The body that seems so massive when upright appears inconsequential as it slumps in the cheap motel chair. The neverending legs stretch out and casually cross at the ankles. A lock of shaggy chestnut hair slides forward to cover one eye and curl around the spot on his cheek where a dimple winks when he smiles. Muscular yet gentle arms cross over a broad chest and the light from a cheap lamp reflects off the tip of the jagged blade peeking out. Even in deep sleep, Sam Winchester's strong hand grips the blood-stained knife handle with white knuckles.