Aftershocks for deathwontstopme.

[scalpelsplease]

Alastair stood solemn underneath the vertical neon lights of the motel. It was late, close to midnight, as he watched Dean exit his motel room and fuss around in his pocket for keys.

Dean...

The thoughts in his mind were gnarled and twisted. He missed the boy, wanted to go over there and rip the head off his shoulders so his soul would be

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[deathwontstopme]

He's tired, but he opens the door thinking it's Dean. "Dean, what-- oh. Alastair." Wary, cautious. Not afraid, because he's a Winchester and Winchesters never have the sense to be afraid of the things they should be.

[scalpelsplease]

The single light above the room door shadows Alastair's hollowed features in a husked contrast, almost embellishing his otherness.

"Good evening son. May I come in?"

Always the gentleman.

[deathwontstopme]

He should say no. He should yell for Dean, for Gabriel, for someone, something. Part of his mind is screaming at him to do exactly that, but there's an almost hypnotic compulsion in Alastair's voice.

Sam nods. "Okay." Steps aside and lets him in.

[scalpelsplease]

Nodding, Alastair crosses the threshold mentally noting any possible locations for devil's traps. Ceiling, floor, and moved rugs. Even archdemons can't be too careful about such simple matters as traps.

"So I've spoken with your brother... brothers. How many do you have now?"