Sam tore out of the kitchen. “Time to go!” he snapped.

Spotting Jacob next to the main entrance, he darted forward. In seconds, Jacob was unceremoniously hauled in the air, dropped in the satchel, and then Sam was yanking open the door, easily grasping the handle that had been out of Jacob’s reach. He ran flat-out into the unknown, open space around them.

Read more here!

Artwork by @mogadeer

Winter: Converging Destiny

nightmares06:

(( 

This was written for the anthology Seasons: a Supernatural Fan Fiction Anthology and can be found in the Winter section of the book. Be sure to check out @spnshortstories and the rest of the anthology here! Cheers, and enjoy the story! ))


It is late, and heavy droplets of rain splatter across the windshield of the darkened car, creating a cascade of water to obscure the outside world from view.

Dean Winchester, sitting in that dark and silent 1967 Chevy Impala, doesn’t need to see much. Just one thing, one silhouette, and then he can leave.

Over two years have passed since that fateful night when his younger brother had stormed out that door, renouncing their father and forsaking Dean. Leaving them alone to figure things out without him, taking an integral part of their lives with him as he left, his harsh words fading away with the slamming of the door.

It feels like just yesterday.

The loneliness was not so bad at first. Dean threw himself fully into learning to hunt with John, concentrating on every drop of information with a singular determination no one else could match. All that work, all that determination resulted in him going off on his own to hunt not long after Sam had left them.

That might be what made it so hard. He wasn’t ready to hunt on his own, not really. It had nothing to do with being prepared. It had everything to do with the long nights and silent car rides that he drowns out with classic rock from his father’s old cassette collection, inherited along with the car.

Through the deepness of the night, Dean can see two figures running along the sidewalk, one with a large jacket held overhead to block the rain from them both. The smaller figure had golden curls, catching the few flickering streetlights and reflecting the light back in flashes. The second…

That figure, Dean didn’t need to see clearly to know who it was. He’d know those broad shoulders and long legs anywhere.

He lets out a sigh at the sight of his younger brother running towards the apartment he has for while he’s in Palo Alto. Clearly, Sam is doing well for himself, and even as Dean watches, opens the door for the girl and lets her rush inside before following himself.

Sammy is safe.

Dean might be alone, and he might not know what the future holds, but his younger brother has a life. One that might take him further and further from his family, but where he also has the chance to thrive.

Two years was a long time, and it would only grow longer, so long as he knew that Sam was making a life for himself, it would become easier to bear. Still hard, but the threat of looming danger didn’t hang over Sam the way it did for Dean.

To the side, a guitar riff cuts through the steady pounding of the rain outside. Dean glances down, spotting the number that appeared on his phone, and answered promptly.


A little over five minutes later, the headlights of the Impala flare to life, illuminating the gloomy parking lot. To the side of Sam’s apartment, the classic car goes unnoticed by the younger Winchester as the engine roared to life, blending into the background of thunder and lightning and constant pounding rain, one of the scant twenty days a year that the California city would see a drop of precipitation. Chosen carefully by Dean to help hide his brief trip to see if his brother was okay.

Even deeper in the night shadows, parked by a dumpster to avoid the young hunter’s notice, a massive black truck lay in wait. The man sitting inside lowers his phone down, watching his son heed his order seconds after receiving it.

If he told Dean to go into that apartment and pull Sam out, take him on the road, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

John knows this, but something holds him back from sending that fateful message. Despite everything, in spite of the way he’d told Sam to never come back, he still wants to see him again. Talk it out, explain why things had to be the way they were.

Yet he never can, and there was no going back for them.

Instead he sends Dean off on a hunt for a vengeful spirit. A simple salt and burn to keep him out of trouble. Sam will remain in Palo Alto, unaware that his family was so close that night, and he will carry on this path he’s chosen away from them

Once more, John wishes that Dean had taken the initiative to confront Sam on his own. There was always a chance they could be reunited through him.

He waits for another ten minutes to be sure that Dean was gone and Sam wasn’t looking, then turned the key in the ignition. The truck roars to life with a reverberation that could put the Impala to shame, headlights as bright as spotlights turning on and lighting up the parking lot.

John leaves his youngest son behind in the secure knowledge that nothing would be able to reach him there so long as they kept a close watch between hunts.

FIN

February 21st excerpt:

It was hard to push out of that dark mood. Dean tried to shrug it off. “Shoulder or pocket?” he asked gamely, popping his collar with his other hand.

“You look ridiculous,” Sam commented helpfully.

What would happen if Full-size Jacob, Sam, and Dean all met Oscar at the same time?

Oscar ball.

That’s a lot of tall people to deal with all at once, and Oscar isn’t even very tall for a borrower/little/etc. He’d take one look at them and curl up as small as he can make himself. With three sets of eyes on him like that, from so high up, his poor little heart would be pounding.

Of course, it wouldn’t matter how stern the seasoned hunters might try to be about the potential danger. Once Oscar starts crying (and he would probably cry over this), Jacob will be his defender. Do not mess with him. Making such a little guy cry is illegal.

February 20th excerpt:

Dean perked up a little. “Think the little guy’s up?” he asked, glancing over at the nightstand drawer.

“Only one way to find out,” Sam pointed out. “You’re the one that kept him up at an ungodly hour of the night, not me.”

“Did I?”

February 19th excerpt:

Stan’s brow jumped and he froze in place. Without Dean awake to distract him from his position, he felt his ears heat up as he glanced around the wide chest that made up his seat.

“Er… Sam? Dean fell asleep,” he called during a quiet moment in the show, reluctant to raise his voice so close to Dean and his not-quite-restful hand. He didn’t feel unsafe there, but he was certainly ready to be anywhere else.

Somewhere that didn’t turn him red in a confused blush.

February 18th excerpt:

Dean grinned, completely drawn into the show on TV. “It’s a doctor show!”

“A doctor drama,” Sam corrected quietly to the side, but soft enough that his interruption went unnoticed.

“It’s about the staff at Seattle Mercy Hospital!” Dean went on. He gestured grandly at the scene as it passed them by. “Doctor Chang, the sexy but arrogant heart surgeon. She’s got a surgery soon, a very high risk surgery…”

“Oh I am never letting you live this one down,” Sam said with a huge grin from the other bed, completely ignored again by Dean.

February 16th excerpt:

Sam almost leapt off the bed, his hand sealing around Dean’s wrist and his watch all together, holding his drunk brother in place.

“Hey, hey hey! ” Dean whined, trying to pull free and getting nowhere.

“Dean, what the hell,” Sam snapped, his eyes flicking worriedly down to Stan.

February 15th excerpt:

Sam sniffed. “Didja strike out?” he sassed, shifting his butt away from the reek of alcohol and cheap appetizers.

Rolling his eyes, Dean protested “Of course not! I just had to come back and rescue Stan from this fascinating night of procedural cop shows.” He looked back at Stan, leaning closer than normal in order to focus on the tiny features of the little man. “Really? Procedural cop shows?”

“He picked it himself!” Sam defended.

“There’s like two hundred of them on TV and they’re all the freakin’ same!” Dean complained.