i have no idea how to spell shh

anonymous asked:

Companions react to accidentally injuring Sole!

Okay, first react ever, so I hope you all enjoy! (: This got longer than I’d expected, sorry!


Cait: “Shite!” The redhead exclaimed, grasping the side of the bed as she peered out over the edge. A groan that sounded suspiciously like a muffled swear was the only reply Cait got, as well as a sharp glare.The glare would’ve been more threatening if Cait had been able to see the sneer on their lips, but said expression was hid behind their two hands cupping their nose, undoubtedly trying to halt the blood-flow.

“You broke my nose!”

“I didn’t mean ta! Ya know better than ta wake me up. What were ya tryin’ ta do this early in ta mornin’ anyway?”

“… I wanted to show you a new trick I taught Dogmeat…”

At this the Irish woman broke down into laughter and Sole pouted angrily - according to Cait it was adorable, not that the redhead would ever admit that - and removed their hands to cross their arms, only to realize they’d let go of their nose and the blood had begun flowing again.

Cait’s laughter followed Sole out of the house as they fled, hoping to wake up Curie without getting punched in the face. Surprisingly enough, Curie did punch them in surprise, leaving a bruised and bloodied Sole to mope about the next day, bandage on their very swollen nose and a colorful bruise on their cheek.

Curie: “Sole? I want to try something.” Curie had Sole wrapped around her little finger, every one of the companions knew that, so of course they agreed to participate in whatever experiment the synth scientist had come up with. Curie squealed in excitement and after surprising the vault dweller with a hug and a kiss, she began preparing the procedure.

The first sign of the experiment being a bad idea had been the sheer size of the needle. But, anything to make the french woman happy. The second sign had been the faint sting spreading through Sole’s body within seconds of the strange green colored liquid entering their bloodstream. Anything to make her happy though. The third and final sign had been the intense flare of pain that knocked Sole out after three seconds of painful screams and squirming.

Okay, maybe not everything.

When they regained consciousness, it had been three whole days and the vault dweller had a group of worried companions to reassure them that they were alright. Any they were, if you didn’t look the horns they had grown and the greenish tinge their skin had gotten. Strong seemed thrilled with the change, but Nick managed to somehow explain to the super mutant that Sole was too weak to go out and smash everything in sight with their new non-existent powers.

The horns and greenish tinge faded away after the first two days, but Curie hadn’t stopped apologizing, constantly trying to show how sorry she was with small gifts, kisses and hugs. After the two hundred and seventh bundle of flowers - where did she find all those flowers anyway? - Sole sat her down and informed her that they didn’t blame her and she couldn’t possibly know what would happen if modified super mutant and deathclaw genes were introduced to the human body. After Curie had reluctantly accepted that Sole was right and breathed a sigh of relief, they had asked how she had gotten a hold of the genes, nonetheless manipulated them.

‘Same way I got zhe flowers’ she had replied and before Sole could question them, had left to make more stimpacks for the upcoming wrestling tournament where someone, for some unknown reason, had allowed Strong to participate.

Danse: Power armor was a great thing. Great for protection, great to handling heavy material and building, great for charging into battle like an angry metal bull. All in all, great. Except when it’s knocked over. When it’s knocked over, it is like that of a turtle, flailing around defenseless, unable to get up quickly. Luckily Danse was very used to the heavy armor and steady on his feet.

Most of the time.

“Soldi- Sole! Are you alright?”

Sole didn’t bother answer with anything else than a grunt, eyes scrunched together as they did their best to ignore the angry flares of pain from their arm that was squashed underneath not only themselves, but also a very heavy set of power armor with a heavy and worried man inside. The vault dweller didn’t pay attention to what he was saying, but whatever he was saying was working, since the heavy weight was lifted within seconds.

It was during a party the accident happened. A few of Sole’s other companions had thought it would be funny to knock Danse in his power armor over to see him try to get up. So MacCready, Piper, Hancock, Cait and Deacon had made it their mission to do so, all either tipsy or downright drunk. Sole wasn’t sure how they did it, but they succeeded in knocking the power armor-clad Danse backwards. What they hadn’t expected was for Sole to have been standing directly behind him, one hand holding two beers and the other raised to touch Danse’s shoulder to alert him of their return with the beverages he had requested. The bottles dropped from their hand as the power armor tipped backwards to the sound of the five companion’s drunken laughter, causing them to be in this situation.

The second the heavy weight was lifted off Sole a pair of hands reached in - Nick’s, judging by the coldness of the one metal hand - and tugged them out from beneath the deathtrap. The synth looked worriedly down at the vault dweller, his expression matching those of the companions and settlers that had noticed what had happened and formed a circle around them.

“You all right?”

“Peachy” Sole ground out, gritting their teeth as they clutched their undoubtedly broken arm, judging by the sickening bent angle. Danse shoved Nick out of the way without much guilt - the two of them had never really gotten along that well - and without a word scooped them up from the ground before they could protest. Holding them rather protectively against his chest, he shot the five companions a heated glare with the unspoken promise of consequences before stomping off towards Curie’s makeshift and rather tiny clinic. Sole didn’t comment on the abandonment of the power armor nor the crumbling expression on Danse’s face.

Several days after the accident Danse refused to wear his power armor, and on the fifth day of Danse almost getting killed because he’d forgotten he didn’t have the suit on, Sole got him to talk a late evening as they laid together in their bed, too much space between them. He admitted he felt guilty, because it had been him and his power armor that had injured them, and he didn’t know how to handle it other than try to prevent it from happening again and keeping his distance. Heart heavy and eyes filled with pity, vault dweller spent the next hour convincing Danse that it wasn’t his fault, then spent two hours trying to convince him not to hunt down MacCready, Piper, Hancock, Cait and Deacon. Afterwards they exchanged kisses, caresses and words of love before drifting off to sleep, wrapped up in each other's’ embrace.

Deacon: “Deacon? What in the remains of this messed up world are you doing?” Sole’s question startled the spy, a sound he’d later deny as being a rather girlish squeak - “A mating call, Sole. It’s how I show my love” - escaping his mouth as he spun around to look at them, eyes wide behind the sunglasses. But as always he quickly composed himself, an easy grin spreading across his face as he loosed the death hold on the object he held in his hands.

“I’m trying to figure out if a grenade - like this one - would somehow be able to blow Maxson’s jacket off without killing him. Perhaps it’d take some modification or a magic spell, but it could probably work out if- shh, I’m explaining something there. As I said, we have to give it a try. Have you seen the guy’s jacket? Jeez, if I was a girl I wou- Hey, c’mon, you can tell me how stupid the idea seems late-”

Deacon’s rambling was interrupted for the third time. This time, not with words, but with action as Sole rushed forwards, nearly tackling the spy as they wrestled the grenade from his hands. His mouth went dry and he found himself speechless for the first time since the pink deathclaw when he realized what was going on. In one hand, a small pin rested in his palm. He’d accidentally pulled the pin out of the grenade in the middle of explaining.


Frantically Deacon waved his arms about to try to clear the smoke and dust from the air, expression nothing less than sheer panic. When the particles in the air cleared enough for him to see and stop coughing, his hidden gaze darted around the ruins of the house he had hid away in to ponder over the ideas that seemed so stupid now. One side of the house had collapsed and without thinking he was on his knees, digging through the rubble with enough force to bruise and scrape his hands more than necessary. The silence was choking, but his mouth was too dry to form any words, his chapped lips refusing to move more than shallow wobbles of withheld sobs.

They were dead, weren’t they? They had been holding the grenade, right? In their palms, still pre-war soft despite the months they had spent in the wasteland. The same palms that would run up and down his skin with a tenderness he hadn’t experienced since Barbara. The same palms that would grasp his firmly when his disguises wouldn’t hide the pain and trauma he had experienced. The same palms that now grasped his tense shoulders, shaking his form more than his suppressed sobs were, and-

Hang on.

Whipping his head around with the same carelessness that had caused the whole situation, he stared blankly at the hand grasping his shoulders, the shape and fine condition of the nails and fingers ghastly familiar. His watery gaze followed the arm further upwards, the blue of the vault suit making his heart beat impossibly faster. Finally Deacon’s gaze halted on Sole’s face.


At that little, hoarse whisper the spy broke, a sob fleeing from his mouth as he flung himself at Sole, arms wrapping around them and tugging them into a desperate embrace, salty tears of guilt and relief trickling down his dusty cheeks from underneath his lightly damaged sunglasses. They were here, they were alive. They hadn’t been killed because of his carelessness, his need for their attention. He hadn’t caused another death of his beloved.

“Shall we go blow Maxson’s jacket off, hm?”

And they did attempt blowing off the Elder’s jacket, but only after Deacon had - literally - dragged Sole to Curie to have their burns and that one suspiciously crooked wrist fixed. The vault dweller had sustained suspiciously little damage, but Deacon wasn’t one to complain. When Preston stopped by and asked, the spy quickly made up a story about thirty raiders and that one pink deathclaw, this time armed with a rubber duck instead of a paintbrush. Preston, having seen the pink deathclaw himself, actually believed him and Sole only felt a little bit guilty for fooling the naive man, again.

Maxson hadn’t appreciated the experiment though, especially not when the explosive only charred half of his beard and set the coat on fire - from the inside out somehow - instead of blowing it off his broad frame. But hey, the Elder had taken it off so he could put it out, so technically they blew off the jacket, right?

Dogmeat: It had happened before. Sole would return from after a mission out in the wasteland with their companion at their side. They’d cross the bridge, but before they’d reach the other side, Dogmeat would notice them and come sprinting, barking and yapping excitedly at the return of his beloved owner. As usual, Sole barely had any time to react when the dog flung himself at them, knocking them down onto the wood of the bridge and covering their face in puppy licks as he had done so many times.

Unfortunately the wood of the bridge was very old, and this time it couldn’t hold the weight of the three and the junk stuffed into the vault dweller’s bag. With several harsh snaps, the wood gave in and sent all three of them tumbling down onto the rocks underneath. Dogmeat’s added weight and the bag of junk landed harshly on to Sole and the impact and pressure proved too much, resulting in a few harsh snaps echoing through the air, the horrible sound followed by a pained groan and an apologetic whimper.

Sole spent a few weeks recovering with three broken ribs and some nasty bruising in Sanctuary under the stern supervision of Curie and Nick, and Dogmeat did everything he could to express how sorry he was. Cuddles, puppy kisses, even going as far as aggressively ‘protecting’ them from the other companions. Even dead animals and scrap were gifted, despite the vault dweller not exactly appreciating the dead creatures. But the gifts were gone when he returned, so they must’ve liked them, right?

Hancock: “Who came up with this idea?” Hancock exclaimed, nonexistent eyebrows scrunched and forehead furrowed as he stared Sole down. Now, the ghoul was usually up for anything. Ride rodeo on a brahmin? Sure! Ride a shopping cart down a steep cliff? Definitely, at least three times! Spray paint Danse’s power armor? Best idea ever!

But this? This was just stupid.

Sole was grinning wildly, clearly the one who came up with said ‘stupid’ idea. They were standing with their back pressed against a wall, a mutfruit balanced on the top of their head. Sole gestured eagerly for Hancock to go with it, and with a sigh, the mayor unstealthed his knife and twirled it around a bit in his hands. He shot the vault dweller a look that clearly asked the question of ‘are you sure?’ and could only sigh at the overly eager nod they gave, barely managing to catch the mutfruit before it slipped off. Drawing back an arm, he was just about to throw the knife when a gun K-L-E-O was showing off to a disinterested MacCready caught a glimpse of sunlight and blinded the ghoul mid-throw.

They all watched as the knife flew through the air, a completely wrong angle but in the right direction. He paled as much as a ghoul could as the knife sunk into the flesh of Sole’s right thigh, slicing through the blue material as if it was nothing. Sole and Hancock stared at each other in shock and a few drifters stopped up to stare as well. It wasn’t every day the mayor stabbed his beloved.

There was complete silence. Until the pain and realization caught up with Sole and with a strangled exclaim, they clutched their bleeding thigh, knife violently protruding from the flesh and blood quickly staining their hands. Hancock rushed over and held them up by their shoulders before they could crumble down onto the dirty pavement. The mutfruit laid abandoned on the ground next to a puddle of blood as the ghoul led them over to dr. Amari.

“You stabbed me!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Hancock spent weeks apologizing, always looking extremely guilty when Sole couldn’t stifle the occasional wince or swear when moving their still healing leg. It took a long time for Sole to convince him he was forgiven, and they never tried any of Sole’s crazy experiments again. Except that one time. MacCready still hadn’t forgiven them.

MacCready: It had been a normal night at the Third Rail, Sole and MacCready enjoying a few drinks by the bar and Hancock lounging around in his usual vip spot. They had been talking about MacCready’s life at Little Lamplight when a guy had strolled up and placed himself on the stool next to Sole, cocky smirk on his face and one arm resting on the wooden counter. Charlie shot the guy a look that clearly stated the mr. Handy definitely wasn’t serving him any drinks tonight, which only served to fuel MacCready’s suspicion. He was sitting awfully close to Sole…

“Hey, hotstuff. Let me buy you a drink, hm?”

He even sounded like a douche. Sole promptly ignored the guy, but judging by the expression on their face and the clench of their jaw they weren’t unaffected by the guy’s blunt flirting. They tried to start up the conversation with MacCready again, but the sniper was too busy glaring at the intruder over their shoulder.

“Hey, Sexy, I’m talking to you”

MacCready snapped when the douche put his hand on Sole’s shoulder, the vault dweller’s tensed expression causing his anger to flare even more. The sniper stood up, beer bottle nearly shattering as he slammed it down onto the counter, much to Charlie’s disapproval.

“Can’t you see they’re not interested?”

“Watch your mouth kid, I do what I want”

That was enough for MacCready to throw the first punch, nailing the guy directly in the nose and causing him to fall off the stool with a satisfying sound. He recovered quickly though, getting up and lashing out, nearly hitting MacCready in the jaw if it hadn’t been for the sniper’s fast reflexes. The ruckus had attracted the attention of the rest of the people in the bar, a small crowd forming and the song stopping. Sole even saw someone running up the stairs to get help.

The two guys were yelling harsh insults at each other, taking turns to throw punches and aim kicks. At one point Sole even saw MacCready’s forehead connect with the guy’s already broken nose, leaving a bloody smear on his forehead.

Deciding that enough was enough, Sole moved in to break up the fight. They didn’t even get two steps towards MacCready before getting an elbow to the face. By the sound of Sole’s surprised and pained exclaim, the fight halted and everyone quieted. MacCready looked unbelievably guilty behind all those bruises and small scratches on his face, a tiny trickle of blood on the left side of his mouth. But the vault dweller wasn’t having it and stepped in between the two, keeping their back pressed against MacCready’s heaving chest. The guy smirked confidently, seeming to believe that he had won for some reason.

“I’m pretty sure this belongs to you”

The guy didn’t even have time to reply ‘is it a kiss?’ before Sole’s fist had connected with his already double-broken nose, causing him to squeal and clutch his very broken and very bloodied nose, mutter a few choice names under his breath as he glared viciously at the smirking vault dweller and shell shocked mercenary. They could hear Hancock’s chuckle in the background.

Half an hour later and the guy was thrown out of Good Neighbor for good and the two had rented a hotel room, MacCready sitting on the bed while Sole tended to his bruises. He hadn’t stopped staring at their colorful eye with a guilty expression. Heaving a sigh after a few minutes of silence and staring, the vault dweller set down the damp bloodstained washcloth, hands cupping his face, mindful of the bruises and scratches. MacCready’s expression made them want to cry, but their voice only wobbled slightly as they sternly explained that nothing of what happened was his fault. It took a few hours and about fifty kisses, but Sole eventually got him to admit that he wasn’t to blame, and the other guy was. The rest of the evening was spent gently tracing the outlines of bruises and wounds while cuddling together on the tiny bed.

They found the corpse of the guy the next day on their way out into the wasteland, and made a mental note to thank Hancock for that when they returned.

Nick: Nick had only injured Sole once, since he handled them with an extreme delicateness as if they were made of glass. Glass usually doesn’t survive long in the Commonwealth, but hey, no harm in trying. Sole was rather annoyed by it, sure, but they couldn’t help but appreciate how much he cared about their wellbeing, even if it was a little overdone. The one time an accident happened was when Nick’s metal hand caught a few strands of their hair mid-kiss, the detective having been distracted by the suddenness of said kiss and forgotten his usual carefulness. It had taken a few minutes and Ellie’s help to untangle them, but despite it not having hurt much and Sole’s continuous reassurances of them being all right and it not having been his fault, Nick had opted to wearing worn gloves on both his hands for months after that.

The gloves had finally come off for good when Sole confronted the synth, burnt the gloves and the spares the detective tried to hide under the bed and grasped Nick’s metal hand. They’d ignored Nick’s flinch and hesitance as they raised the hand to their face, kissing every single metal finger, eyes never leaving his glowing yellow eyes. After that night Nick was banned from wearing gloves ever, but despite all this, he was still hesitant about touching Sole with his metal hand.

Piper: “Where is it… Hm, no… Nope…” Piper was digging through a large trunk in the search of her lucky pencil, tossing other ‘normal’ pencils over her shoulder. She always had it on her while doing interviews, claiming it gave her the courage to verbally attack people and pry answers out of them. Besides, having an extra pencil wasn’t a bad idea.

Unfortunately Sole hadn’t realized this, and upon stepping into the room, was struck by several pencils. A few smacked them in the face, one even leaving a small scratch next to their left eyebrow. They spluttered in surprise and ducked behind the desk for cover.

“Piper! Stop it!”

But once Piper had decided to do something, whether it was to stalk the mayor, prod at Danse for Brotherhood secrets or find her lucky pencil, there was no stopping her. Sole had to retreat, but hung up a warning on the front door before leaving.

Preston: Preston stared uncertainly at the bat in his hands, the wooden melee weapon a stranger to his hands as he was used to his trusty laser weapon. He had seen raiders use them before, running forwards and bashing it against the skulls of their enemies, often with a lethal result. They were powerful weapons, solid wood and often decorated with rusty nails or blades. But not this one. This one was a plain one.

Sole had approached him one day and tugged him off to the side, plucking the laser rifle from his hands and placing a plain wooden bat in them instead. They had explained that they wanted to introduce him and the other companions to baseball, pre-war style. It had taken quite a while to get the more impatient companions to actually listen to the vault dweller instead of whacking each other with the spare bats, but eventually they all stood in their positions on a field Sole had marked up. Preston was what he believed Sole called a ‘batter’ and Sole stood several meters in front of them in the middle of the strangely diamond shaped field, ready to throw a baseball at him.

It took five attempts, but eventually Preston managed to hit the ball and send it flying down the field, Piper and Hancock clad in blue chasing after it. Deacon too, as he had finally decided a team to stay on instead of shifting between the two constantly. The game continued like that, everyone struggling at first to hit it like they were supposed to, but they eventually began getting a hang of it. MacCready, Preston, Cait and surprisingly enough also Danse learned quickly and were rather good at it. Strong and Curie couldn’t quite get a hang of it and X6-88 had left the game after four minutes of standing and watching with obvious disinterest.

All had been well, blue team was in the lead and everyone was having a good time. Other than the occasional confusion about what team Deacon belonged to, of course. Preston was up again, standing ready with the third bat - the rest hadn’t survived the super mutant’s frustration - and watching Sole prepare to throw the ball. They threw. Preston hit it.

No one had expected it to soar right at Sole’s surprised face, smacking them right in the face and bringing them down onto the ground. It was silent for a few seconds before everyone rushed towards Sole, Preston’s face unnaturally pale and eyes wide. He couldn’t believe he just struck them in the face with a baseball! They’d never forgive him! Piper calmed Preston as Curie checked on Sole, said vault dweller groaning in annoyance over all the fussing and waving people away. They got onto their feet, determined to continue the game, but when they almost fell flat on their face everyone agreed that that was enough baseball for today. MacCready still hadn’t stopped laughing by then.

Sole’s face was bruised for weeks, eye swollen shut the first four days. Preston practically never left their side, constantly asking them if they needed anything. He sent other people out to the settlements and had Sturges take over his duties in the favor of staying with Sole despite their protests. He apologized officially with a picnic and a large bundle of wasteland flowers on day six, but the guilty expression didn’t vanish until the bruise did.

Despite this accident, baseball became a weekly occurrence at Sanctuary.

X6-88: The first time X6-88 accidentally hurt Sole was when said vault dweller decided to introduce the courser to Hancock. Looking back at it, it probably hadn’t been the best idea at the time, seeing as Sole hadn’t mentioned that Hancock was a ghoul. A non-feral, responsible mayor, but still a ghoul. Not to mention, X6-88 and Sole’s relationship had been rather new and sensitive at that point and X6-88’s protectiveness had been a very new feeling to the synth, one he had been struggling to figure out how to handle.

“Ghoul, get back!”

“X6, no! This is Hancock, he’s friendl-”

“He’s a ghoul! Step back!”

“X6, don’t you do it, don’t you dar- no!”

The courser and ghoul could only watch in shock as Sole threw themselves in front of the mayor, accepting the shot from X6’s laser rifle with a look of desperation. It took X6 a long time to snap out of it, and by the time he had, Hancock was already lifting Sole up to carry them to a medic. Enraged and filled with guilt, the courser snatched the vault dweller from the frustrated ghoul and with a bright blue glimpt they were both at the institute, laser weapon forgotten on the ground. Said weapon Hancock decided to sell off before the annoying synth could return.
At the institute, X6 refused to hand over Sole to the scientists and marched down towards the medical bay, synths and humans scrambling to get out of his way and away from the icy cold, murderous expression on his face. He never left their bed once, something that puzzled the scientists greatly.

Sole had agreed to have the scar removed after a few days recovery, just so X6 would stop staring at it with a heartbreakingly guilty expression every time they exposed their stomach. He only stopped apologizing when Sole accidentally shot him with their own laser weapon a few weeks later when messing around with it in boredom.

Maxson: It had been another one of those days where the position of Elder had proved to be too overwhelming for the young Maxson, the main cause being a vertibird crash into the center of a scottish settlement. The brotherhood learned never to underestimate others merely because of their accents and ranks as settlers. Why did the vertibirds continuously crash that often? That was the third time this week, were the pilots drunk or something?

Speaking of drunk, that was exactly how the Elder had chosen to cope with the stress and lack of sleep. Slumped in the seat of his chair, he held a ⅔ full bottle in one hand and a shotglass in the others, a few empty bottles carelessly tossed on the floor. His back was turned towards the door, and therefore he didn’t see who was entering. He only heard the sound of the door opening, and so far every bad news and demands of his presence had been signalled with that low creaking. Lips twisting into a scowl and the grip on the bottle tightening, he growled out a slurred ‘what’.

As much as Sole loved Maxson - only Arthur Maxson, they weren’t too fond of the more thick headed ‘Elder’ Maxson - they couldn’t allow this extreme drinking to continue any longer. He had drunk away the stress five times that month, two of them being within a span of six days. But before they even had the chance to say his name, Maxson had whipped around and thrown the bottle at them, believing them to be an intruder wanting something from him.

Maxson had never sobered up as fast as he did in the moment he realized who the bottle had been thrown at. He didn’t mean to, though! It just happened in the drunken haze he had forced himself into, but that didn’t make the sound of the bottle scattering and Sole’s body crumpling to the ground less heartstopping.



Sole woke up slowly, forehead furrowed and eyes closed as they tried to figure out where they were, and why. What had happened? The last thing they remembered was hearing from Cade that Maxson had once again locked himself in his room with the comfort of liquor. Then they had opened the door with their lockpicking set and-


Sole’s scowling face was what Maxson first saw when he woke up. His back was aching horridly and his head was pounding harshly. The Elder hadn’t left the spot next to Sole’s bed in Cade’s small clinic ever since the accident, despite Cade’s pleas. But Cade wasn’t there, and even though the bandages wrapped around Sole’s head and the stitched gashes on the side of their face made him feel a hundred times more guilty and sorry, he knew a kiss and a ‘sorry’ wouldn’t cut it this time, judging by the harshness of their glare despite the Med-x clouding their mind.

“Elder Arthur Maxson.”

Uh-oh. Full name plus title.

“- care to explain?”

He was screwed.

Babies and Hunters Don’t Mix

Another Supernatural one-shot that’s been bouncing around in this odd little brain of mine. I do not own any Supernatural characters! They belong to the creators of the show! 

Warnings: Fluff, slight!AU (certain character is still alive that technically isn’t at this point in the show. Just because I wanted to); and it’s really long!

Pairings: Team Free Will x Bobby x fem!reader x Crowley x Charlie x Garth

Originally posted by hey-ass-booty

Originally posted by thewinchesterdaily

Originally posted by dailyfeliciaday

Originally posted by w-inchesterbrothers

Dean sighed as his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and answered the call. “Garth?” You watched as your friend’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Garth?!” You looked at Sam, who shrugged. You sighed and turned back to your book. Dean hung up the phone and turned to you and Sam. “What is it?” Sam asked. Dean was frowning and his brows were still drawn together. “I couldn’t understand what he said was wrong, but I did catch a location. A little over an hour from here.  Let’s go, Sammy.”

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