"Huh." As Roger ran a hand seemingly innocently through his hair, he had to wonder how many times this had been done. How many souls had the demons claimed in the name of wealth, jealousy, greed, love? And how could he blame Dean for giving himself up for the last? Roger had done it himself in so many words so, so many times, and to the point where he wasn't sure what was left to give.

In the span of a second, Roger was crouched at the site. The hand that had been in his hair snapped forth violently, and the hand he produced was clutched around a clump of long, dirty blond hair. He shoved both hands -- that and the handful of leaves -- deep into the Earth and gathered some of the fallen leaves as well to shove in. He scooped the earth surrounding in to fill the gap and still quickly, once again placing himself between Dean and the crossroads.