1000's Of Days At The Bunker

Day 5: Petty Pranks and Pretty Pink

It's now the first day of my first prank war.
My amo?
Hair dye.
Victim?
Sam Winchester's hair.

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"What the fuck, Dean?!" Sam yells, storming out of the bathroom. His hair is bright pink, personally, I would've thought green would look better but Dean insisted. Today is the day the Prank Wars start, attack one, done.

"What's wrong, Samantha?" He's so smug with himself, Dean is. But it works. The bitch face that Sam has formed is deadly, Dean and I were screwed.

"The prank war is on. No backing out." Sam says sternly, storming off to no where in particular.

.

I got myself into something big. The wars in heaven were brutal, quick, and predictable. The Prank Wars were, well, strikes when you least expect it. Dean and I worked as a team, ganging up on Sam, coloring his hair pink, moving all the furniture in his room slightly to the left, but he hasn't striked back. Frankly, I'm scared for my life.

Dean and I are just waiting for him to strike, we hide in his room, watching the violent show call Game of Thrones. Sometimes Dean scurries off to the kitchen for beer and snacks (water for me cause he doesn't want me drinking). We give him all day to screw us over, he's done nothing noticeable. He just went for a jog like always, came back, and read. We don't dare go up to up him in fear of what will happen. But what I fear most, is what will come.

.

We were right to be scared, we where so right. When it was coming time for afternoon, Dean was going to make dinner for all of us, but when he opened the door, he got a huge surprise.

Fish. Fish everywhere. In little tiny cups, laid out covering the whole floor, small fish of all sorts swimming around in the water. There is no way out. They lead all around the hallway, all the way to the door to the kitchen. He knew. Father, he hit us exactly where he knew we would be!

.

"Son of a bitch! The kids good." Dean exclaimed. I can almost see Sam's smug face right now. Dean swung his head down in defeat. Eyes swimming for a solution.

Who knew the bunker had a fish tank? I didn't. The fish tank was empty, no signs of life anywhere near here. It seems long ago abandon when the Men Of Letters were exterminated. Now it seemed as if a school of fish right from the ocean, had made the tank its home.

The colors of the fish had so much diversity; greens and deep purples, bright pink washed with yellow and crayon reds, all swimming around it large waves of movement and life. Smooth and as a group, silent understanding and all together a team. Its like watching the television with Sam, he'll let me watch documentaries, considering he watched some today when Dean and I were gathering the fish.

Dean was staring at the tank like it was Lucifer, probably thinking up some thing good. I particularly enjoyed the fish company. I always felt that we were one species short. Now I have to spend the rest of the evening with Mr. Grumpy Gills over here. Not the fish of course, I was referring to Dean.

Sam was smiling through his food during dinner, not even concerned about what Dean and I had up outer sleeves. Maybe he already knew we had none. Only brain storming will fix our situation. The only thing stopping Dean from attacking right then and there is the fact that Sam still had pink hair.

I wasn't particularly hungry this evening, not that I ever am . Sometimes it feels like a little bit of Grace was left, fighting for health. I don't like not knowing what's happening to me. I don't know how Sam and Dean don't worry about all these little things. I guess they could ask a similar question. What was it like not worrying about these little things? As an Angel, I didn't need food, sleep, urinate, or do any bodily function. Being human is an entirely different story.

A story that a bath would help. A bubbly bath, with the rubber sucks I found under the sink. (I'm not the only who likes the, apparently.) Maybe I should move the ducks, see who they belong to.

Prank two.
Amo?
The missing ducks.
Victim?
The Winchesters.