[Fearplot]

[unchosen_son]

The morning had been long, longer than Sam had remembered in ages. There were things running around that he swore weren't supposed to be running around. Things like vampires, spirits, demons of all shapes and sizes; things that weren't supposed to be around anymore. They were supposed to be harmless on the island

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[my_wayward_son]

Dean's mouth was open to answer Sam's question as he peered out the door of their hut, his dad and Ellen coming behind them, making sure none of those things that weren't even supposed to be on the island had followed them back - neither was weird. All things considered, Dean was kind of relieved to have something to do that made him feel like he wasn't just wasting his time here, too. And it wasn't like they weren't used to Vampires and all this other crap.

Only then he heard Sam's voice, just like that night he'd taken his brother back to his apartment, just like when he'd seen Jess on the ceiling - and everything was wrong. Absolutely everything was wrong. He swung around, the door forgotten, his back unguarded, and saw Sam standing beneath the flames - it was like looking at a freaking photo, a snapshot of the last time. It was all the same. "Sam!He was moving before he'd even had a chance to really think, pulling Sam away. Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's waist and yanked him bodily away from the bed, the ceiling that had caught

[wayward_dad]

"Just ten minutes, Dad," Sam had begged him. Though John had wanted to tell Sam to get back out there, into the thick of it and keep fighting because that was what they did, he had agreed. They needed to restock, regroup, and rest for a minute before going out there to kick ass and take names yet again.

Hoisting his own bag of weapons further up his shoulder, John kept surveying the area as they headed back to the hut for "no more than ten minutes, Sam, and I mean it." Ellen was close behind him, probably as exhausted as the Winchesters. John had to hand it to Bill. He'd taught his wife well, not that John had expected anything less from Ellen Harvelle than precision

[heartlikesteel]

Ellen had been scanning the woods behind them, her eyes peeled. She was bone weary, more exhausted than she had been in years, but it felt right. They had been hunting those sonsobitches for hours, and it felt good. She had hunted years ago, here and there with Bill, but after Jo was born, she had just settled in at the Roadhouse. Still-- after years of working with hunters, she knew her shit, and she'd paid her dues out on the hunt, but it had been too damn long. She skin buzzed, and she felt more awake than a jolt of coffee could make her. She had bruises, scratches, muscles weak with exertion... Some bruises made it damn near to the bone, and she ached all over. Hunting with John and the boys made her feel alive, as messed up as that was

[unchosen_son]

Sam was struggling against Dean, in a blind fury to try and get back inside to get Veronica out of there, scrambling and trying to do anything he could to just get back in there. "Dean, move!" Sam bellowed, ready to throw a punch if that was what he had to do.

But before that could even happen, the hut started to fall apart more and more, piece by piece falling to the ground, reducing all of Sam's hopes and the structure of the hut to rubble and he just stared forward, numb and unable to do anything but still fight. "DEAN!" he shouted, desperately. "DAD!" He was begging now, anything but accepting reality.