Osdean

Poor Amy Pond

Dean Winchester had just murderd an innocent woman.

He had pondered over that scentance the entire car drive. When he jumped in his Impala, there was only one place to go. With a Supertramp anthem blaring, Dean hit the open road in rigorous search of a bar.

Dean Winchester.
Yes well that was him. Nothing much to say about a mans name. Some would argue that being a Hunter of the spernatural made you... differ from an ordinary man. Dean, however, would argue that it simply meant being able to try every burger joint in America. He was nothing more than a man, with a passion for justice, and a perpetual fear of one day turning into what he hunts.

Murderd.
What was the technical definition of murder? Obviously killing a woman would increase his odds of fitting the difinition. But did the definition have a subsection for people who killed something that was not human, but was disguised as one? Sammy would know, law school had to be useful for something.

Innocent.
Was a woman whose diet consisted of mankinds brains really innocent? She had only killed three people for their brains, but had eaten countless others from the dead bodies of a morgue. Nevertheless she had killed, and she would have killed again if Dean hadn't been there to stop her.

Lukewarm water flowed over Deans rugged hands. A sink in the mens bathroom became a pool of blood and dirt. Mindlessly he scrubbed his hands together, flinching slightly when soap suds stung a cut on his hands. The cheap soap dried out his hands, as iron comforted him. The tangy smell reminded him of the trunk of his beloved car, that was stacked with a variety of iron tools.

His attention however was not on the smell, and instead himself. He watched as his emerald eyes dialted, adjusting to the bright light of the washroom. Then as his adams apple shifted as he rememberd how the Bars front door, now had a fresh hand print on it. His gaze then slid to the stream of water pumping its way out of an old and rusting tap. The feeling as the water rushed over his hands was the same as his thoughts washed over him...

She was not an innocent.

Though Sam thought she was.

Sam. Oh my god, Sammy. He would never forgive Dean for what he had just done.

Did blood and water honestly apply here though?

Dean chuckled slightly at the irony of the blood and water dripping off his finger tips. But as quick as he escaped his thoughts, he was snatched back up.

The woman had a son.

Dean killed a boys mother.

Deans own mother had been killed, shouldve he known better?

But the woman had eaten human brains.

Saving people, hunting things right?

He hadnt even known her real name.

Amy? Was it?
Amy Pond?

It was an alias one way or another.

One way or another he promised Sam he wouldnt harm her.
Sam.

Dean shut off the tap, proceeded to stare himself up and down in a mirror. He was in the middle of a Mulan moment, where his deepest wish in the moment was so that his reflection would show who he is inside. Or perhaps a Magic 8 Ball to show him what to do next. A smirk stretched his way across his face. Who was he kidding, he knew what he was about to do next.

All of the guilt was wiped clean with a piece of fresh paper towel. After a wink in the mirror, he left all memory of his actions behind him in a trash can.

Dean walk was an approachable confidence. Shoulders back, chin raised to greet oncomers, a lazy smirk, and twinkling green eyes. It was a freckled mask he hid behind. Possibly catch a quickie in the impala, or maybe it was just a dream catcher for the emotions he's better off without.

A single beer was all he wanted. Preferably one with that white fuzz at the top, he couldnt be bothered to find out the name for it. He craved a long swig of the cooling liquid that would tilt his senses. Dean was definaty not a lightweight drinker. So maybe two would be necessary to do the trick.

Dean Whinchester needed something, someone, anything, to pull him out his thoughts and into his senses. He needed to feel instead of think.