Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. Spoilers about for Season 2 of Supernatural.
Disclaimer: If I'd own any of this, I'd understand the reasons behind all the episode-names. Probably.

Thank You, everyone who bothers to read these. Shared pleasure's the best pleasure...;)

There were so many juicy instances begging to be elaborated on in this episode...
How to pick only one? And manage to do something not done several dozen times?

COGITATIONS 2
214: Born Under A Bad Sign
by Sade Lyrate

Instincts and fears urge him to ignore the speed limits, force the car to get where he needs to be faster than this. If he's right (the phone line's cut), if Sam's going to kill more people...

No.

He can't lose either. Not Sam (never Sam) and Bobby's one of the few things left from the time before the evil sons-of-bitches declared a war with Jessica, Jim and Caleb's blood.

Dawn draws closer, tests the morning with long fingers, the asphalt shifting to dirt. He kills the engine and looks at the house. Can't believe how many months have passed between waking to a changed world, broken dreams, and now.

Gingerly he gets out, feels the flask in his pocket, the inherent irony of Holy Booze bleached with the seasons.

Doesn't really know what he'll do if (not)Sam's inside, wearing Bobby's entrails like jewelry.

The door opens, shotgun greets him, sharp eyes size him up.

"Was wondering when you'd show up..."

The muttered words tell him all he needs to know, all the greetings necessary, relief mutual. He nods grimly at the elder hunter as he walks up, enters the house that has never seen good days. And there's Sam, dead to the world, tied to a chair in front of the fire place.

"Seems like I worried in vain."

"You thought a demon could jump me?" There's a glimmer of laughter in the familiar eyes, skimming over the hardness. "I remember more than enough tricks to keep me alive for a while longer, Dean. And your Daddy was the only bastard I know more paranoid than me."

It's so hard to remember it's not Sam, not really, out cold, helpless. That it wasn't Sam who called him, frantic, knuckles bruised and shirt bloody. With the gun.

"Did you-"

Bobby's voice is soft as he answers, eyes dancing between the two of them.

"Not yet. Was about to start, though."

Something cold slithers down his spine, stark against the burn in his shoulder.
It feels like a death sentence on his soul, the noose ever so slightly tighter around his throat, the axe that much closer.

"Let's get to it, then."