This was equal parts a nightmare and a dream. Well, perhaps more a nightmare for those poor souls lost to whatever tormented the old Trinity theater. For Molly, even as a hunter, the opportunity to step into an abandoned theater was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up...danger be damned.

She’d read about the Trinity, see. It was one of the many abandoned buildings she knew of within state limits, and one she hadn’t yet had the chance to explore--the job made it difficult to do the things she enjoyed outside of it. Once an ornate house of cinema, it now lay in ruin...but the photos she’d been able to find showed that a majority of the theater remained relatively intact. This gave her hope of finding something interesting that had absolutely nothing to do with the paranormal.

Problem was, Molly had indeed also ready plenty about the...not-so-savory history of the place. Something about murder, disappearances, things that went bump in the night...blah, blah, blah. She had enough knowledge and know-how to keep herself prepared for whatever could happen, and that meant sourcing and carrying around enough salt and salt ammunition to make her float in bodies of water. Underneath her excitement about the building itself, she needed to keep the job in mind--kill bad things, save lives...then she could go explore.

- @wreckedxwinchester​

@llosgcariad | inbox.

        for once. the words are a knife in her gut. dragged first across the throat with how desperate they sound. like he was begging her. like he doubted how much trust she has in him at any given time. which, she'll admit, hadn't been very much at the start of their love story.                —more like a damned tragedy actually.         not the kind they write plays about, that's too poetic for what they've gone through over the years. the fights, the doors that have slammed, phone calls that went to voicemail, the miles under the impala's tires. or the quiet ones when he came to her smelling of blood and bourbon, more shadows in his eyes than ones he left with. talking to either of them about trust was hilarious when they were the same in how rarely they extend it.         they could argue about it for awhile. she could refuse to let him handle it, take him at his word and trust the demon he hated to watch his back without putting up too much of a fight. without swearing at him as he left, wondering if the day would ever come when he wouldn't walk back in like he hadn't gone anywhere at all. maybe tell her another lie like he was going to the store or out on a hunt when she knew he was full of shit.

In the Meme Vault

There's a moment where Molly might have had a sarcastic reply locked and loaded, but the second she meets his eye, the words die on her tongue. Dean wasn't particularly an emotional guy, and he certainly wasn't one for sentimental speeches. So if he'd decided that this was the time to let her have a look at his inner workings...who was she to make him feel badly for it?

Besides, as they leaned back against the Impala, her heart clenched. And it whispered the same.

In the Meme Vault

"Aw, such a romantic."

Maybe she shouldn't tease him so much--they looked after one another, and Dean had saved her ass more times than she cared to admit aloud. If he had concerns, they were usually valid. That didn't mean she couldn't have fun with him, though.

"Can I borrow your jacket, too?" She asked, pouting playfully and batting lashes. "Hold your hand?"

In the Meme Vault

She's silent for a long time, and at first it might not be entirely clear if Molly heard him, or if she's merely ignoring him. The discarded bandage wrappers were scooped into a bag, the time taken to start cleaning up any other garbage that lingered. Anything to keep from meeting his eye.

In a way, she was thankful that Dean wasn't pressing. Whether he was smart enough to avoid it or didn't really care enough...it didn't matter. She wasn't ready to talk about it.

She honestly didn't know if she would be.

Finally, Molly took up her jacket and bag, and headed toward the door.

send me a symbolfor… || always accepting | @trbled-at-the-root​

✿  five times my muse almost texted yours, and the one time theydid.

      Doubts had always nestled in her heart –it was supposed to be ousted when she was slowly regaining her confidence bybuilding herself and yet how it easy it is to plunge back to where she hadstarted, hesitations and self-mistrusts her old friends.

      It’s about time she meets them again.

One.

      It is a difficult task to prove herselfthat getting the bulky string instrument out of its case (which remaineduntouched for a long time) wasn’t brought about by longing but by trying tosteer herself back to her track. Music. It was once her world, right? He wasonce her world.

      Haebitna convinces herself that sheneeds to learn, again, holding thebig guitar around her small hands. Her fingers fiddled on the strings, and yetno matter how hard she tries to remember any chord, she can’t. She couldn’t.

      Maybe a little help?

📨 : Dean선배님

 Hey, can you remember how to play theguitar? Even just a chord? I really want to learn how to –      

…delete delete… 

      Sheonly remembers how her father played it for her.

      Maybe she won’t be able to learn itagain. Not this time. Not when she could not think of the instrument withoutthe memories of her dad.

      Not when her inspiration has died.