Dimiann1912

Sam drums his fingers on his thigh, puffing the steam from his hot breath out and into the brisk morning air. He leans against a mossy upright log that was once a trail marker. Hunts have been slow; achingly so for a good month now, and so the boys have settled themselves into a campsite in Northern California in the depths of winter. Well, Sam has. Dean, on the other hand, wished his little brother "Good luck with that frostbite, Sammy!" and quickly motored away to a nearby motel, complete with fireplace and an angel with a trenchcoat and surprisingly warmth-filled wings. After Dean had tickled and kissed and nibbled him into a red-faced,