In My Life part 2How long had he been walking, all alone? The knife was dull and useless at his side, wrapped in a piece of tan fabric, and it was impossible to see any of the metal shine through the caked on blood. It didn't seem to matter anyway. When he was alone nothing seemed to want to hurt him. Maybe the creatures had finally caught on that his blood was toxic to them.
Who had been with him anyway? It had been a human, a living thing like him. They didn't belong in Purgatory. The name started with a D. It was short. It was on the tip of the thin little worm of what had once been a tongue. What was it? And he had hurt the man, hurt him so badly, but he couldn't remember if the pain was physical or not.
It didn't matter. He was alone now.
Really, who would have wanted to stay around him? His clothing was nothing but ribbons, and he had the body of a monster. His feet were needles on long spindly stilts and they dug into the ground with each step. His fingers looked like five legged spiders, so thi
In My Life part 1There was something in the forest of bleeding trees, something up ahead. Dean was exhausted, tripping over his own feet, his breathing ragged and hoarse. He could feel the red eyes of so many dead things upon them, but they weren't attacking, not yet. He couldn't fall, couldn't stop, couldn't hesitate. Cas was holding his wrist tight, too tight, and there was blood stemming from his sharp claws. Normally the blood would have the creatures on them in an instant, but they were slow this time, watchful.
"Cas!" he cried out, "Where are we going?"
But Cas didn't answer. He hardly was Cas anymore. Nothing of him spoke of Jimmy Novak or the angel he once was. He was skeletal and elongated, his veins black as they traveled up his pale gray flesh. His face was a mask, cracked and dripping black ooze, his eyes round orbs of glowing light levitating just outside of their sockets. That thick black hair was long, spiked, tipped in painful quills, or maybe it was all quills. The wings at his back we
Season of the WitchDean fell onto the motel bed with a thud and a sigh. The bruises were mostly gone now and his ribs were repairing from Alastair breaking them, but he still looked vulnerable. Sam didn't like seeing him that way. It was Dean who always protected Sam and now he couldn't even protect himself.
There was a soft rustling sound and both hunters turned, the older of which groaned as Castiel appeared in their room. The angel was as emotionless as ever unless you really knew how to read him and Dean was starting to understand it. Understand it as well as a kindergartner who's finally completed Charlie the Choo Choo and was now attempting to read Egyptian hieroglyphs. There were dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders were down a little bit more than usual. Could be a sign that he was tired but angels don't get tired.
"You are needed." He said and even his voice had a trill of exhaustion.
"Shove it." Dean replied before ignoring him.
The angel took a single step forward, "I know how little