[On this incredibly merry Christmas, dearest denizens of Wonderland, you may be privy to two happenings: a shaky video of Dean grinning into the camera and sprinting down to the beach because there is something there waiting for him, or witness him delivering gifts to places of residence.]

You are now Dean Winchester, the DASHING WANDERLUSTER. ( Read more... )

It's been a fairly quiet Christmas, as Christmases go.

There's nothing to hunt; no meadowsweet wreaths over the chimneys, no unfortunate mistletoe incidents.  He's spent a brief period of time as a nine-year-old adventuring through the library, an evening decked out in a tux thanks to Kurt (It looked good, actually), and another three days ( Read more... )

[[ooc; Closed to everyone but Cas and Dean.]]

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, prodding the coffee table with the toe of his leather biker boot.  A small stack of magazines slides haphazardly to one side and off onto the floor with a muffled thump.  He doesn't bother to pick them up.  He's not in the mood.  Something in the man's stomach is ( Read more... )

The camera is in the usual spot, on the table, switched on.  Dean is starting to record himself whenever he feels disgustingly pathetic enough to send out a silent request for company.  He's managed to pull one of the records out of the closet that's actually good Christmas music - none of this crappy new-age shit - and sets it carefully on the pin ( Read more... )