Sam had ditched you guys. For good reason you supposed; to go back to Stanford. If anyone deserved a damn out from the hunting life, it was Sam. But of course Dean was unhappy, even if he tried not to show it too much. He was quieter, didn't play music as loud, held your thigh tighter when he drove. Finally, this morning, he snapped. You'd gotten into a bit of an argument over the best thing to do about the hunt, some scarecrow in a local small-town orchard, and ended up going with Dean's plan, landing you where you were right now. The both of you tied up and about to be sacrificed to some lame pagan fertility god. As darkness settles and you get more antsy, you hear an apologetic whisper from Dean.

"M'so sorry baby."