imagine a family;
a mother, a father and two little kids.
a white picket fence daydream,
complete with apple pie and cut-off crusts and warm hands
and a shadow of a monster in the corner.
imagine a family:
two scared boys grasping at each other in a world full of nightmares,
one small step away from alone.
imagine a family that doesn’t end in blood,
a man as worn out as his baseball cap,
a student turned prophet,
a hacker turned hunter,
an angel of the lord turned human;
imagine a plaid-woven patchwork happiness carved away from monsters,
a bunker underground called home.
imagine two tired men grasping at each other in a decaying world.
a question arises:
is it better to have loved and lost or never loved at all? —
for even an honorary Winchester is already damned.
rivers of red upon white knuckles and trembling fingers;
family doesn’t end in blood
until it does.
(spn hiatus creations | week ten
↳ bunker family )