#chasingbadmoons

[kansaspsychicrep-blog]

chasingbadmoons replied to your post: I'm getting weird messages from one of my contacts.

Call me if you need help with anything.

Will do, John. I appreciate it.

[cognovidolorem-blog]

So it was true. John Winchester had not only wrenched himself from Alastair's table in the midst of all that chaos, but he crawled his way out of Hell, and found himself resurrected. No wonder Castor was in such a tizzy.

Alastair had been shadowing him for hours, waiting for him to set up camp for the night and bed down. John was a hunter of superior stock, a fact that never escaped Alastair-- it was a wonder he hadn't been caught, if he wasn't being tracked on his own already.

But his waiting paid off; John pulled off the highway, found himself a room and set himself up, Alastair waiting in the wings.

To every story there was a preface, every contract a preamble, and this was his. There was no greater expression than the one on someone's face when their safety was ripped away, when their defenses were penetrated and left broken.

Those silly Keys of Solomon wouldn't work on the demons that knew how to get pass them, and he just happened to be one. But John? He didn't know that.