Okay, let me state first off that I am a reader not a writer. I love the stories out there that fire up the imagination and keep you longing for more. But, sometimes the urge to put stuff to paper has a fleeting hold of me and up pops a pennies worth of drabble and so after 10 minutes of fathing around here comes my first ever posting. As bad as a thing that might be at least you are safe in the knowledge that it may well be my last as these urges to write never last long before the cold hand of reason that I should stick to reading hits me back over the head.

Usual disclaimers apply as in I own nothing when it comes to Supernatural, etc.


He swallowed down the acid burn of bile from the back of his throat, and drew a deeper steadying breath, the cool air refreshing his tired lungs. Standing resolute, refusing the easy luxury of panic, despite the fact that he was soon going to be face to face with the shadowy figure that had just thrown his brother halfway across the warehouse. He had watched how his brother to hit a wall with such a sickening thud he swore he could hear the crack of bones on impact. Protectively he drew himself up taller, broader, his body acting as a shield for the figure of his sibling who lay twisted in heap behind him. In his right hand he raised the shotgun readying in anticipation, hoping that something as simple as rock salt would halt the grey coalescing shaow sliding ever nearer.

A sound behind him made his breath hitch in his throat, allowing a brief flicker of glad emotion, as Dean started to moan. Moaning was good, signalling that at least his brother was still alive and that he was not doing his "You touch my brother again I'm gonna kick your butt impression" for nothing. Finding his voice he hissed his relief to his brother. "Bout time Sleeping Beauty – thought you were gonna miss all the fun!"

Dean's body twitched as consciousness viciously kick-started him back into the land of the living. Being thrown a dozen yards through the air to be slam-dunked against unforgiving concrete walls hurt. It hurts a goddam lot, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, but sometimes hurting can be a good thing, because it meant you were still alive. Through watery pain filled eyes he tried to find something, anything to focus on, but all he could make out in front of him was a dark blurry shape. Someone tall, impossibly tall, so yep that had to be his little brother. Then through the grime covered skylight enough moonlight danced downwards to glance against gunmetal and Sam came clearer into view, gun pointed out at arms length, readying to fire. Coughing back his surprise Dean willed his angled legs to push him up, his hands leaning against the wall as a brace for his battered body. Unsteadily he lurched forward, parking a shaky hand on Sam's shoulder in both reassurance and physical support. "You okay kiddo?" he asked, his voice husky with pain.

He was rewarded with a flashing of a bright dimpled smile before grey-green eyes turned briefly to look him over. Sam scanned his brother's battered body, noting the glazed eyes, bloodied nose and grazes on his chin and cheekbones with a small inhale of distaste. "You look like shit".

"Well you don't look too hot yourself princess" snapped back Dean, noting the smeared line of blood running from a scalp wound, dripping crimson down his cheekbone and right ear. "Did you manage to nail any part of the little fucker?"

Sam chuckled before answering, confident that with Dean still able to bitch that the game would not, could not, turn out badly. "Not yet – he's a slippery little bugger".

"No shit". Dean recalled how he thought he had him nailed dead to rights when they first met up, but that was before he went bouncing off solid walls that is. "You get a good look at it yet?"

"Well seeing that I've been a little bit busy saving your sorry arse the answer would be a big fat no!" Sam didn't have to look at him to see the smirk flash across his brother's face. "Heads up - here comes chuckles".

A swirl of darkest grey materialised before the two men and a hissing chill wind followed pulling the long fringe away from Sam's forehead. He felt his brothers fingers dig deeper into his shoulder as the shape solidified into something unnatural. "Dude that is one frigging ugly spirit" hissed Dean behind him.

Dark hungry eyes looked back at them, and a keening wail, a longing for their essences, escaped a lipless mouth. They shone out to him, their life-forces brightly burning, throwing a golden light around them that demanded to be fed upon. He so desperately wanted to feel the powerful flood of life seep back into his dark bones again, if but for the briefest moments, and they offered him this sweet delicious chance if they just let him touch them, dig his fingers into their hearts and feed.

Long withered fingers reached out to the tallest one. His light so bright it was almost blinding and he knew he would feed well tonight.

But after so many centuries he had not yet once had to face a Hunter, only shivering terrified boys who easily succumbed to his demands, easy meals for the taking.

The tall one met him eye to eye and smiled and a moment of dread flared inside. The boy smiled at him coldly. Smiled and then fired.

On contact with the exploding salt whatever power had held him to the earth shattered and he knew what fear was as he was dragged howling back down to hell.

Dean eyes widened as the shot rang out, and a cloud of white smothered the grey to then dissipate into nothingness, and he would have breathed easy again but for his battered ribs. Patting his brother on the back he slowly straightening up his bruised body. "Way to go Sammy boy. Casper didn't know what hit him".

Casting him a look of frustrationSam answered tiredly. "It's Sam". He reached out a supporting arm and wrapped it around his older brothers waist and helped in him a slow shuffling walk out of the warehouse back to the car. He soon became a little breathless at dragging his brother along and huffed out a warning. "Dude you are seriously going to have cut back on the burgers and fries, you're really chunking out here".

"Hey you scrawny arsehole, just cos' I'm not some frigging bunny rabbit eating fucking lettuce all day long, does not make me fat" retorted Dean, more than a little indignant at the suggestion that he was out of shape. Sniffing dramatically he added through gritted teeth as he rubbed his stomach ignoring the protests of his ribs. "This is all muscle Sammy. You're just jealous at the perfection that is me".

Sam gave a strangled snort and rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by the statement as he looked over his bloodied and battered brother's figure. He looked the furthest away from being perfect. Ever. And that's when the absurdity of it all hit him hard and he laughed. Laughed for the longest minute just glad of the release. Relieved that they were alive and had cheated death once again. Knowing that his ribs would heal, his wounds could be sutured, battered muscles bathed in hot water, confident in the fact that he would forever remain simply Dean - his big pain in the arse older brother - Mr Perfect!

Dean watched as his Sam doubled up by the side of car, tears streaming from his face, his breath hitching with each throaty gurgle. He wanted to stay mad at his brother but the joy in seeing him laugh so freely was a charm to see. Instead he responded as he always did and masked his feelings with a snarl and a "Bitch" before sliding gingerly into the passenger seat. Despite his discomfort his fingers tentatively pinched an inch around his waist that hadn't been there a month or two ago and for the briefest moment he had visions of eating nothing but green stuff for the next week or two.

Truly a vision of hell.

What a frigging perfect way to the end the day.

End of drabble.

Bad, awful or not no flames please!