Sam looked into the mirror and felt little more than a mild disgust at his own disheveled appearance.
Too exhausted to take a shower, he went back into the bedroom and looked drearily around the dilapidated room.
One bed, with bedding that looked like it hadn't been changed since the McCarthy era.
One television, broken.
Filth-encrusted walls that even Lucifer wouldn't laugh at.
He dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Oh. Crap.
One ceiling mirror. Not broken, unfortunately.
Sam rolled over onto his side and fought back the tears and the terror.
Stupid, traitorous, blood-swilling fool.