Chapter Text
The house was silent, save for the crackling of fire and the sound of the television.
We've just received an update that the governor has declared a state of emergency for Paulding county, including the towns of Marian, Fetterville and Carthage...
There were three people in the study - two standing, the third sat in a wheelchair. All facing the fireplace, none paying heed to the news report.
...The storm system has reportedly touched off a number of tornadoes in the area...
They stood around the fire in silence; no tears, no sighs of sorrow, but grief nonetheless still clear on their faces. No thoughts raced through their minds, save feelings of loss and hopelessness.
A slightly awkward family photo went into the fire.
...Death tolls have yet to be estimated, but state officials have said the loss of life and property to be staggering...
Not too many hours ago, Cas, Sam, Dean, Ellen, Jo and Bobby had been posing for that same photo, unsurprisingly nervous and fully aware that they were living what could well be their last few hours on Earth. Come morning, they'd be embarking on a near-suicidal dash to kill the Devil and stop the Apocalypse.
Bobby and the two brothers watched as the photo was consumed by the flames, a mock-up funeral for those who had no bodies left to burn. They hadn't expected everyone to come back alive. But they had hoped that the sacrifice would amount to something. Instead, Lucifer still walked the Earth, and Death had been unleashed upon the world.
Jo and Ellen had died, and it had been for nothing...
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None of them heard the sound of footsteps suddenly making their way across the kitchen floor. No one still noticed someone walking past the table riddled with glasses and empty bottles, and into the study.
It even took a good few moments to gain a reaction when the newly-arrived presence finally spoke.
“Sam? Dean?”
As if waking from a dream, the older hunter and the boys finally turned their heads, still numb from grief, but gradually remembering themselves and instinctively trying to reach for weapons that weren't there.
In the middle of the room stood a young boy, roughly eleven years old, staring at them with large, inquisitive eyes, his hands firmly gripping a wooden box.
It was Sam that eventually broke the silence.
“Jesse?”