I told Bill I needed to get some air. The inside of my baby smells so good after sleeping in the homeless shelter. Sammy always used to tease me about my attachment to her, but…fuck him. I pretty much lived my whole life in this car. I didn't have to give up a security blanket, I drive mine. That's a little fucked up, but I don't care. I mean, come on, how can you not love this sexy machine after listening to her purr?

God, I need to get laid. Wonder where the locals hang out so I can go scope some chicks. Better buy condoms first.

The section on "occult" stuff at this library fucking sucks. It's all mostly stuff about New Age Wicca, crystals, that creepy-assed Sylvia Browne woman, reincarnation, Buddhist and Hindu overviews, fairy tales and folklore. The fuck is up with that?

My internet search is coming up with bupkis; can't get past those fucking family blocks.

"Ritual breast removal" is considered porn now? Oh yeah, this is the internet I'm talking about. Of course there's boob-hacking porn somewhere out there; fucking sickos.

Dinner is chicken dumpling soup again; this time at least I can eat some of it. Not as queasy, haven't thrown up for almost five hours now. I think the….shit. Lady Demon and John are talking and they keep staring over here at me. Wonder when they'll make their move; hope it's not before Bobby shows up. Damn, now my hands are shaking again.

Did the "Christo" thing while handing towels out to the four guys staying in the beds tonight; got three new flinches this time. Shit; means I gotta watch out for five demons now. What the fuck is goin' on with this?

I might have to have non-demon dude take the other bed in the room I've been using. He's fairly normal, I think; just one of those really unlucky bastards who lost his house, job and car to the economic crisis.

Where am I? How did I get here? "AAAAGH!" No, I can't move and somethin's got me by the throat! Can't breathe! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! "HELP!" Can't….breathe, it's crushing my shoulders…..can feel my collar bones…..God, they're gonna snap unless I… "Let me go, please!" Where's Dad? What's doing this? Can't fight it, it's too strong! "Stop…please, don't do this!"

"Dean, you're having a nightmare; wake up, son." Who's that? You're not Dad, who the fuck are you, where is my dad? Why isn't he here? He's supposed to be my back-up!

"Let me go!" I have to get away from this thing or it'll fucking kill me! "LET GO!"

"You're safe now, Dean. Just wake up. Come on, that's it. Wake up now." Whoever the voice belongs to, they're rubbing my back like I'm a freakin' toddler.

The claws around my throat are easing up; feels like I can't get enough air, though. Coughing hurts like a motherfucker. Wait, that's not coughs. I'm crying? When did that shit start?

"Shhh; it's all right. Take it easy, kid." Bill sounds really worried. Okay, it's just him. I'm not…damn it. Nightmares again. Fuck. I probably woke him up.

"Can't….couldn't fight….choking..." I can't catch my breath right now; probably shouldn't try talking. What's with this mental disconnect? I can feel my body having this fucking breakdown and having trouble breathing, but I'm still, like, being all analytical about it. That can't be normal. Shouldn't I be freaking out more? Is this what an out-of-body experience is like? God, that's a lot of useless thoughts. Come on, stupid, breathe. Deep breath in, hold it, let it out. Rinse and repeat. You remember this shit, lungs. Great, now I have the hiccups. That's real sexy. Note to self: no more fucking ipecac. EVER.

I told Bill about the nightmare; didn't remember much of it, to be honest. Glossed over the part about the claws ripping my stomach open; thinking about it makes me want to vomit. Again. I just want a damn drink.

"No, Dean."

"Huh?"

"You're detoxing; the last thing you need right now is more alcohol."

Shit, I'd said that out loud? "I'm tired."

He just gives me that dad-stare. "You've been through some heavy shit the last couple days. It's understandable. Think you can get back to sleep now?"

I nod, get up and now I can't remember how to get my legs to move. Being sick fucking sucks balls.

"Come on, kid, you'll feel better in the morning."

This is embarrassing.

Roommate's awake and looking worried. "Sorry about that, dude."

"Iraq or Afghanistan?"

I can't answer, don't wanna lie anymore. Letting 'em make up their own ideas is better; I don't actually have to talk. "I'm tired, man."

Guess he accepts that; doesn't say anything else.

The ceiling has cracks in it; I can make out some funky patterns. One looks like the Hulk swinging a giant banana at a porcupine. It's kinda cool.