collegedropout | IC Contact.

[Look who's changing his tune now. Dean grins briefly before getting serious again and prepping another arrow. He gives himself an extra few seconds of hesitation this time before letting the arrow go — and it pays off. Dead center.]

Unless you can knock my arrow out again, I think it's safe to say I'm gonna win this.

[Sam sighs, stepping up again. He aims.

There's a pause, a quiet refocus as he compares his old arrows with the way he's aiming — he's so honed in, when the tree shakes abruptly and loudly he's jerking his aim up out of habit and firing at the noise. It hits a winged bird, square in the head, and it spirals down to the earth.

...

He points at it, super sure of himself.]

Moving target is double points. It counts.

[Also don't be alarmed, Dean, but upon approaching the bird....

Well, it's kind of horrifying:

Jesus Christ it's a sharkbird.]

Son of a bitch.

[A low mumble, this time with less enthusiasm, because Sam has a point — moving targets are harder. Still though...]

You can't just make up rules as you go.

[They weren't even up to moving targets yet, for one, and for two, you gotta say that shit before you go shooting things down.

But the comment mostly stems from annoyance because Dean definitely had this in the bag before Sam took that shot.

Dean walks over to see what Sam killed and —]

What the hell is that? Can we even eat it?

[Sam's totally about to defend his right to awesome moving target points, but then he takes one look at that freaky-ass thing and immediately leans back. Because what the fuck did he just shoot.]

I -- uh.

We could try?

...

Birdshark?

[???????]

[Dean makes a face. Don't get him wrong, he enjoys eating, and he's taken a kind of domestic pleasure in trying out the different animals around the city — although he'd never admit it — but eating a hybrid like that just seems a little wrong. Do you prep it like chicken or like fish? Will it taste like one or the other — or both?]

We'll bring it back with us. Couldn't hurt.

[...Maybe.

Meanwhile, Dean looks up.]

Now I gotta find a bird or something and show you up.

[Since someone decided it was time to move on to moving targets.]

[He snorts at that last bit, but points to the bird.]

You make that into something that actually tastes good, I'll give you this shooting match.

[And yeah, fine. You win the pouting contest thing, too.

He's starting to forget you're an absolute butthole.]

No way. Who do I look like, Rachael Ray?

[He isn't taking that wager, and besides, he wants to earn his win the right way. Not by taking an out like that.

But he's glad to see that this is working and Sam's no longer pissy.

He catches movement up ahead, and readies his bow, waiting.]

Yes.

[Deadpan. You're so Rachael Ray.]

Dude... just don't get us in trouble for wiping out the animal life...

[Am not.]

Are you serious?

[Dean breaks his attention away from his target long enough to toss Sam a look, brows knitting together.]

Dude you're the one who shot that birdshark.

... sharkbird? Birdark?

[dead serious]

Birdark? Really?

[He focuses back on the shot, takes it, and sends his prey falling. It's a good shot, right through the chest of the animal, but as he walks over to where it fell, Dean sees that it's...]

Just a regular bird.

[Somehow this seems not as impressive.

Damn it.]

More edible than the Birdark.

[There's something, at least. He drags the bird up by its legs, noting the utter deadness of it. Bless you, small creature, for tonight he feasts on your supple breast.]

This a tie, Rambo?

For now.

[Until the next competition, which Dean needs to make sure is more challenging.]

You hungry?

[Because he can try to make a meal out of these kills — some sort of pesco-avian dish.]

[He has faith you'll continue to bug him for shooting matches, to be sure.]

Sure. I'll even taste test the shark thing. Just make sure you have Cas on speed dial in case that thing hits me like bad Chinese.

IC Contact.

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