Simpsons' Sky

Dean liked to watch the Simpsons. Whenever they stopped at some crappy motel, if he could find an episode in between hunts, he still watched and laughed.

Today there was a Simpsons kind of sky above. You know the type, with the deep blue sky and the perfectly painted fluffy white clouds. Perfectly defined and flat against the big canvas like they had been hand drawn.

Any other day, and such a perfect sky would've gone unnoticed and unmentioned. But not today.

Because today… today he had a clear view of that same lovely sky. In fact, the sky was all he could see when he looked down; its pristine beauty so incongruous to the utter shit he was in.

It was also a good way to forget why he was currently hanging upside down from an abandoned train bridge, naked, in the middle of Out-There, Ohio, on a Spring day that was so cold that it could still be called Winter, freezing to death.

Ok… maybe that was being a bit overly dramatic. Dean knew there was little chance of him actually freezing to death. No, the people who had dropped him off the bridge without the benefit of an elastic bungee rope, effectively breaking his left leg in the process, would probably finish him off long before he had time to freeze to death.

So, things were looking up already. Actually, he could only look up, because the one time that Dean had tried to look in the opposite direction, he had almost ended up losing the rest of the meal that had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

"Just say the word, Winchester, and this could all be over."

Dean forced himself to not twist his head or make any special effort to look at the guy who had spoken. It hurt to even turn his eyeballs, never mind the whole set of face and head. Besides, there was no point in doing that. He already knew what the man looked like and he wasn't exactly what you might call an entertaining view.

The speaker, coincidentally the largest of his captors, stalked angrily toward him. The older Winchester judged the brute to be of Mexican origin, if the dark hair, tan skin and the slightly oval eyes were anything to go by. Dean figured that he didn't looked like an Eeny at all... Pepe was a much better name for him, in honor of that one time he'd eaten in the restaurant by the same name and had gotten himself a stomach ache over bad burritos. This Pepe had upset his stomach too, but instead of burritos, he'd use his fists.

Pepe drew closer, all sweat stained underarms, annoying bulk, and if that weren't enough, from Dean's current vantage point, he could too easily see the man's over-grown nose hairs. Stopping nauseatingly close to Dean's face, he grabbed Dean's hair in one meaty palm and twisted, forcing Dean to look at him, leaning in until his stubble-covered chin and fetid breath were just inches from Dean's nose. Dean tried to keep his gag reflex in check because otherwise he was going to hurl.

Could it still be called throwing up when you're hanging upside down? Either way, Dean could guess that it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Look at me when I talk to you, boy."

"Which word do you prefer?" Dean finally asked, his voice sounding higher and wrong as he tried to talk through the pain and the rush of blood to his head. "I got asshole and fuckwad, all up for gra-…oof!"

Dean knew that he really shouldn't smart-mouth the guy that was currently in the privileged position of improving his situation or make it much, much worse. But he couldn't help it.

The beefy hand that slammed against his cheek brought the ringing bells back to his ears, as Dean's body swung sickly around with the force of the punch.

Turns out that throwing up when you're hanging upside down is twice as nasty as the regular thing.

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