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Look At You 2 There was a form out there amongst the wiry black trees and it made Dean uncomfortable. Everything in purgatory made him uncomfortable, but this was different. This creature was what he thought Castiel should have been, a bolt of light that had no single form, but evolved and changed as he tried to focus on it.
The first time he saw it he thought it was a pure white, glowing, stag bounding away from one of the thousands upon thousands of predators. The second time he thought it was a man, the light trailing off of him like threads. The third time it seemed to be a wave, a school of fish, flowing into one another seamlessly.
Castiel looked nothing like that though. He seemed to be done changing, his hideous appearance not having alte
Look At You"Dean." Castiel breathed and the word was like music to the hunter's ears. He turned, forcing himself to look at the glowing blue eyes in amazement. It had been almost three days, or what Dean thought were three days, since the broken angel had last spoke. His voice was rough, deeper and more of a growl than Dean was used to, but there was a second voice in it, a high-pitched song that echoed and weaved around the first.
Dean hadn't wanted to even look at the angel since they'd stopped talking, always making some mental excuse to keep his gaze away from that of his friend. He'd look for the monsters of purgatory, to the strange lights in the sky that almost acted like stars, anything other than at the angel.
Castiel had warned Dean of what happened in Purgatory, that every soul there was a monster. And it was true. What Dean hadn't expected was that he'd meant that living souls were monsters as well.
In this dark and strange place, attributes were changed, tuned. You're soul was on you
Teenage Wasteland"Dean, you can't be serious" Sam laughed.
"Oh, I am, Sammy boy! Deadly!" Dean threatened, holding a bottle in one hand.
Sam was at the mirror; doing his best to shave while Dean was betting that he could drink 40 oz of malt liquor in one go. Sam knew it would end horribly.
Dean had just gotten the bottle to his lips when a large, feather shadow fell over him. Sam's eyes went wide. He ran forward, confusing Dean instead of warning him and got there just in time to
Sam stood next to Dean, his hand on his shoulder. For some reason his shoulder was much higher than Sam was used to. He looked up, seeing a gangly teenager was only a speckling of acne combining with his freckles.
"Dean?" Sam asked, jumping at how high pitched his voice had become.
The odd teenager looked down, his big green eyes just as confused as Sam was, "Sammy? What happened?"
"Zacharia!" he complained, but instead of his normal gruff complaint it sounded much more like a whimper and Dean couldn't help but laugh. "What?"
Crystal Blue PersuasionDean gritted his teeth as he dug the tweezers deep into his shoulder. He had already drunk most of a bottle of whiskey, but it hadn't done much to neutralize the pain of the bullet that had been lodged in there. The bumps in the road weren't helping much either and as they jostled over them he couldn't help but swear at Jon, who was driving at the time.
He hated Croats, they were a pain to fight, but it seemed that the soldiers were even worse. After all of this time, the Croats had started to get dumb, losing the knowledge to use firearms. No, it was the soldiers who you had to look at for.
Dean grunted loudly, trying not to scream in pain as he pulled the bullet out and chased the pain with the remainder of the bottle. They were trying to save as much of the stuff as they could, but this was close to an emergency.
He wrapped the wound with some of the gauze that they kept in the truck. It needed to be sewn up, but that would have to wait. They didn't carry that good of supplies in th
A Hazy Shade of WinterThe snow crunched under Sam's feet and he clutched his thick arms to his chest. He was wearing a thick, puffy coat, but it wasn't doing much, the falling powder having collected in the collar and any other place it could land. That and his sweat made for an icy journey through the snowfall, which was getting thicker with every step.
He could hardly see in front of him and he was afraid to call out his brother's name. Each time he did he was sure his strong voice would cause a minor avalanche so he did it as little as possible. Instead he shoved one ungloved hand into his pocket, fishing out his cell phone. He hadn't had any luck so far, but maybe, just maybe, he had somehow found a signal.
All the while he pushed forward. There was no point in stopping. He'd freeze even more thoroughly without his exertion to keep him warm and regardless, they had to find the creature who was living up there. In the past ten years it had snatched 74 hikers. Sam thought it was an Onna, and without any o
Going BlindDean reached out with both hands, the blood slick and dripping from his fingers. He was trying to pull himself off of the ground but nothing seemed to work. Everything was too slick, too wet, and he couldn't see a thing.
There was so much blood and pain and he would have been screaming if it weren't for the fact that the pain was actually too much, passing the point of comprehension. All he could do was grit his teeth through it and try not to faint.
Then, in the darkness, two strong hands grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. Sam's nose was in his short hair, his arms clasped around his chest and he kept whispering, "I've got you" over and over. Dean wanted to force him off, to rip his body from the tight grip, but he knew he would only fall again and, this time, he probably wouldn't get up again.
There are sirens in the distance, getting closer, and for a moment Dean is terrified. He pulls himself from his brother's chest, still supporting himself by clutching and arm, and turns as
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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