Shower With Your Demons
It smells nice, that's all. And I do not seem like a girl!
[He huffs, his lips curling as he glares heatedly at the demon in his shower that so casually questions his masculinity. He wears leather jackets, drives a black classic Impala, listens to classic Rock, and hunts monsters for fun and profit. He's the bad boy women to love to use to make mistakes they'll regret in the morning.
It's not like Crowley knows about the panties.]
I said STOP.
[And then he's pressing to knife to the tiled wall, letting the curtain hang limply half-drawn open as he uses his free hand to try and wrestle for his bar of soap. He's getting water in his eyes, and the bathroom floor is soaked, but Dean is too stubborn to admit it might not have been bright.
There's surely a joke here. At least a prison joke.]
[He huffs, his lips curling as he glares heatedly at the demon in his shower that so casually questions his masculinity. He wears leather jackets, drives a black classic Impala, listens to classic Rock, and hunts monsters for fun and profit. He's the bad boy women to love to use to make mistakes they'll regret in the morning.
It's not like Crowley knows about the panties.]
I said STOP.
[And then he's pressing to knife to the tiled wall, letting the curtain hang limply half-drawn open as he uses his free hand to try and wrestle for his bar of soap. He's getting water in his eyes, and the bathroom floor is soaked, but Dean is too stubborn to admit it might not have been bright.
There's surely a joke here. At least a prison joke.]