Art Gallery: Manips, Photos, & Screencaps

Dolimir's Notes:

  • I've always depended on the kindness of friends. *g*

  • Many thanks go to Slodwick, who was responsible for eighty percent of the header. I knew what I wanted, but couldn't figure out how to make it happen. Slod is a saint for helping me out.

  • Thanks also go to Oxoniensis. I sent Signe an email and asked her if she had a particular screencap. She didn't, so she put in the dvd and sent me six to choose from. That was incredibly kind to do.

  • And many thanks go to Dayspring, who let me throw a lot of goofy ideas at her.

  • I hope the artwork enhances the story and doesn't distract from it.

    Comment to Dolimir



    "It's not safe here, baby. Come on. We'll find your Dean and daddy when we're safe, okay?"

    Dean turned so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "What?"

    "And some of us are old enough to have 'senior moments' in which we reveal who we went on the John Deere tour with."

    Bobby held out the envelope. "Between our shuckin' and jivin', kid, they gonna be paying us for your education."

    "I've been cleared for practice tomorrow, so I'm sure it's okay for me to stroll into a stadium tonight and merely wave to the crowd and cameras.

    He was still wondering that when he touched the wall in the number three position. A bronze. He'd won an Olympic medal!

    He fingered the medal draped around his neck. "Um, this is for my Uncle Bobby. He gave me the courage to try."

    "We need these in America. I'm gonna pack up Bobby and move him to the coast—any coast—and we're gonna start us a hydrofoil business. Better than a junkyard any day."

    They stood back and looked at the ancient structure. Tomorrow, they would tour the Acropolis properly, go to the museum, visit all the sites. But tonight, they just wanted to see.

    "There are symbols etched onto the stone, but they match no known ancient language. Perhaps it is the language of the angels or the demons."

    "You got my St. Joseph's medal!" As soon as Dean dragged it out of his pocket, Sam was grabbing for it.

    Sam stood on the walk in front of his—no, Grace Polanski's house.

    Jim Murphy was just adding the last touches to his sermon when he heard a truck pull into his driveway. Tucking the pages into a folder, he hurried to the front of the parsonage, knowing his visitor would be impatient and unkind to his poor door.

    "Damn, he's a big one," Bobby said with a low whistle. The picture was of the two boys standing in front of the Olympic stadium.

    "Man, this ain't Athens," Sam called as he stepped into the small airport. When he'd seen the size of the plane he had to change to in Denver, he knew not to expect much.

    Dean found himself lowering the phone and slumping against the corner of the hood, his legs all rubbery and incapable of holding his weight.

    They held the memorial service at Stanford Memorial Church.

    "I'm not a seventeen-year-old you can push around anymore," Dean grunted out. "If you wanted to keep control of me, you shouldn't have tossed me away."

    Dean contemplated Silas Kline's windmill farm. The array was the talk of the county—and not in a good way.

    He watched as the demon over the crib sliced his own wrist with his nail. Then he dripped some of the blood onto Baby Samís mouth.

    Dean waved a dismissing hand. "Anakin was a whiny bitch with too much power and too much attitude. He was only cool when he grew up to be James Earl Jones."

    Picking himself up, Dean hobbled to the edge of the road where the grass had been scraped away during construction.

    How had—he counted quickly—three other people sneaked up on him?

    "I got out the cross and tossed it into the gathering of demons. It started burning them."

     

    "Watch out, China, the Brothers Winchester are gonna kick your ass!"

     

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