Tonight. Nine oβclock. Open your window and listen hard. There is a plaintive sound fluttering swiftly through the night, as chilling as a winter storm. What is it? The cry of some nocturnal creature? Or the mournful call of the wind in the trees? The answer is neither. It is the collective, anguished wail of the Supernatural fandom, bawling out in unison as βCarry On Wayward Sonβ begins to play.
















