#ryanfuckingcarter

The Ferrymen laid in the middle of a busy road, simply staring up at the sky his hands folded on his stomach as he simply just laid there. Most ignored him, and others who did notice him do not seem to do much else then shoot him a dirty look. Not that he minds too much, he was way too old to care about such things. That and he was certainly not in the mood to do much else but have this lay down, as his mind raced with his third existential crisis this week. 

       He thought he had long since out grown these, but apparently he was wrong. 

  He hums a tune to himself as he tried to focus on getting up, but third day and he was going strong. Trying to to think hold jammed up the shore of the river was with souls that he neglected to take across, which only makes him spiral more. He grunts and notices someone near by, making him look towards them,

      ”.... oh... are you okay?”              He asks, as if everything he was doing was completely normal.

     Naturally, just as soon as Zoe’s insomnia abates, and she falls into exhausted slumber, is when Zoe’s ghost roommate Matthew gently shakes her awake. 

  “Zoe!” He hisses, and Zoe responds in kind with a small groan. So he tries again, speaking louder. “Zoe! Wake up. There’s a person in your apartment.” 

     The redhead opens her eyes, and glares at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

     Matthew sighs, “There’s a very much alive teenager, sleeping on your couch. Is she supposed to be here?” 

     The statement makes Zoe practically fall out of bed, and she stumbles to the door, untangling herself from the sheets as she goes. Slowly, she peers around the corner to look at the teenager sleeping peacefully on her couch. “How did she get in here??” She whispers to the ghost next to her, and he shrugs. 

      “I don’t know. She just appeared here. Although if she did sneak in, it’s not like I’m your watchdog or anything– I was doing shit, so didn’t notice even if she did.” 

      Zoe runs her hands through her hair. Well there goes getting any sleep this morning. She’s torn between letting the girl continue to sleep, or waking her up and demanding answers. 

Accepting

Meg hates other demons about as much as anyone else, these days.

They’re constantly on her tail, trying to drag her back downtown for the price on her head or the chance to see her squirm, themselves. But she’s not going home on anyone’s terms but her own, and she’ll be fucking raptured before she lets anyone else get her now.

Not after everything.

That’s why she’s here, in an otherwise quiet midwestern town, trying to suss out  a group of hellions slowly taking over it. For what nefarious reasons? It’s anyone’s guess.

She should’ve known that hunters would show up, sooner or later. But she admits, she didn’t expect the Winchesters. 

Yet here they are, across the street, impossible to miss...

And they aren’t alone.

A girl, one Meg’s never seen before.

Centuries ticked by like seconds to the god, and yet progress rose and fell within humanity. The Northmen slaughtered, were slaughtered, and others came and went. Traditions died out, new ones rose up and yet trickled into a grave within years. Despite it all, Valravn persisted. All of the old gods did, and they always would. Even if worship did not persist, they simply were a fact of life.

The leaves did not rustle, did not stir as the god wandered through the forest, observing the minor damage the humans had brought with them. More illusions were created, more wards set to frighten them off, and the forest began to buzz with the throaty hum of Valravn’s song. Empty eye sockets observed his domain, the skull gleaming white from the midnight black feathers, before he heard a twig snap somewhere.