(Sam Winchester)
I'm getting cold again. The breeze has dropped off so it must be getting dark. It's funny how my audience changes when the sun goes down. In the daytime it's mine workers, curious mothers with squalling babies or kids poking me with sticks until I hiss at them and they run away in terror. I always liked kids even knowing how cruel they can be.
The drunks come in the night, too tanked to realize that that's when the demons come, too. They stand shoulder to shoulder, the humans spitting out curses, the demons trying to get up the nerve to rip me limb from limb but the iron chains and the close proximity to the church keeps them all at bay.
My last sighted memory is of a demon's ass, Ruby's backside to be exact, when she turned spaded tail and ran off on her size six cloven hooves. Nice ass but she could have let me know what was coming. It's so hard to get good help nowadays. She's too afraid to come within a thousand miles of me now and I don't think she fears my 'wrath'. It's something all together different, something that's put the fear of God into her. Ha! I made another joke and I'd slap my thigh but...you know.
Since I've been sitting here with nothing to do but to listen and to think and to occasionally bark and pull on my chains like a rabid dog, I wonder where Dean is, what he's been doing since he walked out of Angel's apartment six months ago? After hooking up with Ruby again the two of us have been pretty much keeping to the shadows and out of signal range while I honed my skills as the ultimate party pooper, making hosts puke up demons like keg standing frat boys puke up beer on a Saturday night, all of it gross and disgusting.
Most of the time we can save a host but sometimes not and I just can't seem to learn to be as laid-back about it as Ruby...or even Dean. That's another reason I'm layin' it all down. Everything used to be so cut and dried for me, good and evil, black and white but now there's only gray and I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. Either way I end up damned. And I'm so tired, not just physically and mentally but spiritually, too. I'm too tired to get up on my knees and I don't remember what prayers to say or who to say them to and death sounds sweeter and sweeter to me.
As the hours pass, I plan my suicide and, in the unlikely event that La Mano de Dios is the name of some half-assed Mexican wrestler and not the walking on water demon killer these people think he is and he doesn't kill me, I need a back up plan. I'm finished as a hunter and I'll be damned if I'm gonna spend the rest of my life as a cripple. I've decided to trade in all my altruistic bull crap for a short, sweet life of wallowing in pity, then eating a gun. Now that's a plan.
I'd like to see Dean one more time before I go...what I mean is that I'd like to be with him one more time, to hug him and apologize but I'm afraid. Afraid he'll see what I've become, that essentially I spit on his sacrifice and did the one thing he begged me not to. Suddenly I'm thankful that, even if he did come, I can never see the look on his face.