Title: Truth or Dead
Fandom: Pairing: Supernatural: Sam/Dean
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Nobody expected the golem to explode.
Notes: Written for slashthedrabble prompt #144: Freedom/Escape, for prompt #22: Splatter in my Supernatural Big Damn Table, and also for my daily commitment to mini_wrimo day 13.
Dean kept the golem's attention focussed firmly on him as Sam got into place behind the Impala. Bracing his forearms on the roof, Sam took slow, careful aim with the BB gun. He knew he was going to catch shit from Dean for his choice of weapon once this whole mess was over, but this was all about doing the least damage possible.
The trio of Hebrew letters etched into the golem's forehead were almost illegible at this distance, but Sam could see them in his mind's eye. Removing the first letter - on the right - would change the power word from 'truth' to 'dead' and stop the man-made behemoth in its tracks, but damaging either of the other letters, even just slightly, would leave the thing 'alive' and seriously pissed.
Sam took a deep, steadying breath and held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. When his lungs were finally empty he squeezed the trigger.
The tiny ball of lead hit its target. It embedded itself in the sweaty clay of the golem's forehead, erasing the letter 'aleph' and turning 'Emet' into 'Met', rendering the thing inanimate.
That was the plan, at least.
Nobody expected the golem to explode.
When Sam straightened from his protective crouch behind the car, his first instinct was to get to Dean. The expression on Dean's face stopped that instinct dead.
"Something you 'forgot' to mention?"
"Dude, I swear, I had no idea it was going to blow like that!"
A small chunk of brown slime slid slowly down the bridge of Dean's nose to the tip, dangled there for a moment and then dropped to join the rest of the gunk splattered liberally across his chest.
An ominous smirk tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth as he began to stalk purposefully towards his gunk-free brother.
"I stink, Sammy. I mean, I really reek. I'm going to be washing this shit out of my hair for weeks, and you're paying to get my jacket dry-cleaned."
Sam inched backwards, trying to keep at least one corner of the car between them. He'd seen that look on Dean's face too many times before not to know when trouble was heading his way.
"Dean, I… None of the research turned up anything about golems exploding, or being made of… Jesus, what is that?!"
Before Sam realised it, Dean had backed him all the way around to the fouled side of the Impala and the stench hit him like a knee to the solar plexus. Distracted, he gagged and Dean leapt forward, pulling him into the daddy of all bear hugs, gleefully smearing him with thick brown gloop and clots of grey clay.
Sam's struggles to get free only seemed to grind the stuff deeper. He yelped as one of Dean's hands slipped inside the back of his jeans, painting a cold trail of slime down his spine to the curve of his ass.
"You're a seriously sick fuck, you know that, right?"
"Sammy, I'm hurt."
mini_nanowrimo running total: 5077 words, in 13 days