Clean nails tap against the polished mahogany desk as the heavy doors across the room push open.
A man in his early thirties scurries in, dressed as if he works in a corporate headquarters.
“Status update?” The man at the desk asks, ostensibly bored, his accent not lost despite the almost five decades since he made his international move.
“They have Zazel in custody and have officially charged him with Hein’s murder. That, and attempted murder of a witness and witness intimidation.” The shake in the young man’s voice had disappeared ago as he had slowly climbed the ranks of his organization, but with today’s news, it was like it was his first day all over again.
Don’t shoot the messenger didn’t really apply to his boss—a reason he had so quickly moved up the ranks over the years.
The man with black hair far too dark for his age purses his lips at the information.
“And I am to assume Zazel will not be taking any plea bargains.” The man phrases it as a question, though he already knows the answer.
The man takes a deep breath as he leans back in his plush chair.
The heavy-set pit bull that lays in front of a steady-flamed fireplace looks up from its bed as his master’s chair squeaks under his weight.
“And the witness?”
The young man takes quick steps and places a folder gently on the immense desk.
“Y/F/N Y/L/N. Age Twenty-Seven. We know she’s under protective custody of the FBI, specifically with Special Agent Dean Winchester.”
Brown eyes shoot up to his lackey.
“Of course Winchester is involved,” he sighs, his hands coming to rest on his temple. “The boy has been a thorn in my side since the day we killed his mother.” The man slowly opens the file and begins flipping through the information.
“Zazel should have just killed him right then and there,” he hisses to himself, stopping on a picture of you being loaded into a standard FBI SUV, the date stamp from earlier this afternoon.
“And why is she not dead?” He rubs his temple with a sigh.
The young man swallows hard and fidgets with no answer, his lips giving as his boss’ eyes find his.
“Some girl,” he spits, slapping the picture, his voice rising. “Is running around with the man whose sole purpose in life is to bring me down.” He hollers as he stands up, his fingers resting on the desk.
“Can someone explain this to me?” His Scotish voice roars. His pet’s ears perk up as he watches his enraged master.
The young man remains frozen in his spot and his boss grunts at his lackey’s cowardliness.
The man takes a deep breath, recomposing himself before kneeling down to his pup, giving its ears a shake.
“You know what they say love.” The dog groans at her master. “If you want something done right, blah, blah, blah.” The dog just stares up with no understanding, but with dedicated attention, aware of the power its master possessed.
“Looks like I’ll be paying Miss Y/L/N a visit myself.”
Just imagine how awesome Sam and Dean would be at parenting a girl with their hunting skills!
Like, just imagine how hilarious and awesome it would be if Sam and Dean raised a little girl?
Dean having to practice braiding hair on Sam at night so that he can do that pretty French braid that his baby girl wants to wear to school.
Hide and seek and tag through the bunker.
Dean and his baby building a blanket fort in the library much to Sam’s dismay as they completely disarrange his catalogue system.
Sam scrunching himself at a tiny table, with a tiny tea set to have a tea party with his baby.
Sam using his kickass lawyer skills that he never had an opportunity to use to completely obliterate the school dress code after sending his baby home for wearing a sun dress.
Dean having to suffer through his little girl putting makeup on him after Cas gives her some for her 6th birthday.
Sam mastering nail art so his daughter has the nicest little devils traps painted on all her fingers and toes.
Dean intimidating the school councillor into leaving his baby alone after she gets taken to the office for satanism due to said Devils trap nails.
The utter panic both the boys feel when their little girl tells them she’s having her first period (hint, they freak out way more then she does and it makes her laugh which evaporates the tension) and then teaching her how to get blood out of things because if there’s one thing they know, it’s how to get blood out of stuff.
Dean proudly teaching his daughter to drive the impala like a pro.
Dean and Sam getting dragged along to go shopping for prom dresses until they beg for mercy, but giving positive feedback the whole time.
Sam and Dean scaring the shit out of her prom date.
And crying at her graduation.
And driving to visit her at college all the time.
Sam coming to help her with homework and Dean bringing home cooked meals because “Baby Girl, instant ramen isn’t food! You need a proper burger!”
Cas randomly popping in and out to check on her.
white women will take credit for anything and everything produced by black women & femmes (as well as non-black women & femmes of color).
Even if it was nailed down.
The masters tools is a full service toolbox with power drills and a subscription to Angie’s List if need be. And you best believe there are white women out there ready to be all Rosie the reverse riveter on the intellectual, cultural, & artistic production of women of color.
Just because white women are oppressed by patriarchy doesn’t mean they aint all up in the tool shed of white supremacy.