Dean Winchester

Two days. Dean tried not to let it weigh on him too heavily, reserving his energy and concentration for finding a way out, but the truth was it was harder now than it'd ever been not to dwell on what was coming. Two days he ought to be enjoying, since they might very well be his last, but Dean couldn't, so he concentrated instead on acting like everything was fine.

He could see the top of Sam's head over his own book, bobbing occasionally as Sam agreed with something in the text or shaking when he did not. Dean leaned back in his chair with a smile for his brother's nerdy fervor, settling his own book down into his lap.

Now that his thoughts were elsewhere, he found that he was hungry. Hungry for a grilled cheese sandwich of all things, and not the giant burger he'd have expected to crave now. Dean had been good at those, growing up. Damned near an expert at them at the age of eight, and a good thing, too. They were easy and fast, with just enough nutrition to satisfy himself for Sammy's sake, and cheap enough to leave room in Dad's pockets for ammo. Sam had gotten okay at them over the years, but he'd never been as good at them as Dean.

"It's in the wrist," Dean said suddenly, breaking the silence of the hut. "You flip a grilled cheese just right, it keeps it hot in the middle."