More horrific first lines for the Bullwinchester contest..

Oct 19, 2008 02:33

My brain continues to dribble these horrible little snippets of badfic for this wonderful contest.



“John,” said Bobby, leaning back in the porch swing to get a better view of Dean as he finished the last of his daily one hundred push-ups, his young adolescent body naked from the waist up, the sweat trickling down his shoulders and pooling in the small of his back, glistening gold in the last few rays of the late afternoon sun, then licked absently at the condensation that coated the delicate yet firm, supple neck of his beer bottle; “Young Dean’s sure growing up fast.”

This one's for you, yasminke, for all those times I forgot to capitalize...



John Winchester had raised his boys to be hunters, nurturing their natural talents and combining them with a strict regime of rigorous training, stern military discipline and Marine tactics, not to be confused with marine tactics, which would of course prove completely ineffectual unless the supernatural being they were hunting happened to be the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or maybe the Man from Atlantis.
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