She was destined to be a witch since birth. The unexpectedness of her mother joining in the Grand Coven, amplified by the pain of her father leaving them, it was only so long before hex bags and curses were thrown into her corrupted life. She played...
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"Strength isn't about how much you can handle before you break, it's about how much you can handle after you break." -Unknown ~~~~~
- Jackson POV -
The place was filthy to be generous about it. The walls seemed to crumble with every breath we took, the wooden siding rotted and green with decay. Empty, mostly shattered, bottles lay scattered about the grass and none of us could count the amount of trash sprinkled like frosting on a cake on the yellowing lawn.
Dean gave us the nod and we started inching closer, me tiptoeing to avoid stepping on a crinkling wrapper or metal can. Sam and Dean's guns were out, the bullets infused with Dead Man's blood to slow the creatures down for killing. The handle of Dean's machete poked out of his jacket pocket, while Sam's was still tucked neatly inside his coat.
Cas, on the other hand, didn't seemed alarmed. Being an angel of the lord he had little to worry about. Simple weapons such as guns and knives didn't injure him. With the snap of his fingers, he could transport all of us safely into the nearest motel or even back inside the Impala if he felt we were in danger.
However, he knew better than to interfere with Sam and Dean's case; he snuck around the pieces of trash like they were individual, miniature nukes that could blow our cover in an instant.
I was almost less fortunate. The faintest crackle of a Coke can sounded from my left foot and startled me back into focus. I warily lifted my boot-covered foot back into the air and placed it in the empty space beside the silver canister. A breath that I unintentionally held in escaped my lips in a quick second.
"Are you sure you're alright, Jackson?" Cas' voice whispered beside me. I hadn't even noticed how close he was to me.
"Mother always said to stay strong, even when your heart tells you to break down." I responded, not meeting the ice blue eyes that were piercing into me.
Sam turned to look at us, shooting a narrowed gaze that clearly screamed We need to have a talk. I nodded at him and he turned back, him pointing his gun at the back entrance of the collapsing household. Why would anyone chose to nest here when not only were you being chased by hunters, but the threat of being the next Wicked Witch of the East hung in the balance?
The door opened with a slight creak under Sam's touch. Holding up a finger, he tiptoed inside. My eyes followed his shadowy silhouette, traveling all around the room before peeking back out, informing us that the coast was clear.
We all inched inside. The room smelt like a poor mixture of wet dog, mildew, and overcooked eggs. What looked to be the remnants of a kitchen were now smashed into little boards, mystery shards, and piles of dust on the cracking tile floor. The only thing on that side of the room that remained intact was an old hutch that looked like it was fall apart with a poke.
