Falling Up
Dean prided himself on his ability to stay secure on his feet for at least 97% of the time. The other 3% was only due to some kind of incapacitation- like too much alcohol or too many injuries. The one time he did trip due to his own misfooting, he thanked everything under the sun; falling in the mud like that had saved his goddamn life. The bastard had picked up a gun, aimed willy-nilly. The bullet whizzed through the spot where his head had just been, right before he’d ended up face-planting in the mud.
"Never thought your kind liked guns," he snarled, spitting out a big blob before throwing himself onto his back, his shotgun into the air. "Guess I know why." He aimed. "Crap shot." Fired. Nailed the bitch square in the face, dispelling it momentarily.
He shoved himself up, stared at the mud for a second before sprinting over to the book that had the incantation he needed. Never again would he begrudge wet, unstable ground on a hunt; apparently, everything could be used to his advantage if he was smart. Even so… No one would ever know that a mistake had saved him his life.
"Never thought your kind liked guns," he snarled, spitting out a big blob before throwing himself onto his back, his shotgun into the air. "Guess I know why." He aimed. "Crap shot." Fired. Nailed the bitch square in the face, dispelling it momentarily.
He shoved himself up, stared at the mud for a second before sprinting over to the book that had the incantation he needed. Never again would he begrudge wet, unstable ground on a hunt; apparently, everything could be used to his advantage if he was smart. Even so… No one would ever know that a mistake had saved him his life.