Where would a crazy (or not-so-crazy) religious girl go when demons've been hunting her down ( Read more... )

There's something to be said for the quiet of a motel room early in the morning.

That's providing, of course, that the room is actually quiet.

"Sasquatch," Dean mumbles, rubbing a hand over his tired, dry eyes. "What's with all the stomping?"

Watchin' Gumby was pretty dumb, but havin' to cope with a dead sheriff on the floor is making its way toward one thing that Dean is not gonna be able to stand ( Read more... )

Every night the dreams start the same way, chains and hooks and that last desperate moment of hope, back when he still thought there might be a way out ( Read more... )

"Seriously, Sammy. An iPod? Didn't I teach you anything?"

Of all the ways Dean imagined this could go, bitching about a freaky techno-modification to his baby was never one of them.

Hell, the raspy voice was a surprise, too.

But you've gotta roll with it, right?

Right?

There's something comforting in routine. Not that Dean didn't know this before he -- well, just, before -- but something about the size of Milliways and the now-familiar four walls of his room makes it screamingly apparent ( Read more... )

Dean falls into wakefulness, heart racing and breath short in his throat ( Read more... )

Dean gave up scrabbling at the door like a dog about three hours into his stint of waking on the ninth day ( Read more... )

Dean wipes his hands on a pristine white towel, the better to give visual contrast when he places it very directly in his current assignment's field of view. It's a soft start, but sometimes those are the best ( Read more... )

There is no end to the workday in Hell. No one punches out their time card, no one goes home to shower away the accumulated grunge of a long day working in the pit.

There is no surcease from agony down here. Not for anyone, not even the damned.

Not even Dean Winchester.

It's a good thing Dean loves his job.