random starter with @carriedatlas !

it’s amazing that she’s able to stay this silent for this long. it’s not like she doesn’t have questions. it’s the fact that she has so many to ask. it’s not everyday that your dead dad comes from another universe. a crease appeared between her eyebrows, taking a sharp breath. harper didn’t know where to start.   ❝ i don’t know where to start. i mean, i have so many questions and i just don’t know what to ask.  ❞

she used to be so little.      that’s how he remembered her:      tiny smiles and hands that would immediately reach up for him when he got home,       giggle fits that would last for hours with but a poke to her side.      in his universe that was gone,      she was gone.      she and her mother both taken from him in one night he loathes to remember but ceaselessly has nightmares about it,      waking in cold sweat screaming,      almost able to reach them in his dreams,      arms out as if to gather them in and place himself between them and their attacker,      but they are always gone when he wakes,      ghosts to him all over.

he’s lost so much,   and everyday had been a blame game,  who he could pin it on next:   he could blame others,  could place all of it perhaps directly on sam but that had been short-lived because the pair of them were responsible for this.  and dean refuses to believe it had been inevitable,   he’d never.  instead it focus on him,   on his brother,   the vessels of two of the most powerful beings—   one of them inside of sam.   he’d never known his brother to give up so he again refuses to think that’s what happened.   a never-ending cycle of what if’s &  what could’ve beens.  the losses were staggering and among them some part of him he thought completely irreparable until her,  until he carried her into his camp.

no longer fully intact,  it never would be,          “  something was broken in him  “  and there was no rectifying it,   no way of undoing it,  the world would never be the way it was even if he does manage to kill lucifer;  a losing battle it was,  a mere mortal man standing against the maker of hell.  in his head,  he knew it was a kamikaze mission from the moment he set out to take on an impossible task.  some part of him wants to survive though,  wants her to survive,   needs her. an immediate feel for her,  she’d lost her siblings   &   he’d lost his,  the same pain reflecting when he’d found her and he’d been her visitor every day until he had become such a routine,    until they’d formed something unbreakable even with the bounds of death taking both of them.

hand releases her arm,  trails his fingers down her arm featherlight,   body blocking the view of it,   the fearless leader had no weakness—-   only he did,  he was human,  index curls around hers.  the whispered words are from his lips,  his thoughts  not his intended words which would’ve been,   “ be careful,  y’hear me?   “   instead,   𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎.      she’s right to question it and he blows out a sigh,   malachites flickering to the supply part before they go back to her,  always back to her.  it strikes his stomach,   fights the urge to be selfish and keep her here,          ❝     I…       ❞             there is no good answer to this,  he can’t force her to stay,  he shouldn’t,  its a weighted decision, one that goes without many words,  only a clench to his jaw,  a flutter of his eyelids before he speaks again,          ❝   if y’er gonna go,   I’m goin’ too.     ❞    

not a lot of people understood what they’d both been through:      the loss that tore them apart bit by bit.      her brothers were everything to her,      three years her senior but her best friends for as long as she could remember and she lost them both in a day.      those moments burned into her forever.      the flash and unnerving sound of the gun she’d taken from her oldest brother and their blood staining her hands still keeping her awake some nights,      waking her in a cold sweat others.      meeting dean when she did was,      in a way,      a blessing in a world absent of such things.      he understood her in ways she knew others couldn’t,      or maybe they did but hadn’t been quite as sympathetic toward her for it because they had all lost something.      they didn’t let their eyes speak to their past like dean did with her,      had the same pull.      she and dean were two sides of the same coin trapped in an endless cycle of misfortune and they were each others support through it all,      one another their anchor,      someone that keeps them sane if such a thing could be possible anymore.

which is why when he stopped her,      said what he did,      it was so easily understood why he couldn’t just let her go.      not only had she not been past the gates since her arrival,      but the world now is a dangerous place,      perhaps more so since she had last been out in it,      and from stories she’s heard runs hardly went well.      but allison can’t live in fear much longer and she knows it,      can’t let what happened a few years ago keep her from pulling her own weight and doing something more,      so she had agreed to go despite the unsettling feeling that still grows even now in the pit of her stomach.