I'm sorry.

Dean is slumped in one of the easy chairs in his room, seemingly completely oblivious to the camera he's left on the bedside table.  It's at enough of an angle that half his face is obscured by the shadows in the dimly-lit room, and the only sources of illumination are the floor lamp off in the far corner, and the soft electric glow of the radio's ( Read more... )

[Dean is sprawled in a large, plush (but well-worn) chair, a deep scowl etched onto his face.  Led Zeppelin's Traveling Riverside Blues can be heard playing in the background.  He looks pensive and brooding, which isn't unusual, but considering how he normally sports a cocky, self-sure smirk, this doesn't bode well.  He shifts a little, uncrossing ( Read more... )