#iwtv#interview with the vampire#jacob anderson#sam reid#amc tvl
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@ashesnow
He’s got the gun drawn before he clears the front door, every bit of worry and panic in his chest locked down tight. This wasn’t the time for any kind of emotion.
This was a job, and he had to keep Will safe. (Even from himself.)
“Show me the closet, and go wait outside.”
He isn’t asking.
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[text] This isn't happening. This can't be fucking real, Dean. I'm losing my mind.
[text] just stay put, don’t open the door[text] I’m gonna take care of it
[text] I don't think salts gonna help. I trapped him in the bedroom closet. He's crying Dean. What the fuck is going on?
Fuck the speed limit.
[text] I’m on my way, do not open that door, Will[text] It’s not him, no matter how much it looks or sounds like him
[text] what the hell are you on about? Salt?
This is not how he wanted to have the Talk with Will. But then again, nothing ever goes according to plan in his life.
[text] I’m begging you, man[text] if you think I’m crazy, fine. just humor me. [text] an unbroken line of salt on the windowsills and the doorframe
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[text] It looked like my son, Dean.
“Jesus.”
It’s whispered into the dark, and just like that, Dean is turning the engine over, his baby roaring to life like she can feel his panic building in his bones.
[text] salt the doors and windows[text] stay put, stay armed[text] I need you to trust me, Will
[text] Something just tried to kill me.
[text] please tell me you were armed
There’s something like panic flaring up in his chest, and Dean nearly fumbles his phone as he pulls over into a parking lot to focus on the texts, the sound of the radio forgotten in the background.
[text to; Dean] Good. [text to; Dean] You should finish. Let me know when you do.
[text; Will] Yes sir.
It’s a slip of the tongue, a slip of the finger, a slip of slick moisture across his palm as his toes dig into his boots and his thigh muscles lock up on him.
Dean’s shuddering breath is explosive loud in the quiet of the hotel room.
“...oh god.”
