HELL-LITERATION
WOW: creep. Dean has such a way with words. Apparently he's the only one that's impressed though.
Disclaimer: I don't own them
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Sam sighed as the call disconnected.
"That was Crowley," he announced.
"Yeah? What's that poison douchenut want?" Dean replied with marked disinterest.
"You remember that rogue black dog we hunted last week?"
"That rabid fleabag that decimated half the town? Yeah, we shot it, but then it disappeared. Any news on it?"
"Yeah, well, apparently Crowley doesn't just keep hellhounds; it was one of his dogs. We got it alright; it crawled into the catacombs under a local ruined church and died."
"Oh, so … Crowley's crazy critter crept into a crypt and croaked?"
"Dean …"
"I'm so getting that on a T shirt!"
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