TTOL: The Trials of Logan

A+ guess on the name! You got it on the first try.

No one needs trials like this more than our favorite little punching bag, Logan Guthrie, antagonist of Bowman of Wellwood. An all-around unpleasant man.

Bobby looked away from Dean and Logan, turning a blind eye to whatever they did. “Want some help getting that blood out?” he offered Sam, sizing up the splotch and the dark spot around it from Rumsfeld’s saliva.

Sam glanced at it. “Sure. I’m kind of running low on jackets, anyway. We don’t exactly have a supply of them…”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Bobby assured the kid as he held out his hand. Once Sam was with him, they left the kitchen with Rumsfeld close behind, leaving the other pair to their own devices.

Dean stared at the jar in his hand with an assessing gaze, looking over the man inside. From their last encounter, time had not been kind on Logan. His clothing was showing wear and his hair was a mess. A trip to the barber wouldn’t be out of the question, either.

By contrast, even directly after a hunt, Dean’s hair was spiked and his jacket in pristine condition. His jeans were ripped by his thigh, and his boots had some dirt caked to the bottom. Despite a few frays, it was a far cry from Logan’s tattered appearance.

“I think we can do better than that,” Dean said dryly, flipping the jar upside down.

December 13th excerpt:

To say that Lestrade was bemused by all this would be an understatement. Now he was holding up two fingers. Evidently he couldn’t lift his middle finger as high as Dean wanted it independently, so the first one hovered just behind and above Dean. And while Lestrade was far from matching Dean’s level of drunk, his own whiskeys encouraged him to have a little fun.

Lestrade let his index finger curl in to gently settle on Dean’s head, mussing the teeny spike he’d styled it into.


Artwork by @mogadeer!

September 3rd excerpt:

Jacob was greeted by the sight of a man in a leather jacket and jeans, hair in a casual spike and fierce green eyes. It had to be the very same Dean Winchester he’d talked to the day before.

Jacob could have sworn he saw a quick motion on Dean’s chest, ducking out of sight near the pocket there. Holy shit, he briefly thought, and willed himself not to glance directly at the pocket. Bowman had mentioned that if Sam wasn’t on a shoulder, he rode in a pocket. Either Jacob had tricked his own eyes, or someone was hiding there even know.

October 24th excerpt:

All his meandering thoughts were cut off when he saw Dean burst out of their front entrance, shoving the block of wood that served them as a ‘door’ out of the way in a rush. Sam skid to a halt, then couldn’t stop from snickering at Dean’s disheveled appearance. Even the spike in his hair was crooked.

“Dude!” Dean hissed, just as aware of the humans sharing the room adjacent to them. “What the hell! Where’ve you–”