( this wasn't the sort of thing dean often kept up with. other hunters'd hear from him at times, sure, and maybe even with some sort of consistency should there be some sort of mutual benefit; while he'd told himself for long enough keeping in contact with red was merely for the fact that she was a damn good source of both intel and cases whenever their own stretch of land fell quiet, he wasn't blind enough to recognize the way it developed into more.
'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
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'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
ring ring, nat. he's right on time. )