Here's another one-shot. I wrote it for a class in school, a character description of Dean. I didn't get an A because I used confusing language and didn't explain everything, even though 1 - Dean talks like that (mostly) and 2 - I had to keep it under 3 pages with double-spacing. CREYS. So, tell me what you think?
A bone-shattering screech split the musty air of the run-down house as a black-scaled beast writhed in agony. Two men were darting around it, firing round after round of silver bullets into its chest and face. It shot one clawed hand out in a desperate attempt at knocking one of them aside, but to no avail - it only managed to stumble over a loose board in the weak wooden floor. The two men were young and had years of practice under their belts, and they were confident that they would not trip over the old floorboards. The shorter man, wearing a dark green jacket, grinned as the beast's movements continued to slow down. He fired a few more rounds at it before he ducked out of the way of a well-aimed punch. He took in a deep breath and looked around for the other man to help him.
There he was - on the other side of the room, shouting maniacally and waving his gun around, trying to distract the beast from the other. His pathetically floppy curls bounced around his babyish face as he yelled obscenities at the beast, which had begun to turn to face him. It darted over, faster than either one had expected, and grabbed the floppy-haired man-boy by the throat. The beast's trajectory continued until he pushed the guy into a wall, which creaked in protest.
The shorter man then shocked himself into movement, clutching his gun tighter and preparing to open fire. "Sam! Watch out!" He shouted in a low, hoarse voice as he emptied round after round into the scaled thing's back. It screeched one more agonizing wail before dropping Sam. It promptly fell onto the floor with a loud thump, and never got back up.
Sam cleared his throat, rubbing at it tersely with two fingers, and turned to face the other man. "Geez Dean, think you could come up with a more dangerous plan next time?" He sniped, his lips turning into a furious pout.
The man, apparently named Dean, shrugged. "Hey, we had to gank it before it ate any more kids. You know how it goes, man." With that, he started to stretch out his limbs, and smirked when he felt a few satisfying cracks as his bones popped. "This was the last one, I think. We should head back to the motel now - I'm sure there are more cases around here."
Sighing in exasperation, Sam nodded. "Sure, let's go back. But promise me that you'll actually take a night off tonight, okay? I'm the younger brother, and I'm the one that's gotta worry about you."
"Awh, Sammy, you're cute." Dean's bottle-green eyes glinted devilishly as he stretched out his brother's nickname, in the form of a too-obvious taunt.
"Don't call me Sammy." Grinning at his baby brother, Dean clapped him on the back. "All right, we'll go back to the motel - y'know, take a break for a night or two. Eat some pie. Pick up some chicks. But then we're right back on the road, okay?" Sam nodded gratefully at this, and the two brothers finally brushed themselves off and began walking back to the car in an easy silence.
They had driven out to a deserted house in Pontiac, Illinois to get rid of a group of shifters - things with the ability to change their shape to look like any living creature - but everything had escalated quickly when they had decided that they didn't have to play by the rules. The shifters had shed their skin for more dangerous creatures, and Dean and Sam were loathe to admit that the last one had been a bit more trouble than it should have been to kill. Silver was the only thing that hurt it, but it had shifted into some heavily armored monster, and the silver bullets they had did next to nothing on the hard exterior of the beast. Luckily, Dean Winchester was a pretty good shot.
They arrived at the dingy motel after about fifteen minutes of driving. Dean let Sam bother with paying the fee for a couple more days and wandered to the room they shared. In a daze, he opened the door and sank down on the mattress furthest from the entrance. Weariness pulled at his core as he closed both eyes. He was more tired than he let on, but there was no way that Sam would be allowed to know he was constantly exhausted. Sam had enough stuff going on in his life; he didn't need Dean's crap thrown onto his shoulders as well.
Besides, Dean knew he wasn't worth the effort. There were so many more people out there, whose lives were filled with terror and pain and blood, while he got to travel the countryside in a beautiful muscle car with his brother, saving lives and hunting things - the family business. His problems could be pushed aside, while other people's couldn't.
Just as he was being pulled into the land of the deeply unconscious, the door opened and Sam nearly bent in half to walk in through the small doorway. Gigantic, six-foot-six freakazoid, that's what he was. "You asleep already?"
"Oh my god, Sammy," Dean groaned into his pillow, voice wobbling with trepidation, "leave me alone already and go to sleep. Don't you have some ovaries to grow or something?" Sneering at Dean, Sam dumped his bag of equipment on the floor and strode into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
The elder brother, finally blessed with peace and quiet, immediately sank into a deep sleep. Sam silently opened the door mere moments later, and a peaceful smile slipped onto his face as he observed his brother's gentle snoring. Climbing into bed, he sent up a quick prayer to... well, someone. He wasn't really sure anymore, but he still prayed.
Hopefully, Dean wouldn't have any nightmares tonight.