Sam threw himself into a library chair, slammed a book on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten the tangle of wet elflocks dripping down his neck.
Dean glanced sideways at his brother. "HI there, Sammy. Why so grumpish?
Sam's glare should have turned Dean to stone. The narrowing of his eyes to slits emphasized the desire to gorgonize his big brother into a lovely Greek statue.
"How many times have I told you not to touch my stuff?" Sam growled. "My shampoo, my conditioner and no dry towels."
"Good luck hunting your toothbrush, jerk"