Extreme cold. Extreme heat. Semi-mystery hallucinogens that would make anyone's brain FUBAR. You were goddamn sure they'd tried it all by now, and he still hadn't broken. Hell, his resolve was so strong, he still had it in him to fake his death and fight back.

Lady Bevell had nearly been bested, only for the man to fumble his escape at the last moment. Now, he's sitting on the stairs, leaning against the banister. His too-tall frame was hunched against the wood as he curled in on himself as best as he could. Exhaustion.

It was kind of like looking at a boxer puppy. A behemoth of a boxer puppy with the strength to toss you like a rag doll and whose palm could easily fit around your neck.

You eye the bruises forming on Bevell's neck as she slinks away to lick her wounds. Even half-high and in serious amounts of pain, Sam Winchester could pack a punch.

He really lives up to his reputation, you muse to yourself, taking a second glance at the monitor. It displayed the sight of the man who had killed gods and stronger, sitting against the stairs like the world was still ending. It was starting to look slightly pathetic, after all the fight he'd put up earlier.

You figure maybe some parts of that reputation are sensationalized.