killersmurff:

        He’s pulling her close, hugging her like he used to when he’d mumble about chemistry and basic law in his sleep and she’d pinch his nose shut to quiet him, back in their little Palo Alto apartment. She doesn’t remember the last time either of them laughed like that, sleepy and genuine at 2 in the morning.

        Dean tries, bless his heart. He makes jokes and faces and ridiculous noises, ruffles Jess’ hair and shoots playful punches at Sam across the seat of the impala, trying to soothe things over the way big brothers know how.

        She’s already against the warmth of his chest, base of her spine twitching with interest because he hasn’t really touched her in weeks and her body can’t help it, doesn’t realize that things aren’t like they used to be and her brain isn’t awake enough to remind it.

        But she does pick up on what he’s saying, finally and she pushes against his chest, a bitter laugh working up out of her throat.

                       ”No way. No. Screw you, Sam, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make this about you.”

        It is, in a way. She knows whatever tore their lives apart is after him, she’d been told as much when Brady razed their apartment.

                                            But it’s also not.

        Her things were there too. The only pictures she had of her father and the little stuffed elephant her Grandfather bought her on that first night after her mother abandoned her.

            Hell, technically? Her baby is there too. Might as well be.

        “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me leave, you can’t-. I can take care of myself and you can’t honestly expect me to just let this bastard go free after what he did.”

    _{sam has never really had a home. he  c a r v e d  out his childhood in the backseat of the impala, weaved in and out of schools like the obstacle courses his father made him run. his friends were his books and his mother was his brother, and that was fine. but a kid could only scrape by for so long, could only miss so much before he knows that something’s wrong, that there shouldn’t be this emptiness in his stomach, this longing in his chest.}

            _{with jess, he’d found it. in a tiny apartment in Palo Alto, in one of thousands of universities, sam had found  h o m e . and he never really realized how much it hurt to lose a home until it happened, until he found himself back on the road without his friends and without his child. and dean doesn’t understand —- can’t understand. he’s wired differently, assembled perfectly for this life. but sam isn’t, and he  w a n t s .}

    _{jess doesn’t understand either, not really. not in the way that dean doesn’t understand, but she doesn’t get that sam has already lost everything. he’s known this feeling before, though it was attached to a nameless woman and a wisp of a memory. but he can't —- he just  c a n ’ t —- and if he could trade himself for her safety, he’d do it in a heartbeat.}

                                                           _{❝ no - jess - no —- just listen to me! ❞}

                     _{sam clutches her tighter, fingertips digging into the soft fabric of her shirt. he’s grabbing at  a i r , and he knows this, but he can’t bring her to her death and he needs to make her understand.}

        _{❝ i know, jess, but we’ll get him. i swear, dean and i —-  we won’t stop until the son of a bitch is six feet under. but you’re hurt already. you’ve already gone through so much. we can do it, i know we can. i just need to know you’re  s a f e . ❞}

casontopofthechristmastree:

                   _{Altering the past has never been a good thing and that’s nto a secret for Castiel; nonetheless, he’s willing to try to warn Sam, there must be a way to stop what’s about to happen.}

                                    _{“Because I’m your friend.”}

    _{sam scoffs; he can’t  h e l p  it. his lips curl up and he chuckles darkly, shaking his head and averting his gaze. friend. right. sam can count his friends on one hand, and this dude sure as hell isn’t one of ‘em.} 

                             _{❝ and you expect me to  b e l i e v e  that? ❞}

lupusmilitis:

I stopped being me

                        such a _long time ago

                                             I don’t even remember

                                                                       ^Who that was.

casontopofthechristmastree:

                _{Castiel looks at the knife indifferently, maintaining his composure of superiority. He wasn’t expecting any less, just like with his brother Dean, but this was important.}

                   _{”You’ll come to realise that you’ll have to trust me, Sam.”}

     _{he doesn’t seem  a f r a i d , but perhaps he doesn’t know what the knife is. after all, it’s not as if every demon has the intel. and maybe this thing isn’t a demon. whatever. the knife works on anything, so sam has no cause to be nervous.}

                                        _{❝ yeah? —- why is that? ❞}

iprefertotext:

        As a child, you learn that the act of ‘sharing’ is polite, fair. In fact teachers would push it in your face even if you didn’t like to do it, you had to, without being defying. But now, that didn’t seem to matter as you got older. 

                                    Everyone was selfish. 

         Sherlock had every right to be selfish when it came to cases, to his crime scenes that he was investigating. Sharing was the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, he didn’t even like it when Lestrade’s team was there—believing that they would mess something up, distract him in some way. That’s why he stuck to just himself and John. It was less of a distraction, anyways. As for the two unnamed strangers that seemed to stalk every investigation—Sherlock didn’t know what to make of them. 

                                    But they didn’t go unnoticed. 

        It wasn’t like they were the ones who did the killings, from what Sherlock had observed by them, they weren’t the type to kill. Or at least these type of killings weren’t their modus operandi. Would be interesting if Sherlock was wrong, but when was he ever wrong? It wasn’t until this very moment, when he was actually face to face with these strangers, that Sherlock had realized they’ve killed. But…different circumstances. 
When he was grabbed, slightly irritated that the man was shooting at air? Sherlock shook his head, but stayed down. 

       ”What the bloody hell are you doing?!” Americans, he should have figured that out earlier on, but now he was giving the man a glare. “And I don’t know who you are, but you need to stop ruining the investigation…what are you even shooting at?” 

        _{hunting is in sam’s blood, but he is not genetically predisposed to deal with all the   d i f f i c u l t i e s   it carts along. there are moral qualms every once in a while, like madison and ruby and sam himself. it’s grey and fluid and fucking hard, okay? and there’s no guidebook, no special bible or gospel, except in the blood they spill and the lives they save.}

   _{and  t h i s . this is nearly impossible, because who in their right mind believes in ghosts and werewolves and things that go  b u m p  in the night? and now, he is in england and this man is with the police and none of his false identities and forged badges are going to do him any good. he’ll have to rely on himself for this, but how he is going to convince this man to leave this the hell alone remains to be seen.}

               _{❝ saving your  a s s . ❞}

                                                           _{not the most eloquent response, but it’ll do. especially while sam is waiting, ears pricked, for another sign of the spirit.  he doesn’t have long; salt can only dissipate the things for so long, and he has a feeling this spirit is strong.}

    _{❝ l o o k , i don’t really have time to explain, but you need to get out of here. ❞}

                 _{sam raises his eyebrows, reloading the shotgun. empty rock salt shells clatter against the floor, echoing in the empty building, but sam pays them no mind.}

                           _{❝ you’re in danger. trust me, man, you don’t want to be here right now. ❞}

_{i just realized that i’m so used to living in a strange old house that when things bang and thump around in other rooms when i’m home alone, i just take it as normal…}

casontopofthechristmastree:

       _{”And what if I say no? There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Sam. The only option you have left is to trust me.”}

                _{❝ oh, yeah? ❞}

      _{sam reaches for the knife on his bedside table, gripping it tightly.  he doesn’t know who this guy is, but if he won’t leave, sam will  m a k e  him.}

                            _{❝ —- you wanna bet? ❞}

_{↳ You were gone. I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you …}