mamajamallama

Witches. WHY did it have to be WITCHES? Dean keeps asking himself this question as he trudges on through the snow. And it is DEEP snow—up and over the top of his boots even at his current 10-foot size. He shivers, not so much from the snow, though it is wet and everywhere, but from the temperature: somewhere below zero and falling rapidly as the sun sets. The winds blowing the white stuff around aren't helping, and the branches from the trees in this forest he's clomping through keep showering him with MORE snow, MORE cold, and, when they're feeling extra spiteful, cutting scarlet gashes into his raw cheeks. Parting gifts from the cove

Mid-January, 2009 Buffalo, NY Sam wakes up covered in sweat, and he groans while keeping his eyes shut, convinced he’ll see hazy waves of heat if he looks around. Either the heater is broken, or this shitty motel really IS a hellhole—literally. His eyes shoot open. Hellhole. Hell. DEAN. Sam sits up and looks at the bed beside him. It’s empty. His first reaction is relief: Dean isn’t having a Hell flashback thanks to the ungodly temperature of their room. Of course, his second reaction is worry. Where is he? Grimacing as his moist skin slides along cooling, sweat-laden sheets, he gets up and moves over to the bathroom.