goodsoldierandnothingelseā:
Sitting in the library, pouring over endless tomes, Sam was enjoying the silence. Well, relative silence, because outside the bunker a storm raged as if the earth itself was letting them know how unhappy it was that they had barely saved itā again. The smell of food wafting from the kitchen let him know that Dean had decided that, despite the hour, it was time to make a burger. Basically, all was normalā for them, at least.
The clang that filled the silence clearly came from the door. He was on his feet instantly, brow furrowed. Then came the voiceā Chuck? He looked to where Dean entered, also looking perplexed and on guard. He gave a nod of understanding as his brother motioned him ahead. One hand moved to where his gun was nestled at the small of his back, while he walked toward where they were being called to.
Ā Ā It was late, yeah, but his stomach growled persistently while he had been in his room tidying up, so after he finished that task (or at least, got to the point where he thought, āGood enoughā), he walked himself to the kitchen and began frying up a meat patty. He wasnāt sure if anyone else was awake, but with a storm raging outside, he didnāt know how they could be. But just as he was almost through with his food, making the burger just to his liking, his intention to offer up his cooking to the rest of the bunker was halted by a hardĀ bonk and some muffled shouts from what had to at the front door.Ā Ā
Licking the bit of ketchup that had come off when removing the lid of the bottle, Dean then wiped his finger on his jeans to dry it as he swiftly moved out of the kitchen and into the map room. Sam had beat him there, obviously having heard the commotion himself, and silently communicated with his brother on their game plan. It was always a little disheartening when they had to go on alert when inside their home, but that was the price they paid from being hunters and someone unexpected showed up at their doorstep.
Ā Ā Flanking Sam up the stairs, Dean also readied his gun, thumbing the safety off just in case.
the wait was pure torture, a thousand thoughts crossed the writerās mind - where they on a hunt? where they ignoring him? where they refusing to acknowledge his existence? but they seemed to like ...him, right? the other him, the big man, well - at least somewhat. he was god after all. who hated god, right? he had chuckās mannerisms down to a t, so the border between godĀ &Ā human was .. faint.Ā
they were taking oh soĀ long, the bittersweet conflict raging on within the prophet was mind-numbing &Ā the worst was that he could do nothingĀ but wait. pale arm extract from where it had wound around a trembling torso. fingers bent &Ā formed a fist to knock against that door again.Ā ācome on, guys. please.ā they .. theyād remember him, wouldnāt they? if he explained?Ā āi-i canāt get in..ā he leaned against the door, his forehead pressed against the cold metal &Ā his eyes shut. he was notĀ dressed for this game.Ā
