“I’m sorry, I tried to be faster. Please don’t be mad,” the thirteen year old whispered, panting shallowly, the gash in his side deep, but sluggish. Still, it would be hard on an adult, and he was a kid.

 // @imnotafather xxx

@imnotafather Mary was alone. Less than ten minutes ago (or what felt like less than ten minutes ago), she had been with her boys and her husband. And now she was in the woods, alone. It took her half-an-hour to find a road, and another hour to find someone to drive her into town (it probably didn't help that she was in a nightgown). Once she was settled into the town, she started searching for any sign of her family. She found several news articles about her boys committing heinous crimes, but nothing concrete about their current whereabouts. And there was nothing about John at all. One thing was clear: her boys were hunting. Mary started hunting too. She figured if she hunted, they would eventually meet. After three hunts, she ran into someone who knew John. She got John's number from him. Finally, she could get in contact with him. It took her a week to work up the courage to text him, and even then, she couldn't bring herself to tell him who he was. The text ended up being intentionally vague, intentionally short on information. [text: John] I got your number from Bobby Singer. I need your help with a hunt. They say you're one of the best.

Maybe, if he was very lucky, John wouldn’t pull his head out of his coffee and notice the son he’d disowned.

Me: You little shit.

“Oh that’s right he never came back did he? Must of hurt to know he broke his promise.”

“Always so God’s damn disrespectful…” Alaric draped his arms around John’s neck from behind, looking over his shoulder at the journal on the desk. “It’s alright though, because i know you’re going to make it up to me.”