The hunter reclined on his bed as he had the couch in the Sun Room, tray resting over his lap as he gingerly devoured the pot pie - bit by tiny bit. Dean was a Winchester with a hearty appetite... but for the past two days the idea of upping nutrients hadn't exactly been his top priority. He'd felt ill enough without eating. Just the thought of what these bastards had done to him, and all the crap that came with it; mentally tossed aside each time.

In short, the sole motive behind eating this evening was to keep the bitch smiling that hideous, artificial... weirdly sinister smile she liked flashing everywhere. And perhaps because she'd threatened to spoon-feed him.

He'd never get these freaks. Wasn't like they actually cared if he starved.