AN: Sorry for the wait. I would have put up the chapter yesterday, except the time got away from me and before I knew it, it was already time for bed. And I was sick the night before last, too, so I was still feeling the effects. My apologies.

Warnings: Language.

Summary: Horror. He was gazing right into the abyss, and you know what? It couldn't bear to gaze back at him.

A wall.

In his mind. He could feel it.

Huge and cold, it burned if he tried to touch it. Keeping things away, protecting him from himself.

Or was it others? Protecting others from himself? Protecting himself from others? Did it even matter? He wasn't sure, but the thought that no one cared didn't bother him. If every little thing that came along bothered him, he'd be dead already.

Well . . . shit. He really just said that, didn't he? Dead already. He'd laugh, except he couldn't feel his lips. Or his throat. Or his lungs . . . unless . . . was that a lung? You had to be able to know your own lungs, right? Then it was definitely his lung. One of them, at least.

He felt it cracking, that wall. Just a little bit. Just enough that a tendril of darkness came through. You'd think a crack would show light, but no. It was black, all of it. Black and bloody.

No matter. Who would care, anyway? Right now, he didn't care about much of anything.

Except a pillow. Talk about discomfort. No one checked up on him, asked him if he wanted a hug or anything. Well, he didn't. If someone asked, then it was obvious that they were the ones in need of a hug. Was he thinking too hard about this? He was, wasn't he? Stop thinking. Right now.

Dammit. There were those asshole souls again, shouting at him for . . . something . . . were they shouting? They were shouting, weren't they? He couldn't tell if he had ears. He had to have ears, right? Right? Well? Oh, forget it. Fucking ears . . .

"You lied," whispered something from out of the darkness. "You lied."

Get it through your head if you have one, pal. Everyone lies.

"Why?"

Why? Why not? Did you need a reason to lie?

"Liar," it said, and the only thing in its tone was disappointment. And insanity, of course, but mostly disappointment.

Well, thanks. Anything else you'd like to share with me?

"Angels," it said with glee.

Angels? What angels? Were there angels? With wings and halos and pure, pure light and You filth all mud and dirt and blood like a physical sin you make me sick Father's favorite creation but you're nothing you're nothing in their pure, pure voices while they look at him as if he's one grain in a desert of sand, and what does one little grain matter, in the whole?

Some wall he had there. He wondered if an archangel could feel it. Maybe, but then again . . . And there was also still the question of who gave it to him. He wanted to thank them. All that was keeping him relatively sane, the wall.

Unless he wasn't sane. Unless he was so crazy that he only thought he was sane. That could happen, right? It could totally happen.

God knows . . . wait, God? Was there a God? Was He real? He'd like to know, if He was. Say a few words to Him, after his tongue grew back, maybe "Nice world you have there. Bit cold."

Was rather cold now, actually. He'd like a blanket, and he'd complain about it, but no one was there to hear him. Well, not right then, but someone would be there soon. Not that they'd give him a blanket anyway, but at least he wouldn't suffer alone. He was absolutely prepared to curse them out, say a few things about their mothers . . . did demons even have mothers? Damn, there goes that insult.

He wanted to move, but there was something holding him down . . . tying him down, really. He couldn't tell what it was, could be chains. Or human bone. Inhuman bone? Whatever. It chafed a bit, too. Wait. Did he have wrists to be chafed? Did he even have arms? Hands? He was starting to feel a little insecure about this . . .

Fuck. Someone was screaming. They were giving him a headache, and it really didn't help that he was missing an eye and a part of his friggin' skull. Dammit.

Stop screaming.

Stop screaming. Now.

Stop- oh. Ohh, no wonder. Well, didn't he feel silly.

He'd been the one screaming all along.

Next up: In which Adam is a bird-whisperer and Michael and Lucifer are brothers instead of enemies.

Weird Randomness!

0000

Life was tough here in Sandland.

Particularly for a handsome grain called Dean. You see, Dean's mother had been washed out to sea when he was very young, leaving him with his father, John, and his brother grain, Sam.

Now, this wouldn't have had quite the impact on them that it did, except John had soon realized that Mary's death wasn't a natural one. With the help of a feisty dark-colored grain named Missouri, John discovered that what had actually killed Mary was a creature that he had only ever known as a myth . . . a Human Being.

This human being was called the Yellow-Grained Human because of the color of its outer grain. In all the stories ever told to him of the humans, John had only ever heard ones of horror. They were fundamentally evil, he'd just never really known how much.

John swore bitterly, then and there, to kill the Yellow-Grained Human.

It may have gotten away with killing other grains, but not this time. This time, it would pay.

0000

"Ow!"

His friend blinked. "Azazel? What happened?"

"I think I stepped on a piece of glass or something," Azazel muttered, peering down at his foot. The only thing he could see was sand.

Alistair sighed. "They were supposed to have cleaned this beach."

Crowley snorted. "This is why I always say you can never trust someone else to do the job for you."

0000

Yes! John had wounded the beast!

Now for the killing blow . . .

0000

Azazel tripped.

"You're being unusually clumsy today, Azazel," Alistair said, amusement curling the edges of his mouth.

Crowley shook his head. "Idiot."

0000

The Yellow-Grained Human was down! John had finally completed his mission . . . it was all over. He had done it.

He had won.

0000

"I think I sprained my ankle."

"Poor you," Crowley said blandly.

Alistair looked down at him. "You know, when you're on the ground like this, it's almost like you're groveling at my feet."

Azazel gazed up at them. "You know what a doctor would prescribe? New friends. Nice ones."

"Those are out of stock," Crowley said.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that." The words Come back to me when you find people who actually want to be in your worthless life hung in the air, unsaid.

That's it. Next time, Azazel was going on vacation alone.