Sunset Prisms or But You Look so good in Pink!
Series: Four Shades of Nail Polish Dean Hated, and the One He Kinda Liked.
Title: Maybelline’s Sunset Prisms, or But You Look so Good in Pink!
Disclaimer: Joss owns Dawn and Faith, Kripke owns Dean and Sam. The make-up companies own their polishes.
Series Summary: As the title says, Dawn tries to paint Dean’s nails five times...*cough*
Part Summary: Warm pink with gold tones, the opposite
of her name.
A/N: I blame a very boring class spent waiting for the prof to show up for this one. That and that episode of Friends that I have unfortunately seen about a million times.
A/N2: Set a few weeks after the first chapter of Walk Away. Four Shades of Nail Polish Dean Hated,
And the One He Kinda Liked.
Maybelline’s Sunset Prisms or
But You Look So Good in Pink!
The first time she’d done it while he was sleeping in the back of the Impala, drooling all over himself and his smelly boots off. Faith and Sam were being disgustingly cute, flirting like crazy and annoying her almost as much as the cocky jerk sleeping next to her. Dawn dug a nail file out of her purse and turned up the volume on her mp3 player, ignoring Dean’s poking.
She was listening to Rob Thomas complaining about being a crutch when Dean’s arm jerked out and smacked her hard on the arm. Gritting her teeth, she dug into her purse and pulled out the almost full bottle of Sunset Prisms nail-polish and carefully unscrewed the cap. Careful not to spill a drop of the four dollar nail polish, she applied a quick coat to his right hand. The last nail hadn’t quite dried when Sam slammed on the brakes, and Dean’s hand smacked into his forehead.
He was just really waking up when Dawn slipped the bottle back into her purse and followed after Faith and Sam. Dean got groggily out of the backseat and rubbed at his eyes.
“What’s goin’ on?” Dead grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t notice Faith’s dropped jaw or Dawn’s smirk. Neither did Sam.
“Looks like someone fishtailed up here - what’s on your forehead?” Sam tried to fight the laugh.
“What -” Dean caught sight of his hand. “Summers, there better not be a drop of this on my baby!”
Dean ran back to the Impala, his eyes scanning the backseat for the golden pinky-orange polish spots or splashes. Then he saw his reflection.
“Son of a Bitch!”