Quick, concise strokes of ink to paper before they fold and tuck it away into their respective jackets.
That's something to think about as well. their clothes just aren't going to cut it with a storm like this rolling in. The fog is damp with the kind of cold that cuts straight through fabric and into the bone where it refuses to leave.
Whatever happens, the last thing they can afford is getting sick. Not here, not in the place like this.
Sam looks at the board again. The bloody note asking for mercy. He thinks the only mercy they got was death.
And this, what, mystery trap? No. This isn't going to be his swan song. No way in Hell.
He grunts in agreement as they turn, glancing over his shoulder every so often for prying eyes and wisps of ether. It occurs to him as they walk in a random direction, hand in his jacket pockets, that Dean seems from the stance and the gentle crease in the corner of his eye, about as old as their dad was when he first went missing. It's staggering and they need to talk about it but they can't yet. Probably not for a while. The stress makes his addiction gnaw, but even if he were indulging (which he isn't anymore) there aren't any demons around. Still, it makes his stomach curdle with want and admissions he isn't ready to hash out right now, either.
no subject
That's something to think about as well. their clothes just aren't going to cut it with a storm like this rolling in. The fog is damp with the kind of cold that cuts straight through fabric and into the bone where it refuses to leave.
Whatever happens, the last thing they can afford is getting sick. Not here, not in the place like this.
Sam looks at the board again. The bloody note asking for mercy. He thinks the only mercy they got was death.
And this, what, mystery trap? No. This isn't going to be his swan song. No way in Hell.
He grunts in agreement as they turn, glancing over his shoulder every so often for prying eyes and wisps of ether. It occurs to him as they walk in a random direction, hand in his jacket pockets, that Dean seems from the stance and the gentle crease in the corner of his eye, about as old as their dad was when he first went missing. It's staggering and they need to talk about it but they can't yet. Probably not for a while. The stress makes his addiction gnaw, but even if he were indulging (which he isn't anymore) there aren't any demons around. Still, it makes his stomach curdle with want and admissions he isn't ready to hash out right now, either.