Popplagið
Creeno

Double update tonight[: Have fun with Demon!Dean.


You'll make Sam come to you, since Bela can't talk anymore, now that her throat's useless. She's making an incoherent sound on the floor as you polish off the Scotch she'd gotten earlier, your blood coated hands turning the glass a muddy pink.

"Good stuff, huh?" You grin down at her. She knows that she had this coming, but she couldn't stop you. You were smart about it, about all of it.

You leave that night, and yeah, you went there just to kill her, payback for all those times she tripped and played with you and Sam during your year. You've got better people for information.

You hum as her house burns down behind you.

Ellen purses her lips.

"Dean,"

"Yahtzee," you grin, let your eyes go bug black. She grips her rifle harder and you grin wider.

"He ain't here,"

"Didn't think he'd be stayin' in this dump anyway," You look at the shabby new Roadhouse, built right on the old remains. You have a headache throbbing in your meatsuit from the wards. "Reliable dump, though it is. Mind telling me where I can find him, though?"

She narrows her eyes.

"Gotta tell ya, Ellen," you grin at her, as she pants, lip split, eye nearly swollen shut. "You're a hella tougher than that daughter of yours,"

The way she glares at you makes you think of Hibbing, Minnesota, and that just makes you angrier and you let the hot knife go for her eye this time.

Hours later, you salt and burn her body. Your lips split, there's a bullet hole in your forehead, and the meatsuit's close to giving out. You purse your lips.

You need a new one.

The next meatsuit you use is a college boy, good looking, but an utter dork. The last one you leave to die in some back alley. You keep the car and run over Ellen's cryptic words.

You don't touch Bobby.

You're cocky, not stupid.

But you leave a clue with his dead dog, poor Rumsfield didn't see it coming.

As you drive away, humming, you think writing Howdy, bitch might've been too much.

But you can bide your time.

Sammy'll come.

You're a reckless sonuvabitch.

And you aren't?

You wake and growl, kick Meg/Not-Sam/Anne/Chloe off you.

She snarls at you, and that's all the signal you need.

You laugh as you about rip her head from her body, not caring if everyone can see you in broad daylight.

No one's going to keep you from him.

Not now, not ever.

(insert mysterious music here!) Review.