The dark stains covered the walls. The old motel room wallpaper sagged under the weight of the liquid. Her eyes wandered down to the shadow of a man: an angel drawn in ash.
"I always knew that man was a saint." The woman laughed halfheartedly, followed by a strangled sob. She quickly swiped at her wet cheeks as tears continued to stream from her electric blue eyes.
She flinched as her baggy sleeve brushed against the wound stretching along her jaw: the only scar she would retain as a reminder of him.
"I'm sorry. We did everything we could." The tall man placed his hand on her shoulder, his face adorned with puppy dog eyes.
"I'm grateful for your help," The woman looked into the boys' eyes in turn. "But I hope I never see you again. This is how you live? Death and destruction follow you, they stalk you like a loyal puppy dog. Then you move on, leaving the rest of us to suffer as we scrub the blood from our hands. I don't hate you. I can't hate you, but please, just leave." The woman's hands trembled.
"I'm sorry." The tall man reiterated before following his brother out the door.
"The Winchester brothers." The woman sobbed out, memories flooding back.
YOU ARE READING
One Shots
RandomShort things I write when I don't have inspiration for my actual stories. Also includes short things I write with the characters from my stories that don't fit into the story line.
