thing!" Dean scrambled to a crouch, also tricky in the heels. "Ready?" Sam nodded. "On three. One... Two... Three!"
It was definitely the most awkward dash of Dean's life, but he managed to set the wig on fire, and the ghost flamed out, too. Burn, baby, burn...
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Date: 2012-05-25 12:20 am (UTC)Long story short, he and Sam were both taking cover on opposite sides of the dressing room of the local drag show. They'd come in full drag to draw the spirit out. It had worked in spades. It seemed to be going pretty well until one of Sam's heels broke and he went down like a moose stepping in a gopher hole. Sure, it had looked funny as hell, but if he was out of commission...
"You okay over there, Sammy? Anything broken?"
"I think my ankle's just strained," the tone of Sam's slightly muffled reply confirmed Dean's suspicions that even if the damage wasn't serious, it was painful.
The ghost was slowly advancing toward them, flinging anything it could get its hands on as it came. Dean didn't really feel like being pelted by various cosmetics, but he needed to check on Sam. He popped up long enough to fire a shot of rock salt into the middle of the room before he made a run for the spot he'd last heard Sam.
Running in heels sucked, but at least the dress allowed for an uninhibited stride, even if it was breezy. Dean gave up on running a little over halfway and dove. He smirked at Sam, from his sliding stop on the floor.
"I know I've said it several times already, but, dude, you make an ugly lady."
Sam just rolled his eyes. "I think I saw what we're looking for on the far end of the room. Remember how that other, uh, queen said our spirit got in a cat fight the day before the murder?"
"Yeah, Stella was very... helpful," Dean acknowledged with another smirk. "Stella" had also seemed very taken with Sam, much to his dismay and his older brother's amusement.
"The wig 'she' was wearing is over there at her makeup station. Her face got scratched, so there might be some blood."
"Okay. I'll go; you cover me." Dean reloaded his shotgun and passed it off to Sam, fishing a lighter out of the top of his dress.
Sam blinked. "I can't believe I just saw you do that..."
"What? I don't have any pockets in this thing!" Dean scrambled to a crouch, also tricky in the heels. "Ready?" Sam nodded. "On three. One... Two... Three!"
It was definitely the most awkward dash of Dean's life, but he managed to set the wig on fire, and the ghost flamed out, too. Burn, baby, burn...
Sam and Dean locked eyes across the room.
"Let's not ever do this again," Dean suggested.
"Agreed."