The worn black t-shirt stretches tautly across a broad back. The head with closely cropped light brown hair rests comfortably on crossed arms on the stained motel table. Faint moonlight shines through a crack in threadbare curtains and reveals countless scars, half-healed wounds and the nickel-plated muzzle of a Colt .45. The deceptively vulnerable state of sleep brings out a rarely seen innocence and peace in Dean Winchester's face. One eyebrow twitches upward and slowly relaxes. Long lashes flutter over dreaming green eyes pointing the way past a miraculously straight nose to full, soft lips slightly parted in sleep.