#noditchablepromdate

Lowering his own weapon, Dean let out a breath as the last of the demons were killed, the black smoke slamming into the ground and disappearing with a ghastly, distanced scream.

Missouri was done waiting. She had sold her soul years ago in exchange for more time on Earth. After her stroke, it was her only chance at making sure she was around long enough for the Winchester boys to save the world and finally lead the normal lives she always wanted for them. 

She wanted to be there for them, to help them out. She never forgot the day in Lawrence when they finally came home and asked for her help on the case involving their mother. Since then she thought the boys would be around more often, or at least call her every once in a while, but it never happened. And when she heard they died, well... Missouri didn’t believe it. Those Winchesters come from tough blood, they’re strong and reslient. Missouri’s energy readings were never wrong, and she could still feel theirs in the small keepsakes of the objects they had abandoned in her home when they were young. She knew those boys were alive, and like hell she wasn’t going to see them again. 

Her time was coming up, with only a few years left to live she couldn’t sit around any longer. If the boys weren’t going to come to her, she was going to go to the boys. If not to smack them both for never contacting her and giving her so much worry, then for at least making sure they were safe and sound. 

Missouri sat at her kitchen table, flipping through old pages of a journal she kept. Rufus and John had put her onto so many contacts but there was one they both knew that John had trusted the boys with. But lord, it had been so many years and her memory wasn’t what it used to be. ‘What was his name.... Bill? Dennis? No that doesn’t even sound remotely right’ she shook her head. She skimmed the pages and finally, there it was “Bobby” she said to herself, “Bobby... Singer”.

John always said if something happened and she needed to take the boys somewhere Bobby would be the one, and had written his address and number down on an old napkin she stuck between some pages of her journal. “South Dakota” her nose scrunched. She contemplated making the drive or seeing if the number worked. It had been years since she left Kansas, and remembered how Rufus used to change his number religiously. If this Bobby guy was anything like John and Rufus, that number might not even work. 

The couch was better than the floor, but sleeping was still a wretched experience.

Nonetheless, Cas did a lot of it.  More than he intended to.  Chunks of it were nigh on peaceful, thanks to mental exhaustion pushing him deeper than dreams; other parts wretched.  He slept surprisingly still despite nightmares, didn’t do a lot of moving but for the occasional wing-twitch, though he’d woken up a couple of times and bolted upright with a sharp, breathless, “Ah-yey,” gasping until he could get the panic under control.

It was debatable whether it was the madness he took from Sam, or if it was his own dogging him.

The circle was confining for a thing with wings, but it also felt oddly safe in some ways, too; he couldn’t hurt anyone else right now.  And knew Bobby would not hurt him, or let him be hurt.

It was after a few days that they had worked out something of a routine; one awake to keep watch, one asleep.  When they were both awake was some rarer, but finally Castiel reached a point where his borrowed head didn’t try to swim away from consciousness on him and was able to talk.  Or try to.

He sat on the couchback, wings again folded behind him; it had become his perch.  He was glad he didn’t seem to need to eat or drink, though he was growing something of a beard.  He didn’t like how incredibly visceral all his emotions were, bound into this skin, subject to nerve endings and chemical signals, but he was coping about as well as he could with it.  It put his constant anxiety more to the fore than he cared for, but he was scrambling to contain it.

@noditchablepromdate​ sent an ask: "I saw the test in the trash" (I'M SORRY IT WAS IRRESISTIBLE)

“that? oh, uh... ah, yes. that.” sweaty palms, heart aflutter & a ridiculously big lump blocking her throat were only part of why jody felt the insane urge to run. the other reason she was fighting off her own legs was the answer she owed the other. one she’d been nervous about, although knowing he would never hurt her ... would he? she thought she knew how he felt about kids. he’d changed, though, right? 

Bobby had not expected to suddenly have the angel’s head on his shoulder, and gave him a very bewildered look. “Uh... you okay there?” he asked cautiously. He’d only recently even met Kemuel, and while they’d been pretty civil to each other, he hadn’t realised they’d got to this level of personal comfort yet.

It wasn’t everyday he got out of his town, either wards or state as a whole. But he made an exception here or there, notably with interacting on a global scale. In Bobby’s case, the continental United States. Kemuel lifted his head a tad from Bobby’s look, likewise confused by...his shock? Concern? He took his head off to comb a hand through his dark hair, eyes looking to the hunter, “Yes, I am okay. Ah--did I make you uncomfortable?” After gifting a picture, his feather, and some tea, it had been about time to increase his visits.

Bobby had been cussing up a storm under his breath while Giles tied his leg up. The Brit had been right about not missing his shirt too much; this one was pretty damn old as it was, but its time had definitely run out now.

He didn’t even bother to argue about being supported. His leg was on the verge of giving out with every step they took, and he was grateful for the taller man’s help. “Didn’t think we’d gone too far,” he said, hefting his sawn-off shotgun at the sound of skittering. “You get a good look at it or was it movin’ too fast?”

If they weren’t sure what they were dealing with… hell, he’d just have to hope it wasn’t something that could spread its nature with a bite. That wasn’t how he wanted to go.

“Moved too fast,” he said curtly as he kept them moving. “But I saw the wound--claws, not teeth.” Lowered the risk of vampiric or lycan transformations, but they still had to be careful of toxins and infection. Time is of the essence.

Giles had kept his left side open, just in case they needed to defend themselves against whatever was attacking. He saw Bobby clutching his shotgun and thought their chances were good until something bowled him over from behind with such force that he fell where he stood, smacking his hip on a jutting rock.

@noditchablepromdate​ asked: “cry if you want to. you’ll feel better.”

She didn’t need permission. But it was nice to have it. It was like a weight was taken off her, a weight that was far too familiar because she’d carried it for so long. It was invisible, but seemed to get heavier and heavier the older she got. One would think they could get used to the way grief sits heavy and hard in the heart, especially when they can’t address it.

But she was tired of being strong. She’d been strong when her mom died. When she’d heard her mother die just feet away from her. And then to walk in and find Caleb-the one who’d taught her so much, had become so important to her- dead... It was that same feeling. The one that she’d pushed down so she could empty caches and lug books to her Jeep. One she’d swallowed around as she made an anonymous tip to the cops from a payphone.

But she could only hold back for so long. And she’d been trying to keep her composure because the last thing she wanted to do was unload on Bobby. After all, with her news, he had just lost a friend. But, it seemed, he could see how much she was hurting.