July 26th excerpt:
Footsteps came from the hall, and Dean covered Logan with a hand, curling his fingers around the other man as Bobby came back in. Sam was no longer wearing his tan jacket, perched on Bobby’s shoulder with nothing more than his grey t-shirt, jeans and satchel.
“Got the blood out,” Bobby said gruffly. “That’ll just be drying until the morning.”
“Bobby said he’s got some food we can heat up!” Sam called out from his place.
June 14th excerpt:
What Sam and Bobby didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Dean could hear them in the distance, likely upstairs using the bathroom to try and rid the blood spots from Sam’s jacket.
May 11th excerpt:
Rumsfeld nosed at Sam’s jacket then whined at the dark splotch that covered one arm, tenderly licking the tiny limb.
“It’s okay,” Sam promised. “It’s not my blood. I just didn’t get a chance to change my jacket.”
A+ guess on the name! You got it on the first try.
No one needs trials like this more than our favorite little punching bag, Logan Guthrie, antagonist of Bowman of Wellwood. An all-around unpleasant man.
Bobby looked away from Dean and Logan, turning a blind eye to whatever they did. “Want some help getting that blood out?” he offered Sam, sizing up the splotch and the dark spot around it from Rumsfeld’s saliva.
Sam glanced at it. “Sure. I’m kind of running low on jackets, anyway. We don’t exactly have a supply of them…”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Bobby assured the kid as he held out his hand. Once Sam was with him, they left the kitchen with Rumsfeld close behind, leaving the other pair to their own devices.
Dean stared at the jar in his hand with an assessing gaze, looking over the man inside. From their last encounter, time had not been kind on Logan. His clothing was showing wear and his hair was a mess. A trip to the barber wouldn’t be out of the question, either.
By contrast, even directly after a hunt, Dean’s hair was spiked and his jacket in pristine condition. His jeans were ripped by his thigh, and his boots had some dirt caked to the bottom. Despite a few frays, it was a far cry from Logan’s tattered appearance.
“I think we can do better than that,” Dean said dryly, flipping the jar upside down.
December 30th excerpt:
Sam nearly dropped the journal when Dean shoved the hand holding Stan at him, hurriedly pocketing the book to be able to cup his hands. There was no time to worry about the droplets of blood staining the side of his fingers, something he normally didn’t worry about until they finished the hunt. “Dean!” Sam hissed, frantic about how quick his brother was moving with the little guy.
“Don’t worry, he’s fine! ” Dean insisted, tilting his hands into a slight incline to slide Stan into Sam’s hands. “Right, kid?”
“Stop moving already!” Sam sighs,
exasperated. “And quit blinking!”“You try holding still when
someone’s poking your eye with their fingers.” Dean mutters and
squints at Sam.“Hey. You asked me to help.
Now quit moving, blinking, and talking.” A loud sigh escapes the
mouth near his feet and Sam can feel the warm air through his shoes.
December 17th excerpt:
John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.
“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again.
December 11th excerpt:
When nothing turned up there, Sherlock got up to repeat the process around the room. He paused, squinted and leaned over the worktop to scrutinize a minuscule smudge. There were a few tiny dots of blood, long since dried, a short distance from the book pile where the knife had been found, one of them spread thin in the vague impression of the toe of a minuscule boot.
A tiny foot kicks Sam’s knife across the surface, hard enough to cover several inches in distance.
Sherlock frowned at the image that flashed in his mind. If Sam was truly in danger from another human, why would he rid himself of his sole weapon? Unless he wasn’t alone…
December 10th excerpt:
If it wasn’t for the dire circumstances they were in, Dean’s face would have been painted with fascination at the chance to work with the tools Sherlock used on his cases. As it was, he set to his task with no wasted energy, carefully mopping up every drop of blood that speckled Sam’s knife. The murky gleam of red was soon replaced by the more familiar shine.
Dean’s small size made it simple to get the blood right on the tip of the paper. It was like working with oversized construction paper, and since the blade was made for Dean’s size, he didn’t have a problem.
A small mimic of Sherlock, Dean sat back on his heels, holding up the folded paper circle for Sherlock to take, its white surface marred by the ring of drying blood.
So the antagonist of my story is definitely a bad guy, but the protagonist isn’t really a good guy.
Evelina’s watching you.
Character © @nightmares06. Do not use her design!
Artwork commissioned from @lamthetwickster
(I really need to get writing more than just an intro for these lovelies)
Brothers Apart 