Who? Winchesters & Azazel What? DEPERILIZATION of Mary Winchester. Possibly a mild smackdown on Az. Where? Some weird doorless/windowless building the creepy demon found. When? DARKTIME. Rating? I WOULD SAY PRETTY HIGH.
Dean parked the Impala almost a block away from the address Sam had given him. The engine was loud - he didn’t want Azazel to get suspicious, if he was in there. If they had any kind of advantage, he wasn’t going to be the one to cause it to be blown out the window. He could see the building from here, though, even though it was dark it was lit enough by the orange streetlights for him to see there was no sign of his brother or his father - he’d gotten here first.
There was a tremor in his hands that didn’t seem to want to go away, the kind that made him nervous for more than the reasons that were causing the shaking to begin with - how was he supposed to be any use like this? He was glad no one was here with him to see this, to see him falling apart like this. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, letting his head fall back, and then forward to rest on the steering wheel, trying to breathe through the ice in his lungs, trying to banish the cold sweat on his skin.
He pulled himself out of the car, if not together, and moved to the trunk. It took a few tries to get it unlocked, keys slipping and missing the hole and he swore under his breath in a voice that sounded like it was stretched thin, like it was going to break and disappear. Finally getting it open, he started rummaging around inside - he had a couple of axes in there, and he pulled them out, busied himself checking them for damage, for dulled edges, anything that would keep them from getting in to Mom in time...
...she could be dying right now.
The axe fell out of his hand, into the trunk, and he ran both hands across his face, leaned against the car and tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t do this if he was freaking out, he’d just end up getting someone hurt, getting Mom killed if she was even alive now. He didn’t want to wait any longer, but he couldn’t go in by himself, and he just, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do (and he knew exactly what he wanted to do, knew exactly what would calm him down or at least amp everything other than the panic up so that he wouldn’t even notice it, blood on his hands again but he couldn’t do that here, not now not yet, soon).