03: [Video] Bark at the Moon
[The screen flickers to life unsteadily, buzzing in and out for a moment. The only visible thing is a bronze amulet swinging against black fabric accompanied by some rustling and panting. Dean's face comes into view, somewhat more haggard than usual, brow knit in worry. His cheeks are pale and his expression drawn, and his eyes are everywhere but the camera.]
...They're here.
[His voice is strained and hoarse, quieter than usual, and very clearly scared, which is so unlike the infamously cocky, arrogant, sure-of-himself Dean Winchester.]
Shit, I didn't think they'd come here. They're not supposed to come here. It's not even my freakin' time yet! I got a month left and-
[The man jumps in his chair, twisting to one side as piercing howls interrupt him. Dean shivers, glancing back at the frame and scrambling for a gun in his jacket. Yanking out the Desert Eagle and fumbling with a few bullets in his pocket, he jams them into the cartridge and locks and loads.]
They're comin' for me.
[He whispers, giving a light, somewhat hysterical laugh.]
Hellhounds on my trail, fuck - Robert Johnson wasn't kidding. Damn it, I just wish there were more hunters, or weapons, or something in the stupid fucking place.
[Dean looks over his shoulder again as frustrated growling turns into a dog's whine, and whatever it is slinks away. The terror doesn't leave his face.]
Bastards were scratching at the door and they won't leave. [Raking a hand through his hair, sporting a fearful grimace, the hunter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.] I can't...I can't leave just yet, I hafta get back to Sammy, he's fucking waiting for me and I can't waste any goddamn time!
[He slams his fist on the table, shaking the camera. The communicator itself topples onto one side and shorts out. Everything is black.]
...They're here.
[His voice is strained and hoarse, quieter than usual, and very clearly scared, which is so unlike the infamously cocky, arrogant, sure-of-himself Dean Winchester.]
Shit, I didn't think they'd come here. They're not supposed to come here. It's not even my freakin' time yet! I got a month left and-
[The man jumps in his chair, twisting to one side as piercing howls interrupt him. Dean shivers, glancing back at the frame and scrambling for a gun in his jacket. Yanking out the Desert Eagle and fumbling with a few bullets in his pocket, he jams them into the cartridge and locks and loads.]
They're comin' for me.
[He whispers, giving a light, somewhat hysterical laugh.]
Hellhounds on my trail, fuck - Robert Johnson wasn't kidding. Damn it, I just wish there were more hunters, or weapons, or something in the stupid fucking place.
[Dean looks over his shoulder again as frustrated growling turns into a dog's whine, and whatever it is slinks away. The terror doesn't leave his face.]
Bastards were scratching at the door and they won't leave. [Raking a hand through his hair, sporting a fearful grimace, the hunter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.] I can't...I can't leave just yet, I hafta get back to Sammy, he's fucking waiting for me and I can't waste any goddamn time!
[He slams his fist on the table, shaking the camera. The communicator itself topples onto one side and shorts out. Everything is black.]