#pastsaving

when i was a kid,

i consisted of skinned knees and

bruised elbows.

whenever i would fall,

i would cry for help and a

sympathetic mother would come

running with a band-aid.

then,

i grew up.

skinned knees turned into

bloody thighs, and numbly

staring into the night.

bruised elbows turned into nails

bitten short enough to feel my

pulse rushing through my

fingertips, and

dark circles so deep it

looks like i’ve been punched square

in the face.

this isn't something a band-aid

can fix.

i won't waste my breath screaming

for help that will never

come.

     Another bar, another bar fight. To say there was surprise in any inch of Lucifer would be a lie, and he, as a rule, didn’t lie. Or, that’s what he would maintain. Whether he did or did not was no one’s business but his own. Much like following Dean Winchester had become his business. Demons, after all, were the Devil’s own creation. Which now, by all means, made one of the Winchesters his. Unfortunate it had to be the one who wasn’t his destined vessel, but by the same coin, it wasn’t bad. 

     Blue eyes carefully raise from the glass in Lucifer’s hands as the scuffle made advances toward the door. A quick scan, and he locked onto Dean. The Devil had taken the risk to get as close as he was now, and it ended up surprising him that he hadn’t been approached. Perhaps Dean had been too busy to notice him. No matter; he’d be noticing soon enough. He’d give it thirty seconds tops for Dean to rend through the drunken patrons that had just gone outside with him. Slowly did he raise his glass to his lips, giving pause when the screaming begins, smirking as it cuts off. A slow sip is taken, before he gets up from his seat, glass in hand, walking out the door. The yells of the bar tender for leaving with a glass the least of his concerns. 

     No, his concern was the alley way. Lazily, he leans against the left cold brick wall that marks the entrance. He doesn’t bother to really speak at first, instead swirling the alcohol still in his glass with a disinterested look crossing his face. He made sure to keep it as he glances up, slowly trailing his gaze over the carnage, before landing on his newest addition to the cretins under his absolute command. Seems he’s not been noticed yet; time to change that.

"What the hell has happened here?" Rowena exclaimed as she pushed open the broken bunker door. "Dean, Sam?" She called out strolling further into the room. "Are either of you lads home?" She rolled her eyes in annoyance. She hardly wanted to be there. She hardly enjoyed asking the Winchesters for help...But then again, what choice did she really have in the matter.

Lucifer had beleived he'd killed her, and he'd nearly succeeded. She had barely gotten away with her life. "I'm just going to make myself at home." She called out as she walked down the stairs. "No need to set off the alarm..." She walked into the large room. "This home is a wee mess." Se remarked quietly as she walked towards the kitchen. She would wait for someone to return, but first she'd have a cup of tea.

After putting on the tea kettle, she walked into the pantry knowing exactly where the tea was. For she'd made tea in the bunker before, not even a year earlier. She sighed, waiting. Where were the Winchesters? She thought to herself. She could only hope they would appear soon.

Rationality was drowned by his heart hoping, praying to whoever is left to protect Dean. His Dean. Years they spent surviving what was known as the end. How Dean saved him many times over and only once or twice did Chuck tried to save Dean. Running away from camp in hopes to throw himself in the lion’s den in hopes that an angel or an archangel would come down and save the prophet. Instead no one came and he injured his leg to the point that Dean made him the second in charge and never take him out on any runs anymore.

Late nights they spend as they tried to come up with plans for worst case scenario and this time around, the plan that Chuck had to do was taking everyone away from the camp and relocate somewhere else, since no one was coming back. Suicide mission, it was stupid and pointless especially since he was going to lose Dean. They spent enough time dancing around the bush when it came to their feelings and the many times they thought they lost one another. All the prophet had left of the man was their moments they spent together and the kiss they share knowing that it was their first and their last.

Chuck never left his spot when he saw the others off, never budging from his spot as he watched the taillights of the car disappearing in the night. His heart crumbled into pieces once he knew that they were gone, yet he refused to show the others his tears. Words he heard Dean saying in his head repeating over and over again about how he needs to be strong when Dean is no longer with him. He hated their leader for leaving them like this, but he cannot help but still love him and wished that their time together wasn’t cut short.

He continue to stand there with hope in his heart that Dean was going to come back and when he saw someone approaching his camp. His heart leaped from his chest to his mouth as he watched Dean walking towards them. Not past Dean, but his Dean. Ignoring the pain in his leg that caused him to limp, he rushed towards the man and wrapped his arms around him as he repeated the words out loud for both him and Dean.

Once Chuck found his composure, his arms refusing to let the man go and his words changed as he pressed lips against the man’s cheeks as he continue to embrace him.

NAOMIE TURNS 17!!