AN: I'd propose to you, CallMeAnonymous9, but I'm already my sister's gay husband, and she'd just gleefully foist me off on you, anyway. And how in the world can I be a good sister to her if I don't keep up my endeavors in annoying her until she finally hires a hitman to off me, completely alienating all those who came to my funeral by playing 'Can't Touch This' as my theme song, thereby confirming her place in society as 'that insensitive weirdo lady who totally assassinated her slav-I mean, sister' . . .

She would have said 'I'd rather race through the streets naked and unashamed' at the altar if she'd had the chance. And if there'd actually been an altar. But I digress. What I'm trying to say is, you are the be-all and end-all of the universe. You are, in fact, astounding. Wear your designation with pride, my friend. You deserve it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my bitter, bitter tears . . . And my fabulous hair, of course.

Summary: Sometimes killers don't want to kill, and sometimes demons don't want to be damned.

How had this happened?

Caught in a Devil's Trap by a young hunter who thought Dean was all that and an evil bag of chips. Seriously. He must be getting old.

"I told you, the knife's not gonna work on me," he said, exasperated. "I'm a Knight of Hell, lady. At least pace yourself."

"Are you giving me advice on torturing you?" the woman asked incredulously.

"You obviously need it."

"You're insane."

"No one's ever denied it."

She growled in frustration. "What kind of demon are you?"

"Told you, I'm a Knight of Hell. Are you even listening to me?"

"Who was he?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"The poor man you're possessing!"

"Oh. He was a hunter."

"Does he . . . is he aware of what's happening?" she asked, voice softening.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is."

"What'd he ever do to you?"

Dean felt his eyes widen incredulously. "What didn't he do to me? He deserves what he gets. He deserves worse."

"Why?"

"He ruined my life, lady. He hurt his brother. He couldn't do anything right."

For a moment, she stopped, confused. "You're angry because he hurt his brother?"

"I'm angry because he didn't learn to stop after the first time."

"He must have been terrible, for a demon to dislike him," she mumbled.

"Oh, he was. Sam deserved way better than what he got."

"Sam? That's his brother?"

"Yep." If the huntress hadn't known any better, she'd have said the demon was proud of this 'Sam'. But he was a demon, and so, after a brief hesitation, she disregarded the notion with a scoff. "Let me guess, Sam was a murderer or worse."

Anger flared in the demon's eyes. "He was nothing of the sort," he snapped. "He was strong and brave and good and-and more righteous than his brother ever could have been!"

The huntress seemed taken aback. "Oh, I-I . . ."

He slowly calmed down. "Don't insult him again," he muttered.

She simply nodded, still struck by his outburst,

In the end, she could say no more against his brother.

She just couldn't.

Next up: Okay, the faces and hellhounds were freaky, but now this is just getting strange.

Weird Randomness!

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Once again, the huntress had to wonder how it had ended up like this. It certainly hadn't started out this way, truly it hadn't. It had been going so well, and then . . . it wasn't.

". . . and this is Sam when he just turned two years old. Wasn't he cute? I mean, even his drool was adorable." The demon thrust the photo album into her face. "See? Look at his little blankie!" He looked down at the photograph fondly. "He loved that blankie . . ." He glanced up. "Are you looking?"

"I'm looking!" she said hastily.

The demon beamed. "Great!" He turned the page. "Now, this is when Sam was three, already putting his puppy-eyes into action." He sighed wistfully. "I remember those puppy-eyes." He glanced up again. "Are you looking?"

The huntress could have cried. She didn't even know where he got the damn thing in the first place.

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