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A shocked and painful yelp erupts from out beyond the tree line as the bullet fires wild from the fierce weapon Dean holds in his hands. It's a shot wide beyond range of the bottles still remaining neatly lined along the wooden fence before him. He's actually been blown backwards onto the ground, the pistol's kick having violently quaked everything, including the air now lightly breezing all about him.

Dad's shadow a few feet away overhead shakes its head and swipes a frustrated hand across a brow. Dean shuts his eyes tightly, struggling to find something sturdy and defined on which to focus. The air still vibrates with all the repercussions of his failure, while no doubt the blood of a small dying animal somewhere a few dozen yards to the south sinks into the earth.

"No! I hit those targets – I hit every single one of them!" Dean screams into the malevolent atmosphere holding him in place– "And I won't ever forget it, demonic scum!"

He tries to stare wide and with both eyes into the blue sunlit sky, but can only squint tight against a dazzle that almost overwhelms even spots where black-winged birds cast their arrow shapes haphazardly along the bright air, and where white puffy clouds ride past as if they have a destination.

Dad's face appears less as shadow and further into focus as he leans down toward him, shading the overhead glare with that of his own.

"You just can't focus, can you Dean!" Dean feels his barely open eyes start burning as if touched by hot pokers. They then start tearing like founts, completing his humiliation. His father just shakes his head in disgust as he backs away, every mood in that motion speaking of utter disappointment…

Pain, like nothing he's ever endured, comes swiftly and patently- imbedding itself through every nerve of his body. It's distracting enough to drive his ghastly thoughts away, but doesn't. Dean's teeth clench together as he forces air in and out through a face drawn tout in agony.

Dad's hand reaches for and then grips his own. Dean's then pulled upright to better feel the full irrefutable force of parental disappointment reign all down upon his skin.

"No! I hit those targets - I hit every one of them!"

"No, you're not at all near ready, son. You might never be."

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The wind picks up, in one moment blowing away all that was left of the morning's mist. Sam's eyes widen in surprise, or maybe even wonder, as they stare right straight into those of the giant-antlered buck. The whitetail's eyes are large dark orbs, staring wide right back into Sam's. Wild animals don't normally behave this way, Sam knows. After all, a large beast such as this would either be aggressive as all get up or fearful as hell of humans, especially human hunters of any kind. In any such confrontation, Sam knows better than to tangle with the likes of this strapping buck. He's not dim. Indeed, he's every bit the College Boy Dean had deemed him as these past few years on the road. However, there's nothing about this that speaks of confrontation. It's rather a tone emoting sighs of understanding…

I know…

Gold light wanders in through the leaves of trees around the wooded area surrounding the Rest Stop facilities building. There's a light warmth that suddenly arrives into the atmosphere unwarranted, and Sam takes slow expansive breaths, not wanting to halt what seems to him a surreal and possibly memorable moment. The buck just stands there before him, poised neither for conflict nor for flight. Behind him, Sam hears footsteps- likely Bobby's- though in what direction their tread leads he does not know. He cannot move, can in fact do nothing but stand there dumb and transfixed.

I know your heart…

Sam realizes this moment won't last, its fledgling intensity already dissipating with the freshness of the daybreak. There's a subtle change in the air around him, a light lift of the soft cloak shielding everything from the violent turning underneath. The buck's expression transforms from that of understanding to something almost plaintive and beseeching.

I know your heart is breaking…

There's the whisper of a sound from behind him, signifying the approach of someone else. Sam turns and looks down, straight into the smoky eyes of a small dark haired young woman. For a fraction of a moment she intently studies him, cocking her head to the side and pursing her lips.

"I was wondering if you had a light," she says, lifting a cigarette toward her lips.

Sam glances back, unsurprised to see no sign of the dark eyed buck anywhere. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his zippo and lights the smoke for the girl. His heart is beating fast and hard.

The girl's hair is in soft silky tendrils which elegantly frame her face. Her stance is relaxed, though her breath seems to be coming in short quick wisps. She momentarily gathers herself, and takes a strong steady drag from the cigarette, her eyes never leaving his face.

"You caught me by surprise," Sam tells her, lips curved in a slight smile. He's fairly impressed with himself for having recognized her.

"I did."

Sam's smile doesn't falter, even as his stomach twists and his chest constricts at the thought of getting back behind the wheel of the Impala and traveling the imminent mournful miles ahead.

Below, Bobby looks up toward him and starts walking in his direction, his eyes filled with questions.

"You know," she says, "you really shouldn't dawdle when time is of such essence, Sam."

"I know…" he answers, nodding to himself as he turns and starts walking toward Bobby. "Believe me, I know."

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