theanonymouswriter1989

[theanonymouswriter1989]

No title yet (I'm working on it)

This is the first thing I'm posting, it sucks I know. I got bored and listened to an angst playlist and just started typing. I also made an OC, I'm also figuring out how tumblrs posting works! Warnings: Character death, alcoholism Dean should have seen this coming. He was warned by Zachariah all those years ago, but he didn’t. If he had heeded the warnings then maybe his best friend, the woman he considered a little sister wouldn’t be dead. Maybe then Sam wouldn’t have to cry himself to sleep over what he did. No, Sam stares up at the ceiling every night praying to a god that had screwed them over so many times just to plead for the soul of the woman he had once regarded as a friend, an ally, a lover, to be spared. Maybe if Chuck actually listened and granted Sam’s request, he wouldn’t have to stare in the mirror with hatred burning and simmering under the surface, he wouldn’t think of himself as a freak.

”Once a freak, always a freak.” Sam thought. A thought that would have been carved into Sam's headstone when Chuck finally decides to put down the controller of his sick and twisted one player game. Its a funny thing, never truly being able to die, being used as entertainment for a sick God. At least that's what Calliope always said.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Calliope once promised. Calliope was a dangerous woman, she always knew how to outsmart you even if you were twenty steps ahead, maybe that’s why she got along with the Winchesters so well. Or maybe it was that she was a sharpshooter who could rival Dean’s skills. Or how she would understand Cas’ newfound love for humans, or moreso a newfound love for a human named Dean Winchester. Either way, Calliope Conners was a force to be reckoned with, one that God found sadistic pleasure in messing with.

The bunker was cold, it always had been, but somehow without the distant warm and twinkling laugh echoing down the hall, it felt even colder. The one place that once housed a dysfunctional gang of misfits turned family, now felt frozen in time. The air was thick as the Winchesters set down their bags in the war room, their faces blank, a shell of who they used to be. Dean tried to hide his tears, but there are only so many tears that can fall before the booze turns sour with despair and regret.

(To be Continued)