Work Text:
A shadow glides quietly along the walls of the bunker, shaving the furniture silently while continually approaching its prey.
A rictus.
Hands rise slowly, so as not to alarm the poor victim, only a few steps away, after several hours of slow advance towards revenge.
Sam Winchester, Devil’s vessel, great hunter, and many other rather impressive things, collapses in a loud noise of
overturned
chair and body falling to the ground under the power of the cast iron stove shot received at the back of the skull.
The attacker now stands in front of the
unconscious
figure, fully visible satisfaction in the gaze as a whisper is heard:
- You shouldn’t have taken the last piece of pie Sammy …