Sam feels wrung out, like he can’t even summon one last drop of emotion about this latest failure. Instead, he watches, numb, as Jack’s chest rises and falls at increasingly ragged intervals.
It feels like sitting across from Dean in a ratty motel room as the clock wound down, two days from the end, already imagining the way a hellhound’s claws would sound on the linoleum. It feels like demon blood in emptied-out milk cartons and the Horsemen’s rings digging into his palms.
Inevitable. Permanent.
Except not really, because neither of those endings had ever really been the end. Sam can’t help but think that this really is it.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Rowena says.
Dean and Cas have long since vanished into another corner of the bunker. Sam can’t help but think that his brother is looking for one of the bottles of ridiculously expensive whiskey that Crowley stashed in various weird places around the bunker. As for Cas—well. He hopes he’s going to angelically clean out Dean’s liver afterwards.
“No, wait.”
She pauses in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe. Sam has been meaning to talk to her for weeks now, but things have been a bit crazy lately. This time is as good as any.
In case anyone missed it (or was waiting), The Apple Pie Life is now complete. If anyone desperately wants to read about what Dean would do in his retirement from hunting, @grey2510 and I took a stab at it. And because I want to coax you into giving it a chance, here’s the first bit of chapter one.
If nothing else, Dean Winchester was decisive. Stubborn, some might say, but they weren’t him and he was the one telling the story, dammit. And when Dean Winchester—after saving the world for the bagillionth time even though it still just kept getting more and more fucked up and the job became more and more thankless—decided, screw it, I’m opening a damn coffee shop, that’s exactly what he did.
“You’re opening a coffee shop?” Sam sputtered. “What?!”
“You got it. Maybe one of you will finally learn how to make a decent cup of joe.”
Cas frowned. “You said you liked when I made you coffee.”
Dean considered this. “Alright, Cas, you get a pass. You ain’t bad. But there’s always room for improvement, right?”
“I suppose.” Cas seemed less than convinced but he didn’t argue the point (and Dean knew him well enough to know that wasn’t the same as Cas giving in, but he was gonna take the win while he could).
Sam still looked like the human equivalent of an Error 404 message. “Hold on—so you’re just gonna quit hunting and be a barista?”
“Small business owner, fuck you very much. C’mon, Sammy, that’s like the American Dream.”
“Since when have—”
Dean waved him off, jangling the keys to the shop in front of him. “Whatever, time’s a-wastin’. We gotta get this place up ‘n runnin’ before it opens next week.”
“Next week?”
Dean sighed. Maybe he should consider hiring better employees. Or maybe he should start with telling Sam and Cas they were employees. Well, Cas at least. Sam shouldn’t be let anywhere near foodservice.
Today at my school we had an assembly about internet predators and when I had said that most of my true friends are over the internet and they gave me a lecture about how “I don’t know who I’m talking to” blah blah. So please, if you aren’t a predator in any way, please reblog so i can prove a point.
If you don’t reblog this, then I am honestly very concerned.
everytime i see this im gonna reblog it and weed out my pedo followers
I’ll reblog it.
Not a sexual predator. I am infact
And don’t want sex with
ANYBODY!
I ain’t a pedo/map/nomap or whatever they call themselves and they all deserve to burn in my opinion
I get this lecture too and I’m sick of my “friends around the fucking world” being used as ammo in an argument.
Karate, SPN Demonic Octopus Guardian 