Victoria Coach Station (1932) by Wallis, Gilbert & Partners
Grade II listed coach station on Buckingham Place Road in Victoria, London which opened 85 years ago on 10th March 1932. The building was designed by the firm of Wallis, Gilbert & Partners in their distinctive bold art deco style.
Wallis, Gilbert & Partners are widely known for their factory designs, such as along the Great West Road in Brentford, but they also designed a number of bus stations and garages in the 1930′s.
The only people who interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…
“What the hell happened? Are you all right?” Dean asked, holding onto the front of Sam’s jacket, though it was clear he was anything but all right. He looked close to collapse as he shook his head minutely at his brother.
“Where’s Y/N, Sammy?” Dean tried again, searching his face desperately.
“I don’t think…” Sam trailed off, breathing hard.
“No. No, because you two were together when we got split up. Y/N’s fine, probably right behind you, had to kill another demon or something,” Dean said, trying to force himself to believe his words.
“You can’t go back, Dean,” Sam said softly. “There’s too many; it’s suicide–”
“I’m not going back!” Dean snapped. “This is the rendezvous point, dammit, Y/N’s coming. We’re just going to wait. Now sit down before you fall down.”
Sam didn’t need to be told twice and sank to the ground, elbows on knees as he replayed the last he’d seen your face over and over in his mind. You had been right with him when he’d been running. He hadn’t heard a scream, hadn’t seen blood; you were just gone the next time he’d turned around. It had been chaos.
He and Dean waited there by the side of the road until the sun set and still there was no sign of you. And when Dean left his brother despite all protests, a weakened Sam could do little more than watch as he jogged the two miles down the road back towards the battle grounds they’d left hours before.
Dean’s parting words to Sam had been right, though; the remaining demons had long since cleared out and all that remained was the carnage the Winchesters and you had left in your wake. Dean searched the place entirely, yelling your name, looking for any sign of you, but as the night wore on and all that greeted Dean’s ears was cricket song, his hammering heart slowly came to the realization that you were gone.
Freak accident of the week left this strange sight for English motorists to behold on the Great West Road, 17 miles southwest of London. A truck, skidding on excavated mud, clipped off the base of a telegraph pole, left the top hanging on wires in mid-air.