#ing!

     ouma isn't the kind of person you would consider an idiot. so       he knows he recognizes this kid. not because he looks like that       baby from that stupidly popular western movie (even though he      most certainly does) but for other reasons. 

     DICE wasn't really the type of organization to get caught up      in such dangerous shit like the mafia. no matter how well ouma      up-played it, it was still just a group of young and old teenagers      dicking around. 

     but from the few hours and different days ouma had spent in      prison whenever he had been caught, he learned about the       criminals much more dangerous then him. 

     so, as ouma sat down next to the boy, he wasn't joking as he      bluntly asked his question.

❝ how many people have you murdered? ❞

Holy fuck

Holy fuck

It had been a long week. All things evil and scary had seemed to take one big catnap after the big guy upstairs decided to show his face for a bit. The unwanted, though probably much needed, break left Dean and Sam sitting at the bunker with little to nothing to do. Dean sighed and closed Sam’s laptop, giving up on searching for a case. Behind the laptop was Cammie, she was passing though the library, probably headed for the kitchen. Dean tossed her a tired smile, but turned and watched appreciatively as she walked away. 

Dean heard something from the opposite direction and turned back around to see Sam in the doorway where Cammie had just come from. He was looking at Dean disapprovingly and Dean rolled his eyes. 

Sam was right, Cammie was practically their sister for fuck’s sake. She was Bobby’s daughter, they’d known her since she was in diapers. They’d grown up throwing punches with her, they were family. Dean knew, he told himself many times before,  Cammie is family. Yet, for some reason, that didn’t stop him from turning around to get another look. He smirked, his eyebrows going up. 

Hell. It didn’t hurt to look.