moonywerecat

 A.N. Just a quick short chapter before I go on to the next. I like short chapters, honestly. Sandy was holding a picture of him. Well, specifically a picture of Dean Winchester, leaning against the hood of the Impala, a rolled up paper bag like a cigar clenched in his teeth, holding his sawed-off against his hip like a gangster. They had been in a motel parking lot, somewhere in Illinois, and Castiel had become fascinated with taking pictures. Dean had humored him with a pose or two before becoming annoyed with Castiel's desire to photograph his feet, hands, and eyes endlessly. He remembered the last frame had been a shot of him sleeping,

 A.N. I really wanted to jump back into the swing of things, but im not gonna :P Dean opened his eyes. He was in bed again, the covers pulled up over his waist. His head felt clear, all signs of buzzing or ringing gone. Actually, he felt pretty good.  He sat up and stretched, looking around. Nothing looked disturbed. A dream? "Jesus," Dean shook his head. Dean really wasn't much on dreams, unless they'd involved hot chicks or apple pie… or maybe hot chicks with apple pie… but this bullshit? He remembered the voice speaking to him through the explosions in his head… He couldn't pin down anything definite about the voice, n