This is my first attempt at fanfiction in years, so... Anyways, it's set in season 2/3, Dean's deal and stuff (not to spoil). Some cursing and gay bashing (I'm pro gay, I just like to crack jokes about everything). Enjoy!
It was raining cats and dogs. Not literally, or at least, not yet. The hunt had been a joke, a hoax that had them running their heels off all night. Dean let his behind crash down into the driver's seat.
„LE SIGH!“, he roared and punched the steering wheel.
„What, was that French?“, Sam asked, mildly amused.
„One more word and I'll end you, Clarissa. You hear me?“
„So I'm Clarissa now?“. The offense in Sam's voice was beyond obvious. Dean smirked.
„Yeah, you were Alice yesterday, remember?“
„I refuse to.“
Sam decided to avoid eye contact with the raging dog that was starting a car and planning to drive it through the pouring rain, too. The engine burst into a coughing fit and they drove off into the night. As Dean took a right turn without taking his foot off the gas to slam the Impala into its parking spot in front of the hotel, Sam suddenly jumped up in his seat and grabbed Dean's wrist.
„Whoa, slow down!“
„I think I saw something!“
„What, a demon?“
„No Dean“, Sam replied. „A small shadow. Like an animal or something.“
„Oh“, Dean growled. „Right. Now tell me Sammy, do I have a bumper sticker that reads 'I stop for bunnyrabbits'?“
„It might actually help you with the ladies...“
Sam took a smack on the back of his head and grinned. Dean parked the car horizontally across two parking spaces and slammed door after door behind him to sink onto his motel bed.
It was past three am and the rain still hadn't stopped. The noise of the raindrops coming down on the window actually out-noised their voices as they tried to talk. Since it was nothing important to begin with, they chose to put their conversation on hold for brighter days. Dean let the last drop of beer fall down on his tongue and hurled the bottle across the room, in the direction of the trash can. A satisfied grin got comfy on his face when the bottle accidentally, deliberately, hit Sam in the head and spilled a few drops of beer on his sheets. A good deed done, Dean shed his clothes and crawled under the sheets. The hurt, disgruntled look on Sam's face was engraved into Dean's memory. Hopefully he'd be dreaming about it.
„Screw you, too...“, Sam murmured as the satisfied smacking of Dean's lips crept into his ears. Hopefully he wouldn't be dreaming about it. He kicked his shoes off and shed most of his clothes except for his briefs and t-shirt. Then he, too dove under the sheets. And right back out again as he realized how hot it was in the room. He double-checked the salt barrier on the windowsill and opened the window just a half of an inch to let in some fresh air. Part of him didn't even care if the barrier was to be broken. He was just tired and eager to get to bed.
Claws raked across the window sill, spilling some of the salt. Then they struck down and gave the salt a good smacking. The entire hairy arm reached through the window and inside the room. It relaxed as it felt the warmth. The head tried to shove itself in after the arm, but it was too large to fit. The creature sat down on the windowsill and opened its mouth wide, bearing sharp fangs. It took a few moments for the sound to come out.
No reaction from the men sleeping inside that warm, cozy room.
Still nothing. The creatures stood up on its legs and batted the window with its front paw. Finally, the man in the bed by the window started to stir.
„Dean? Dean, you hear that?“
„Something's knocking on our window. It's making strange screeching noises, too.“
„Yeah“, Dean mumbled without turning to look at his brother. „That's a vision you been having of you after I shut you out unless you shut the f*** up.“
„I said, shut the...“
„I got it!“
But as soon as Dean had gone back to sleep, the screeching and the knocking started once more. Sam couldn't take it anymore. He jumped out of the bed, grabbed his silver dagger and headed toward the window. It took him a while to spot the threat.
„Ugh...“. Dean's moans and groans sounded like one would imagine a corpse crawling out of its grave. The difference was that Dean was slowly but steadily crawling into his grave. „Dude, I had the weirdest dream last night. You went all fuzzy and girlish about... WHAT THE!!“
„His name is Moses.“
Sam was sitting on the table, a can of coffee in one hand and a tiny wet kitten in the other.
„Moses. He's the one that's been messing around at our window last night. Look at that, a harmless little kitten!“
Dean's hungry gaze went from the kitten to the windowsill. Then it went from hungry to concerned.
„Yeah, harmless alright. That thing scratched a gap in the salt barrier!“
„You're right. Oh well, guess we were lucky, nothing's come in.“
„Give me the cat.“
„Dude. Isn't it obvious?“
„Dude!“, Sam repeated, shaking his head. „You're not gonna blast a kitten because there might be a demon inside! What would a demon possibly want in that tiny body? Scratch our eyes out?“
„If its eyes turn black, I end it.“
„You almost sound like you want that to happen!“
„You're disgusting“, Sam sighed and proceeded to wrap the kitten into a towel. „Don't listen to Dean. He's a morning monster. Here's a good kitty, gooooood kitty!“
Dean watched in appall as Sam lovingly rubbed the squealing kitten down with a towel Dean recalled to have chosen for his face.
„You know“, Dean said, „I'm starting to think that I'm not gonna wait for his eyes to go dark-side.“
„I love you, too. Look Dean, he was all dirty and gooey. He needed a bath, his stink was unbearable.“
Dean, who had gone to the bathroom during Sam's explanation, acknowledged the information with a scream.
„Oh yeah“, Sam called back. „I used the sink. I had a headache so I didn't want to bend down to the bathtub. Always hurts my head when I get back up, you know.“
„THERE'S CAT crap ON MY RAZOR!“
„Dude? Are you gay? I mean, gay gay? Gayer than usual?“
„What?“, Sam yelped. „I'm just feeding him!“
„Off the table, with lovingly cut strings of bacon. Please do not ever touch me again. Yeesh!“
Dean shuddered theatrically and Sam rolled his eyes.
„You know“, Sam said without looking at Dean. His eyes were locked at the tiny black kitten that was sitting on his white hind paws, holding the bacon in his white front paws. The tiniest of teeth were gnawing down on the meat. “You're the one who gave his brother a Barbie for christmas.”
“I wouldn't have given you one if you weren't... Like that!”
“What, does my caring for an animal make you think I'm gonna gay-rape you?”
“No. It doesn't. Because you'll have a bullet in both your upstairs and your downstairs brain the second you try.”
To prove his point, Dean held up the gun and Sam rolled his eyes once more.
“Hey Sammy”, Dean scoffed. “I think Moses here is asking you if he can has cheezburger.”
“Sorry Moses”, Dean proceeded and bent down to grin at the tiny bundle of fur. “I made you a cookie but I eated it.”
“You're an ass.”
“Oh crap, don't fags have a craving for ass?”
“Eat your breakfast.”
To be continued (frankly, I have no idea how)