"Just roll," said Dean, too short and too rough, but with his eyes blazing into the darkness beyond their shelter, he couldn't keep the desperation from his voice. Adele was bleeding and in pain, and in spite of all his training to do better than a hunter's patch up job, he still couldn't help her, not without proper lighting and a table.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "I think we're better off guarding the perimeter," he told Trixa. "If we finish the game, he goes away." And then no one had to shoot his father.