𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐘

“ absinthe makes the heart grow fonder or maybe that’s the smiths? who knows —-  trying not to questions the haze. ”

..

poor  taste  in  alcohol  and  in  music  is  a  lethal  combination.  he  simply  winces  sympathetically,  finishing  off  a  can  of  the  bar’s  specialty  craft  beer  and  motioning  for  the  bartender  to  bring  him  another.  “  absinthe  and  the  smiths,  huh  ?   heh,  and  i  thought  my  night  was  bad. ”

“ I would apologise for my analytical ambush, but i know i will soon be apologising again and you’ll tire of that eventually, —- so i have to consider using apologies sparingly. ”

..

“  unless  you  start  apologizing  for  apologizing, i  think  we’re  good. ”  he  eyes  the  angel  skeptically,  wondering  when  cas  had  gotten  so  formal  again.  he  was  always  a  little  more  ...  REFINED  than  the  rest  of  them  but  this  was  a  bit  much  even  for  him.   “  you  feeling  okay  ? ”

the antics of a drunk weren’t something of uncommon in any town and bobbyd  had been witness to it his entire life. he figured if the guy didn’t back off he would have kicked his ass, before someone steps in. the voice registers in bobby’s ears immediately and he looks away from the man to indeed see sam sliding into the other side of his booth. an older sam than he remembers, with hair that’s a bit longer too. it makes him worry about what’s going on more and wonder if this wasn’t as much of a pleasant surprise as he immediately thought. 

“sam?” he asked, holding back the other million questions that he had for a moment. if anyone in this place had figured anything out about it yet, it would be him, if it truly was him. a brief pause after the question hung in the air before bobby reached into his pocket to pull out a silver bullet and held it out to sam. “i suppose you know what to do with that.”

as the atmosphere of the diner quiets down again, bobby asked the waitress for an extra cup for the pot of coffee in front of him for sam. his flask, full of holy water laced whiskey rested in his pocket in wait for his second test. it took until this point to notice the sort of tense demeanor of sam’s. if he somehow was an older version of sam, what had happened to him since the time bobby last had seen him? “how long have you been here?”

..

he  takes  the  bullet  without  hesitation.  they’ve  all  been  through  this  song  and  dance  enough  to  know  the  routine;  silver,  and  holy  water.   for  good  measure  he  tugs  the  collar  of  his  shirt  down  to  expose  the  mess  that  is  his  chest.   his  anti-possession  tattoo’s  still  there  but  it’s  tattooed  over  scarred  skin;   the  only  evidence,  reminder,  of  the  demon  who’d  sliced  through  the  original  and  taken  him  for  a  joyride.   once  he’s  toyed  the  bullet  between  his  fingers  long  enough  to  confirm  he’s  not  hurt  by  it,  he  passes  it  back  and  gestures  for  the  flask.   “  yeah. ”   he  confirms.  “  i  know. ”    

once  he’s  sipped  from  the  flask,  confirming  he’s  clean,  he  passes  it  back  over.   knowing  he  can’t  be  safe,  he  motions  for  bobby  to  drink  too.   “  just  to  be  safe. ”   he’s  getting  paranoid  in  his  age.   he  seem  more  of  bobby  in  himself  these  days  than  he  ever  did  before.   “  a  couple  weeks  now.  i’ve  been  staying  at  the  prestige. ”   despite  its  name,  the  place  isn’t  much  to  look  at;   run  by  some  kid  who  looks  scared  of  his  own  shadow,  but  it’s  cheap  and  it’s  somewhere  quiet.   he  can’t  ask  for  much  more.   “  something’s  not  right  here,  bobby. ”   like  you  being  here,  he  wants  to  say,  but  he  can’t  bring  himself  to.   not  yet.   “  i  saw  jo  harvelle  last  week. ”  

[ @resilientsovl· - sam winchester ]

      “i want to say i’m glad to see you-” the brunette says with a lopsided smile, taking in the familiar face. “but if you’re here that means i’m damn sure we’re in trouble.” 

..

he  can’t  help  but  laugh.  she’s  not  wrong.  where  the  winchesters  go,  trouble’s  not  long  to  follow.  “  trouble  or  not,  i  am  glad  to  see  you. ”   what  surprises  him  is  that  the  words  ring  true.  he  hasn’t  seen  her  in  years,  not  since  before  the  wedding,  and  to  see  her  in  one  piece  —  IT’S  A  RELIEF.   “  what  are  the  chances  you’ve  already  figured  all  of  this  out  ? ”

She can feel her heart beat faster when he turns around, just like it always did when he got home from class… But there was something off. Why her dream had presented him to her like this? She had no clue… Unless it was just a coincidence, and this stranger only bore a resemblance to her Sam. He just… He looked more like him than the brother that had turned up out of nowhere just a couple of days ago, so how coincidental could it be? Compared to her Sam this one was all muscles and hair. ( and maybe those were crows feet at the corners of his eyes — was that a grey hair? )  She couldn’t just stand here staring at him though, so she took the situation at face value. This was her dream after all as weird as it was - and then the way that he ground the palms of his hands into his eyes? That was all the evidence that she needed. She’d seen her Sam make that exact movement on a hundred other nights after long study sessions. She can only smile at him, relieved that in the midst of this strange dream she has a friendly face in front of her. “I know that,” She’s still smiling even as she speaks, “I know it’s not real.” Of course it wasn’t. She was dreaming, and she couldn’t wait to wake up and tell her Sam all about this one. Assuming he made it back in time for his interview… But for now she had this Sam, and this strange lucid dream, and it only made sense to ask him for help. “I think I need to figure out how to get home… Will you help me, Sam?” She asked, lettingher fingers fall from his shoulder, trailing down his arm while she reached to hold his hand. “Please? I’m lost, I think… I was trying to call you but my phone won’t work.”

..

he’s  not  twenty-two  anymore.  age  has  become  more  of  a  suggestion  than  a  value  these  days;  it  has  to  when  you  die,  get  displaced,  or  lose  control  of  yourself  for  undetermined  amounts  of  time.  he  can’t  even  go  by  the  year  he  was  born  because  somehow,  with  little  explanation  as  to  why,  he’s  been  punted  back  in  time.   looking  at  her,  however,  he’s  never  felt  more  thirty-something  than  he  does  right  now  ...  so  far  removed  from  the  person  he’d  been  when  they  lived  together  in  that  tiny  apartment  in  palo  alto. 

for  a  long  time,  he  knew  this  life  wasn’t  what  he  wanted.  he  wanted  the  dream;  white  picket  fence,  perfect  girl,  with  a  ring  shoved  at  the  back  of  his  sock  drawer  and  money  already  squirrelled  away  for  the  church  deposit.  he  saw  it  all  so  clearly  then,  knew  what  he  wanted  and  would  do  anything  to  make  it  happen.   he  knows  better  now,  knows  he  never  really  had  a  shot  at  an  apple  pie  life.   he’s  made  peace  with  it.   even  if  he  could  be  normal  now,  leave  hunting  behind,  he  wouldn’t;  it’s  so  ingrained  in  his  being,  in  who  he  is,  that  there’s  no  going  back  now.    he  does  however  regret  the  people  that  got  hurt  along  the  way.  the  jessica’s,  the  sarah’s,  the  natasha’s;   the  people  he  loves  and  who  got  hurt  because  they  loved  him  too.   this  might  not  be  real  but  that  doesn’t  mean  he  can’t  indulge  himself  for  a  moment.   maybe  two.   

“  yeah.  i  —  of  course,  jess. ”   the  answer’s  automatic.  of  course  he’ll  help  her.   he  owes  her  that,  in  the  least.  what  surprises  him  however  is  the  contact;   it  feels  real.  he  can  feel  the  weight  of  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  then  her  fingers  tangling  with  his  own.  hallucinations  aren’t  this  tactile.  they  shouldn’t  be.   either  he’s  really  lost  it,  or  this  is  —  somehow  —  real.   “  we’re  not  in  california  anymore. ”  he  says  slowly,  testing  out  the  waters.  “  this  is  reprieve. ”   a  city  that  asks  more  questions  than  it  answers.  “  it’s  —  a  lot  of  time  has  passed,”   since  you  died,  “  since  we  last  saw  each  other.  i’ve  got  a  new  number. ”   even  if  this  is  just  a  hallucination,  if  it’s  not  real,  he'll  spare  her  the  gory  details  of  her  last  moments.  

( — @resilientsovl· )

Falling into a routine again has been simple enough. After some well deserved hiatus, Tom decides to arm himself up and get out of his house to do some patrolling. If there’s one thing he knows is that there is always someone who needs saving. There are plenty of hunters roaming around, but still he feels he needs to try and help the lives that would often slip through the cracks. Like Jane once did. Perhaps if there had been someone there to help them she’d still be alive. He keeps telling himself this as if the mantra would magically make the pain go away. And yes, he did go through the stages of grief, but once he landed on anger he refused to let go. Accepting what happened and moving on feels - wrong. Might not make a lot of sense but Tom believes that accepting the fact that Jane is dead and simply moving on would be the same as forgetting her. And he needs this. Needs to do this. Needs to put a stake through a vampire’s heart and watch as their bodies turn grey. IS the only way he knows how to keep her alive. 

It’s why he finds himself walking alone on this particular evening. The night seems fairly quiet, but as he walks by the alley of one of the local bars he can hear almost inaudible screams. Tom’s instincts take over from there, rushing into the alley but his footsteps are quiet against the pavement as he tries to maintain some form of surprise, pummeling into the short looking vampire that’s eating some random bikini top clad woman. She’s at least smart enough to immediately back away and get the hell out of the alley.  Not even a thank you or anything. So drunk that she stumbles on herself on her high heels in her haste to put as much distance between her neck and the vampire. The Napoleon sized vampire is not exactly all that troubling though the complex that goes with his size starts to become a nuisance.

The vampire gets a few solid punches in, but after a few more blows and he’d be able to stake the bastard. Just needs to get the upper hand somehow. He raises his arm and lets his fist quickly fly through the air in the direction of his opponent’s face, but he soon feels himself being thrown to the ground. The force of the concrete against his torso knocks the wind out of him. The weight of the creature crushing him but suddenly the vampire stops moving. Someone had managed to stab him in the heart from the back. 

Dead weight.

“Get off me.” He breaks the silence, pushing the now dead vampire away from him and on the pavement. When he stands he sees him standing there, stake in hand. Deja vu. “Damn it Sam, I had that one under control.”

..

he’s  seen  people  use  the  job  as  an  unhealthy  coping  mechanism.  hell,  the  winchesters  are  some  of  the  worst  for  it  so  he  really  can’t  say  much.  so  he  doesn’t.  everyone  has  their  why,  the  reason  they  started  hunting,  and  it’s  not  his  place  to  tell  them  why  they  shouldn’t.  not  anymore.  (  once,  he  would  have.  he  would  have  said  the  people  they  loved  wouldn’t  want  this,  that  they’d  want  them  to  move  on,  have  normal  lives,  and  find  some  kind  of  happiness  ...  but  he  knows  better  now.   now  he’ll  help  them;  make  sure  they  don’t  end  up  as  just  another  cautionary  tale  to  tell  the  next  generation  of  hunters  to  teach  them  how  to  be  better.  )

he  met  tom  a  few  weeks  back  on  a  routine  hunt.  in  a  town  crawling  with  supernaturals,  it  wasn’t  hard  to  find  someone  causing  mayhem.  while  some  of  them  seemed  to  be  playing  nice,  staying  out  of  trouble  and  not  hurting  anyone,  for  every  good  supernatural  creature  there  were  five  bad  ones.  reprieve’s  been  no  exception.   he’d  been  sitting  on  a  vampire  den,  watching  carefully  to  get  an  idea  on  their  numbers,  when  he’d  seen  a  couple  kids  get  dragged  in.   they’d  reminded  him  of  alex,  of  what  her  ‘  family ’  had  done  to  her  ...  and  admittedly,  he’d  gone  in  guns  blazing  without  much  of  a  plan.   he’d  met  tom  on  the  inside,  ripped  him  away  from  some  vamp  seconds  before  they  could  sink  their  teeth  in.   his  blade  severed  their  head  from  their  torso  but  he  took  a  nasty  cut  to  the  side  for  his  troubles.   tom  stitched  him  up,  they  compared  notes,  and  while  he  wouldn’t  exactly  say  he  treated  him  to  hunting  101  ...  he  made  sure  he  knew  enough  to  handle  whatever  might  get  thrown  at  him.   he’s  got  enough  dead  hunters  on  his  conscience  between  michael  and  the  demon  that  took  him  over;  he  needs  to  save  everyone  he  can.   he  has  to.   

today  however  he’s  wondering  if  maybe  he’s  not  the  best  teacher,  sighing  as  the  stake  dipped  in  dead  man’s  blood  pierces  the  vampires  heart.  “  uh  huh.  sure  you  did. ”   he  retracts  his  stake,  wiping  it  on  the  back  of  his  jeans  before  shoving  it  back  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  jacket.  “  you  punch  werewolves,  not  vampires.   they’re  stronger  and  they’re  faster.  you’re  lucky  you  didn’t  break  your  hand. ”   all  the  same,  he  offers  a  hand  up  to  help  him  up.   he  likes  tom,  even  if  he  does  give  him  a  hard  time.     

       after a few days of finding no solid information about this city or how the hell to get out of it, he was starting to wonder if crowley had somehow killed him in his sleep and remodeled hell. with others seemingly concerned about their presence here, this being a distraction from the lead he had found on fergus macleod was becoming far more unlikely. so far, he had built up some semblance of a weapons arsenal and demon proofed his place. times like this he wish he could run into enough cash to rebuild his panic room. 

       but alas, he had to fruitlessly come out from the books from time to time to be among the public. at least the cheap diner food seemed normal. sitting in a booth had seemed like a surefire way to keep the others that he didn’t trust away from him, coupled with his surly appearance. small talk had fallen to the wayside from what he could tell, with everyone’s conversations centering around worried whispers about where they were to others insisting they’d lived in so-called reprieve their whole lives.

      whatever it was that was going on here, it wasn’t good. when he saw someone out of the corner of his eye as he read the newspaper with his cup of coffee pause a little bit too long near his table, his hand twitched toward the silver knife holstered to his belt which was hidden by his flannel. turning his eyes toward the intruder, his words spill out before he can even be sure they meant to stop by him. “can i help ya?”

..

the  diner’s  nothing  special.  decent  grits,  cheap  coffee,  and  wait  staff  that  know  when  to  make  polite  chit  chat  and  when  to  leave  people  the  hell  alone.  with  his  monosyllabic  responses  that  could  rival  john  winchester,  though  softened  with  a  twist  of  a  smile,  he’s  usually  left  to  his  own  devices  as  he  circles  oddities  in  the  paper.  the  whole  city’s  an  oddity,  so  it’s  a  bit  redundant,  but  staying  busy  keeps  him  sane.  

he’s  halfway  through  the  morning  crossword,  trying  out  different  five  letter  words  for  ‘without  success’,  when  he  catches  movement  out  of  his  peripheral.  one  of  the  regulars  is  stumbling  in  drunk,  probably  trying  to  sober  up  before  he  heads  home,  and  he’s  picked  the  wrong  person  to  tussle  with.   most  of  the  usuals  just  ignore  the  man  now,  know  his  antics  well  enough  not  to  engage,  but  it’s  a  learning  curve  for  newcomers.   he  emphasizes  and  decides  to  help  them  out,  only  to  clam  up  when  he  sees  bobby  snarling  at  the  man.   bobby  who,  last  he  checked,  was  off  with  jody  somewhere.   how  he  got  stuck  in  reprieve,  looking  more  like  their  bobby  than  himself,  is  anyone’s  guess;   he  can’t  help  but  stare.   

“  that’s  my  booth. ”  reggie’s  slurred  speech  reminds  him  that  he  was  going  to  act,  rising  to  his  feet  as  he  comes  up  from  behind  the  man.   he’s  got  six  inches  on  him,  easy,  and  he  knows  reggie’s  not  about  to  start  throwing  punches  again.   it  didn’t  work  out  so  hot  for  him  last  time.

“  you  can  take  mine. ”   sam  suggests,  not-so  gently  nudging  the  man  over  towards  his  table.   he’s  barely  touched  his  food  so  it’s  no  skin  off  his  back  if  the  man  wants  to  pick  at  it.  at  least  it  won’t  go  to  waste.  he  grabs  his  bag   and  paper,  moving  over  to  bobby’s  table  and  sliding  in  across  from  him.   he  has  the  decency  to  look  chagrined,  knowing  that  things  are  always  a  little  ...  terse,  with  them;   they  look  at  bobby  like  a  father  figure,  even  if  he’s   N  O  T   the  same  man,  and  it’s  a  ...  complicated  dynamic.  to  say  the  least.  he’s  torn  between  apologizing,  or  wondering  how  bobby’s  made  it  here,  but  it’s  just  —  nice,  to  see  a  familiar  face.   one  he  trusts  isn’t  a  hallucination.  the  twenty  questions  can  wait.  “  trust  me  ...  you’re  better  off  with  me  than  that  guy. ”

@reprievestarters· Jo had been raised to expect the unexpected in life. Monsters were real, it was real fun to take ‘em out, and always make sure you check under your bed, in your shower and in your closet before you hit the pillow that night. However, nothing had quite prepared her to become Alice in Wonderland and find herself sucked out of her reality and promptly plopped into this one. She spent a few days feeling relatively frazzled, but once she got the lay of the land, she took it in stride. After all, that was what Harvelles did…even if it did suck not knowing where you were, what was happening, and not seeing a single familiar face whatsoever. She stayed on alert, a few knives on her person and her pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, and took a step back to observe rather than try to interact right away. However, there was one familiarity she could find comfort in no matter where she went, and here was no exception: cheap beer and crappy bar food. Cheese fries were usually her devil of choice, and by damn they were good. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after taking a drink from her glass, she felt eyes on her from the side, and she glanced over at the other beside her. “If you buy me another plate of fries, I’ll even let you stare up close.”

..

he  doesn’t  mean  to  stare  but  lately,  it  seems  like  his  hallucinations  are  becoming  more  and  more  vivid;  first  jessica,  now  jo.   she  looks  exactly  as  he  remembers  her  too,  like  you  could  have  ripped  her  from  his  memories  and  plunked  her  down  in  front  of  him.   that’s  what  hallucinations  are  though,  aren’t  they  ?  conjurations  of  the  mind  ?   of  course  she  looks  how  he  remembers  her.   he  manifested  her.   

he’s  picking  away  at  some  pasta  dish,  dragging  his  fork  through  the  crunchy  bits  at  the  bottom,  when  he  hears  the  familiar  voice.  he  smiles,  lips  twisting  into  a  half-smile.  she  might  not  be  real  but  she’s  just  like  the  girl  he  remembers.   he’s  missed  her.   “  heh.  you  know  that  stuff’s  not  good  for  you. ”   he  plays  the  game  even  though  it’s  —  delusional,  really.   he’s  conversing  with  a  figment  of  his  own  withdrawal-induced  imagination.   he’s  so  far  from  the  shallows,   he  can  practically  hear  bobby’s  disapproving  tone.   you’ve  lost  it,  boy.     hey,  maybe  he’ll  conjure  him  next.   “  it  wouldn’t  kill  you  to  eat  a  salad.  something  with  vegetables. ”

There’s nothing. The top corner of her screen that should be showing her service bars is only showing her that it’s searching for a signal and failing to find one, even as she holds the flip phone up above her head in hopes it might register. “Come on, come on, come onnn,” she half begs, frowning when she brings it back down where she can see it before shaking her head, stuffing it back into the pocket of her pajama pants.

She’s dreaming, or at least she figures she must be, because she wouldn’t go out in public dressed like this. She doesn’t know why she’s dreaming something like this, but she’ll figure it out. She’ll see Brady or Sam or someone that she actually knows here and she’ll wake up warm and comfortable in bed to go to class in the morning… Or something. (has she ever had a lucid dream like this before? has she ever been aware that she was dreaming?)

It’s only when she sees someone walking ahead of her that she springs into action, jogging the few steps she needs to to catch up to them before reaching out to tap their shoulder, “Hey, can I borrow your phone for a minute? I’ve got no signal.”

..

he’s  been  in  reprieve  for  a  few  weeks  now,  so  he’s  come  to  learn  a  few  things.   

first:   the  town  doesn’t  seem  to  be  on  any  maps  he’s  ever  seen.  not  that,  it  should  be  noted,  he’s  managed  to  find  a  map  anywhere  in  the  city.   

second:  while  some  people  seem  equally  as  confused  as  him  to  be  here,  others  claim  to  have  lived  here  their  whole  lives.  they  even  have  memories  of  living  here  their  entire  lives.   it  seems  real  for  them.

REAL  OR  NOT,  he’s  not  sure  what  to  make  of  this  town.  it’s  busier  than  your  average  town  but  not  so  busy  it’s  like  new  york  or  california.  there’s  a  lot  of  unanswered  questions  and  the  people  he’d  usually  ask  ?   they’re  gone.   they’ve  been  gone  for  awhile.    (   that,  however,  he’d  be  happy  to  find  out  wasn’t  real.  )

his  grip  on  reality  is  tenuous.  so  much  so  that  when  he  hears  a  familiar  voice,  he’s  not  all  that  surprised.   his  regrets  haunt  him  in  his  dreams  so  is  it  really  a  stretch  for  them  to  bleed  into  his  waking  hours  ?   if  he’s  even  awake.    he  turns  slowly,  braces  himself  for  the  stabbing  guilt  he  always  feels  when  he  comes  face  to  face  with  her.  

JESSICA. the  first  in  the  long  line  of  women  who’ve  suffered  because  they  knew  him.  

he  stares.  drinks  in  every  detail,  feels  every  bit  his  age  as  the  weariness  brings  palms  to  press  against  his  eyes.    he  knows  this  isn’t  real.   if  he  blinks  twice,  focuses,  he  knows  she’ll  be  gone.   it’s  the  demon  blood  leaving  his  system;   the  withdrawal.   hallucinations  are  just  part  of  the  package.    “  you’re  not  really  here. ”   his  words  are  a  sigh,  a  three  count  transpiring  mentally  before  he  lets  his  eyes  flutter  open  again.   yet  somehow,  she’s  still  there.   he  blinks  once,  twice,  and  then  his  lips  twist  into  a  frown.   “  this  isn’t  real. ”

every so often the smile slipped, like now when she was bone tired. eve slept less than most, but that didn’t always stop the exhaustion from seeping in. she was still stuck in a strange town, after all. in the middle of who knows what dimension or universe or whatever. that was enough to mess with a person to say the least.

the combination of a weary body and overtaxed mind was prime game for not paying the least bit of attention where she was going. it didn’t take long until she found herself colliding with someone or something hard enough to toss the brunette on her ass. 

“ow,” she hissed, whether it actually hurt or she just expected it to was anyone’s guess. either way she glanced up, hoping she’d knocked into a pole, not a person, but apologizing instinctively. “i’m so sorry.”

insomnia  is  something  he’s  familiar  with.  he  wears  it  like  a  badge  of  honor,  afraid  of  what  he  might  see  when  sleep  takes  him  again.  if  it’s  not  flashes  of  a  life  he’s  not  entirely  sure  wasn’t  a  hallucination,  it’s  the  ghosts  of  his  past  rearing  their  ugly  faces  and  haunting  him  until  he  wakes  up  in  a  cold  sweat.   

he’s  roaming  the  streets  in  the  dead  of  night  for  such  reasons,  a  grocery  bag  filled  with  energy  drinks  and  beef  jerky  tucked  under  one  arm.   long  gone  are  the  caprese  salads  and  the  healthy  meal  options.   when  your  whole  life’s  in  a  constant  state  of  CRISIS,  you  lose  interest  in  taking  care  of  yourself.  

their  collision  is  the  fault  of  both  of  them,  as  he’s  not  paying  much  attention  either  until  they  knock  into  each  other.   the  bag  tumbles  from  his  hand,  a  sigh  slipping  past  his  lips  as  the  cans  thunk  against  the  ground.   one  springs  a  leak,  bubbling  liquid  sloshing  out  over  both  of  their  shoes  as  it  spins  like  a  top.   it’s  ...  almost  funny.   he  chokes  on  a  snicker.    “  sorry. ”   he  apologizes,  the  words  almost  delirious  as  he  holds  out  a  hand  to  help  her  out.   “  i  didn’t  see  you. ”

( jared padalecki, 35ish, he/him )  welcome to reprieve, SAM WINCHESTER who is from SUPERNATURAL, SEASON 14.  rumor has it they are a HUNTER/SPECIAL CHILD, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine PLAID SHIRTS, DARK CIRCLES FROM SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, AND SECRETS BURIED IN LIES.

right now? it seemed like e v e r y t h i n g was going to shit. all of the studying he was doing, every book he was reading and any lead he caught? none of them were panning out and he wasn’t sure how or if he was going to be able to save his ass when the time came to collect his s o u l. a sigh passed his lips, calloused fingers wrapped around the glass in hand as he sat at the bar stool and downed the amber liquid down quickly.  “give us a n o t h e r round.” ben called out to the b a r t e n d e r, offering a nod and lift of his now empty glass to the person sat beside him.

@apxstarters·

the  answers  to  life’s  toughest  questions  are  hardly  ever  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  bottle.  it  does,  however,  seem  to  take  the  sting  off  the  worst  of  his  early  withdrawal  symptoms.   first  came  his  powers  weakening,  barely  able  to  make  a  demon  sneeze  let  alone  send  its  ass  back  to  hell,  and  now  the  headaches;  the  nosebleeds.  he  knows  what  comes  next,  knows  how  bad  it’s  going  to  get,  but  hasn’t  decided  what  he  wants  to  do.   he  has  a  sea  of  bad  choices  presented  before  him  and  somehow  has  to  decide  which  bad  choice  he’d  rather  run  with.   IF  HE  CAN  PROCRASTINATE  THAT  BY  KNOCKING  BACK  A  FEW  GLASSES  OF  WHISKEY,  HE  WILL.    when  the  man  beside  him  orders  another  round,  he  nudges  his  glass  forward  and  does  the  same.  he  knows  a  man  fighting  with  ghosts,  has  seen  it  too  many  times  reflecting  in  the  eyes  of  everyone  in  the  bunker,  so  he  jerks  his  head  towards  the  stranger  and  throws  out.   “  throw  his  drink  on  my  tab. ”   

“  well  what  are  the  chances  of  that. ”   he  responds  wryly,  when  the  security  guard  remarks  how  coincidental  that  two  teams  of  rangers  are  investigating  the  attacks.   “  i  guess  we’re,  ah,  taking  these  matters  very  seriously. ”   it’s  the  only  reason  why  he  agrees  to  the  man  showing  them  both  the  access  route  to  the  hiking  trails,  not  saying a  word  until  it’s  just  the  two  of  them.   “  look,  we  don’t  both  need  to  go  up  there.  i’ve  got  this  handled. ”   it’s  been  too  long  since  he  worked  with  someone  else,  had  to  watch  their  back  as  well  as  his  own.   he’s  been  going  it  alone  for  so  long,  by  sheer  necessity  or  fear  of  letting  his  people  down  again,  he’s  not  entirely  sure  he  remembers  how  to  work  as  a  team.   the  irony  isn’t  lost  on  him.   @erinxdevlin​