jackson winchester @jacksonwinchester-blog - Tumblr Blog

dontscratchtheimpala started following you

Jackson fiddled with the straps of his backpack, wearily sitting himself down on the street curb, feet resting in the dry gutter. The days were hot and the nights were cold, a combination no-one enjoyed. He tugged his jacket tighter around his small frame, hunching his shoudler’s slightly as the sun let its final rays sink behind the farthest buildings and cast the street into the dull darkness of post-twilight. Streetlamps were on, but their dusky glow barely illuminated anything but the direct ground below them, everything else was steeped in darkness. And that was where Jackson kept himself. In the shadows, out the way, out of sight.

He sighed slightly, leaning his back against the wall of a diner, knees drawn up to his chest as he tried to conserve whatever heat he could. Resting his head back against the brickwork he contemplated his life. Well…it wasn’t looking fantastic now was it. With another long drawn sigh, the boy rested his chin onto his knees, dark eyes he’d inherited from his father staring out across the street as the night grew ever darker and ever colder.

#dontscratchtheimpala

bornhunter started following you

Jackson had one old, battered photograph. Just one. One photograph of his uncle. Apparently his uncle had visited once, or maybe twice when he was an infant, when he was small enough to rest in the crook of his father’s arm and sleep there like a cradle. And the one photograph he had was of that. The tall figure of his father next to another figure, slightly shorter, an almost sad smile on his face as he had an arm around Sam and one around his mother’s waist. A snapshot in time before everything had vanished. It was a photograph he’d had in his backpack that day coming home from baseball practice, before the house caught fire.

And here he was, backpack full of clothes and candy bars, standing in the parking lot, staring at the very same car in the background of the photograph and looking at a man, the man in his photograph. Swallowing thickly, the boy moved forward, tentative but resolute. “Dean Winchester?” He called over, trying to keep the quivering from his voice, although he easily fell into chewing nervously on his lip.

#bornhunter #hi :)

Starting a fresh with this blog!

It's been so long that I've pretty much lost all the rps I had so I'm gonna start a new!

fatherxknowsbest started following you

Jackson had only ever met his grandparents on one side of his family; only ever his maternal grandparents. And even then it was only until he was seven. Like any child he had been curious about his paternal grandparents, and like any child he'd asked. What he'd received had been a long, long sigh and his father's wallet. Creased, old photographs seemed to be a habit of Jackson's family, as the one his father took out of his wallet was old and frayed and creased, but it showed a young couple standing in front of what must be their house. A couple he was informed were his grandparents...who were dead. Ironic really, everyone seemed to die. But, as morbid as Jackson could make his thoughts, he didn't, he just soldiered on, walked on with an aim in mind and a Winchester stubbornness in his heart. Until he managed to walk straight into the hip of a passing man. "Umph."Was the noise he made on collision, knocking him back a step or two, whilst: "Oh...sorry, sir." Was the polite apology which fell from his lips.