Standing in the shadows it called out, "What are you waiting for, an invitation? Come in, then. Come in!"

Dean growled something imperceptible and stepped over the metal jam, not a second later the giant doors creaked their way shut. Not bothering to look back, as he already knew they were much too stuck with rust for him to move on his own, he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim of the warehouse. He blinked and suddenly there the creature was, its meat suit discoloured in the patchy light, a grotesque smile playing on its lips. Dean's breath hitched just as a fist found his gut, sending him reeling back into the sheet metal; it gave slightly into his weight and let off a booming crash that echoed in the emptiness of the warehouse.

Though he was winded, Dean didn't allow himself to pause and stood straight immediately, his eyes already moving to watch for the next blow that was surely coming. His jaw clenched when he realized it was gone. His right hand tensed rhythmically around the handle of the long blade, he swallowed dryly and walked further in, his eyes never pausing in their scanning.

"Where are you, you creepy sonovabitch?" he asked the machines in a low tone. The answer he received was a slow, syrupy laugh that resonated, not allowing him to pinpoint the source. He was kicked in the back hard enough to send him stumbling; his arm swung out behind him, intent on spearing the demon on the end of his knife; he felt something give and heard cloth rip, he managed to catch its shirt. It was a victory, as far as Dean was concerned, the little fucker was fast and to have done even that to it earned him a point. His confidence bolstered, Dean backed up to a hunk of rusting metal that, at one time, must have been a machine that gave this place life.

He started to survey his situation; he was stuck in a warehouse with a demon that killed for the hell of it, if the layout of the building was like most in the area, there should be an emergency exit on the scaffolding above him and offices at the back on the ground floor. He scratched out the offices, knowing that the cramped space and low hanging ceiling fixtures would only serve to box him in.

"This is no fun," it complained and Dean's head twisted upwards, almost giving himself whiplash. The demon had draped itself over the railings on the platform a storey above him and was staring down at the human, its lower lip stuck out almost comically on the tough face. Dean might have laughed had the mouth belonged to the same entity that now controlled it. Its expression brightened, having come up with something brilliant and Dean readied himself for another quick attack. Then it began dancing and he could only stare in shock. Quickly finishing its impromptu tap dance, both feet slamming down on the wrought iron with an explosive flourish, arms flung out to either side. It twitched its fingers, inviting Dean to join.

"You are five kinds of crazy, aren't you?"

"Oh come now, it's just sad to be dancing alone, even worse to waste talent such as mine in a one man show."

"You aren't a man," he replied, making his way to the stairs that would bring him level with the demon.

"But I am wearing one, which I pull off well, in my humblest of opinions." It motioned down the length of the body, striking a simple profile pose with a grin; Dean quickened his pace. Reaching the stairs he saw that halfway up a large piece of plywood spanned a break in the stairwell; knowing that the demon could easily jump the gap, he figured it was meant for him to use and that he was walking into a trap. But the demon didn't know he still had something in his back pocket. Quite literally, in fact. His head still turned towards it, Dean jogged up the stairs and paused at the end of the scaffolding, adjusting his grip on the knife.

It sighed when it saw Dean's wary stance and asked, "You still want to fight me? Damn, I was hoping to just kill you, quick and easy."

"Sorry pal, you broke my shotgun."

"I didn't break it! Just bent it a little, that's all."

"That's so much better," he said in a sarcastically, apologetic voice. Dean advanced on the creature, his eyes never straying as he didn't want to risk looking away and having the freak disappear on him again. The demon didn't move, only leaned against the rail, eliciting a whine from the aging metal, but it paid it no mind; crossing its arms and it waited for him to come.

"I'm going to wipe that fucking smile off your face," he threatened, arm tensing as he grew closer and closer.

"Aw, but I just finally figured out how to get the muscles to work right!"

Without warning, Dean's calm walk broke into a charge, his empty hand held out to grab it as the other arm pulled back. They both knew the demon could simply run around Dean, but he was counting on the fact that it would want to play with him, and all he had to do was make sure it was in range. But it didn't move; only let eyelids that weren't its own fall shut, its twisted smile still pulling at lips. A flash of anger went through Dean when he realized he wasn't being considered as an actual threat. He stopped suddenly, still a handful of feet away, tossed the knife to the other hand and with his right pulled out the gun from the between his back and the waistband of his jeans. Simultaneously cocking it, he brought the barrel level to his target and shot.

The echo was tremendous and the recoil wasn't stronger than Dean expected of the gun, this being the first time he had used it, it made his elbow give way even as he was flicking the hammer back once more. It didn't seem like he needed another bullet, though, as the demon had fallen into a crumpled pile on the grating, its hand by its face as though it was going to pluck the bullet from the air right before it lodged itself in the man's head.

Dean sighed in relief. 'Finally,' he thought.

A niggling feeling came over him and he decided to play it safe. Bringing the gun up he aligned it with its unblinking eye.

It moved.

The demon's eye followed his movements and met his own, unable to hold back its caricature of a smile, it jerked up into a sitting position. Dean watched as the wound in its forehead stopped bleeding and something dark pushed forward; without moving its eyes from Dean's frozen face, the meat suit's hand rose and caught the falling cap before it fell to the work floor below. Dean didn't know what to do, the gun was supposed to be able to keep a demon down for a time, maybe even kill it. It should have been strong enough that the thing wouldn't move for minutes, not seconds. His ace in the hole turned out to be jack shit.

A sharp pain ripped through him from his knee and he fell backwards onto his ass. As he grimaced and huffed on the grating, the demon stood and moved closer, its hands empty.

"Now, that wasn't very nice. You should know better than that, anyway, guns don't work on guys like me. But that did hurt more that it usually did…There's some kind of special feature to this model, huh?"

Between gasps he answered, "Consecrated metal and holy water." He grinned up at it as it rubbed at the spot on its forehead; it was already starting to close up, but it was leaving behind a scar, and Dean could bet there was a massive migraine forming. It scowled for a moment as it realized that the mark wasn't going to fade, and then moved so that its legs were on either side of him. Kicking Dean's hand away from his knee, it sat on his thighs, pinning him; one foot shifted and caught his right wrist beneath it, stopping him from reaching his gun that was only a few inches away.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, I wanted to run some fun ideas by you," it offered with that grin.

AN: The main reason I wrote this was for practice for writing more detailed scenes, and I think I did pretty good on that. :] And yeah, this is how it ends and I won't be writing any more for it. You guys have to think of your own endings.

Surprisingly, I don't intend this to be in anyway gay. :0 Strange for me, I know.