#1oadedgun

" @hcrv3lles did it. "

" hey, yourself. " shimmering carmine sluices along the crest of a blade still arcing from its hilt where he grips it. a breath, relieved expiration, parts his lips & on the finish, a flicker of a smile at their upturned edges. his palm closes around hers. he feels too sturdy, blunt fingertips around her slim grip, still hale & flush with a coursing pulse courtesy of the ten or so vamps he'd ganked on the way in. one arm bolsters around her waist, sliding around to guide her out to safety. " you able to walk on your own? maybe hold a knife? "

a glance casts down through the shallow lamplight to search for a series of puncture wounds or any sign of teeth sunk into her flesh.

( there's a moment where he wants to gather her up completely, to make sure she'd really tangible, really here. but there isn't time for that. not now. )

dean wrangles the machete in a haloing arc from his grasp, ready to fight again. following the split of brightness peering in from a cornered doorway seems to be the most promising exit. " think we've got a lot to catch up on, but first things first. "

@1oadedgun asked: - Why are you still here? I mean, you could go anywhere. Be with anyone.

oh, how she must not realize the truth that has since been ingrained into william's system the moment that their parents announced to him as a kid that he was going to be an older brother. the responsibility for family immediately took shape in that moment, when jo came home from the hospital and she was a small thing in the boy's arms, whose head had to be cradled by not only william's smaller hand, but with their father's palm pressed against his son's knuckles, holding joanna beth harvelle together for the first time. a weight that william bore proudly, like a badge of honor to be an older brother to not just a sister but a baby brother as well.

it's his burden from the moment she opened her eyes and blinked up at him, and he swore he would fight the world if they ever tried to hurt her. his burden from the moment she would get bullied at school for being a freak, never finding interest in the studying of books, but rather the art of living that she grew up with, surrounded by stories of hunters that lived to tell the tale, and a growing need to explore that. william watched with a worried gaze as she grew up, gotten taller behind the bar counter, she would slowly reach to her tip toes to listen more intently to the stories that drunken hunters would spew out to anyone that would lend an ear.

glass lies scattered across the floor like sharp, lethal ice, liquid welling dark beneath the shards embedded in vessel's wrist. so much for breaking a window ─ they needed to get inside this locked-up structure somehow. sleeve rolled up to his forearm, the two of them observing the mess. and when jo tells him to hold still, castiel gives a firm nod, though he doesn't truly seem to understand why it matters.

expression kept distant, his body calm ; feeling as though the damage is currently happening to an object rather than to him.

“This is reckless. Say we’re not doing this.”

she breathes the words between their shared breaths, spoken from a mouth that is bruised with his kisses, the fervor color of red flushing their features. this is reckless. he murmurs a noise of mild agreement as he peppers a slow trail of kisses along the column of her neck, tasting and drinking in the beat of her heart, reminding the eldest winchester that she's alive, she's here. he wants to press more about hell, if her experience mirrors his own. the press of denial pushes that thought away; he hopes that they were at least kinder to her than they were to him. perhaps if he kisses her enough, he can wipe away those memories. maybe she can for him.

say we're not doing this. her hands in his hair feels dizzying, and he almost wants to murmur to not stop; but he can understand the weight of her words, what she's uttering to him. he pauses to look down at her, calloused hands reaching to tuck away the dark strands of her new dyed hair; he plans to ask more about that later. pushing away the dark tresses until nothing obstructs her features anymore, except the press of his palm to her cheek, his thumb brushing over the barely there constellation of freckles that 'don her features. "you want me to stop?" he asks her earnestly, but the space between them doesn't grow wider; pressing her against the wall of the motel room with his weight, supported with the hook of her arm around the nape of his neck, his thigh between her legs. she looks beautiful like this, out of breath from their kisses. skies, he could watch her forever if he could, never let her out of his sight again, take her hand and run away from the world that always seem damned to call for them. "i can give my last night on earth speech again," he chuckles out, a fond memory curling forth; the night before it all went wrong. "though i gotta say, my track record using that line hasn't been great so far."