Dean Winchester

Dean made it at Dale's for all of two hours before the waiting got to him. He'd chosen this hideout because it was more remote than the other defendable dwellings - standing behind the line of salt at the window, Dean could see the top of the Compound roof - but after two hours of dwelling on it, he realized that Sam might think to look for him there. John might not, but those two hours also gave Dean time to think about all the tracks he might have left along the way. He'd been careful, but John Winchester was an expert at tracking non-corporeal beings. He could find one man, especially a man he knew well, on foot.

Dean allowed himself a sigh as he left the refuge behind. Dale's home had been a comfort even before he'd drawn an eight foot Seal of Solomon on the ceiling, and now it was at his back, along with most of the people who could help him. Help him or die trying, Dean reminded himself, and the thought was enough to quicken his steps up the mountainside.

The recess in the rock wall near the top wasn't deep, but it was hidden, and with his back against it Dean could hold off a foe for as long as he had bullets, and then for as long as his strength could carry him without them. It wasn't good, but he wasn't likely to find anything better. Dean knelt to draw a circle of salt, stepping into it when it was six inches thick. It would do.