This was equal parts a nightmare and a dream. Well, perhaps more a nightmare for those poor souls lost to whatever tormented the old Trinity theater. For Molly, even as a hunter, the opportunity to step into an abandoned theater was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up...danger be damned.
She’d read about the Trinity, see. It was one of the many abandoned buildings she knew of within state limits, and one she hadn’t yet had the chance to explore--the job made it difficult to do the things she enjoyed outside of it. Once an ornate house of cinema, it now lay in ruin...but the photos she’d been able to find showed that a majority of the theater remained relatively intact. This gave her hope of finding something interesting that had absolutely nothing to do with the paranormal.
Problem was, Molly had indeed also ready plenty about the...not-so-savory history of the place. Something about murder, disappearances, things that went bump in the night...blah, blah, blah. She had enough knowledge and know-how to keep herself prepared for whatever could happen, and that meant sourcing and carrying around enough salt and salt ammunition to make her float in bodies of water. Underneath her excitement about the building itself, she needed to keep the job in mind--kill bad things, save lives...then she could go explore.
She just hadn’t expected the movement behind her, and when instinct took over, she spun about and fired the weapon, salt spray hitting the wall. Least she didn’t hit the fucking guy standing there. “Show me your hands!” She demanded, aiming again. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Dahlia had closed down her establishment for the day while she did some hiring for some female dancers and had left the door unlocked for any late comers. Watching the ladies dance, she was making notes from her chair when she heard the door open over the music. “I knew I should have locked that thing.” She groaned to herself before turning her head to whoever entered and spotting a lone man. “Excuse me, ladies...” Dahlia stood up from her seat and, with her heels clicking against the floor, she walked over to the gentleman. “I’m sorry, the club is closed for hiring until tonight...” She began before taking a second to look him up and down. “...however, if you feel kind enough to do me a favour and help me judge my dancers, I’d deeply appreciate it. There may even be a few free drinks in it for you.”
❛ Now I’m asking you, for once, trust me. ❜ from dean at ana
@llosgcariad | inbox.
for once. the words are a knife in her gut. dragged first across the throat with how desperate they sound. like he was begging her. like he doubted how much trust she has in him at any given time. which, she'll admit, hadn't been very much at the start of their love story.
—more like a damned tragedy actually.
not the kind they write plays about, that's too poetic for what they've gone through over the years. the fights, the doors that have slammed, phone calls that went to voicemail, the miles under the impala's tires. or the quiet ones when he came to her smelling of blood and bourbon, more shadows in his eyes than ones he left with. talking to either of them about trust was hilarious when they were the same in how rarely they extend it.
they could argue about it for awhile. she could refuse to let him handle it, take him at his word and trust the demon he hated to watch his back without putting up too much of a fight. without swearing at him as he left, wondering if the day would ever come when he wouldn't walk back in like he hadn't gone anywhere at all. maybe tell her another lie like he was going to the store or out on a hunt when she knew he was full of shit.
it's not in anger that she holds her tongue to the point of biting down on it instead of lashing out. because she does trust him. more than he realizes most likely. demanding answers won't give her the results she wants and they'd only go around in circles all night like this if she tried to get them anyway. "fine." one worded reply is far from compliant and she doesn't intend to leave it at that. too easy. "if you promise i won't regret agreeing to this later."
There's a moment where Molly might have had a sarcastic reply locked and loaded, but the second she meets his eye, the words die on her tongue. Dean wasn't particularly an emotional guy, and he certainly wasn't one for sentimental speeches. So if he'd decided that this was the time to let her have a look at his inner workings...who was she to make him feel badly for it?
Besides, as they leaned back against the Impala, her heart clenched. And it whispered the same.
Instead, Molly nudged his shoulder with hers, lips quirking. "Like it or not, Winchester...I'm in this with you. We're stuck together. Winchester and McKie--McKie and Winchester. Oh, that sounds better, right? I like that."
Maybe she shouldn't tease him so much--they looked after one another, and Dean had saved her ass more times than she cared to admit aloud. If he had concerns, they were usually valid. That didn't mean she couldn't have fun with him, though.
"Can I borrow your jacket, too?" She asked, pouting playfully and batting lashes. "Hold your hand?"
"I think I got this one, Romeo. Appreciate the thought, but you've got your hands full here and the last thing I want is a babysitter. Besides, when's the last time you got some shut-eye?"
“ i’m not gonna ask if ‘you’re okay’ cause obviously, you're not. you wanna get the hell out of here and do something? ” | dean
In the Meme Vault
She's silent for a long time, and at first it might not be entirely clear if Molly heard him, or if she's merely ignoring him. The discarded bandage wrappers were scooped into a bag, the time taken to start cleaning up any other garbage that lingered. Anything to keep from meeting his eye.
In a way, she was thankful that Dean wasn't pressing. Whether he was smart enough to avoid it or didn't really care enough...it didn't matter. She wasn't ready to talk about it.
She honestly didn't know if she would be.
Finally, Molly took up her jacket and bag, and headed toward the door.
"...yeah. I do." She mumbled. "I wanna break everything, but I'll settle for something smaller."
send me a symbolfor… || always accepting | @trbled-at-the-root
✿ five times my muse almost texted yours, and the one time theydid.
Doubts had always nestled in her heart –it was supposed to be ousted when she was slowly regaining her confidence bybuilding herself and yet how it easy it is to plunge back to where she hadstarted, hesitations and self-mistrusts her old friends.
It’s about time she meets them again.
One.
It is a difficult task to prove herselfthat getting the bulky string instrument out of its case (which remaineduntouched for a long time) wasn’t brought about by longing but by trying tosteer herself back to her track. Music. It was once her world, right? He wasonce her world.
Haebitna convinces herself that sheneeds to learn, again, holding thebig guitar around her small hands. Her fingers fiddled on the strings, and yetno matter how hard she tries to remember any chord, she can’t. She couldn’t.
Maybe a little help?
📨 : Dean선배님
Hey, can you remember how to play theguitar? Even just a chord? I really want to learn how to –
…delete delete…
Sheonly remembers how her father played it for her.
Maybe she won’t be able to learn itagain. Not this time. Not when she could not think of the instrument withoutthe memories of her dad.
Not when her inspiration has died.
Two.
In the midst of a crowd, a voice arises.It is a sound so distinct, a voice smooth and full of soul. She’s heard of it,she knows it. A lot of people admire it.
Haebitna does too.
But more than the voice is the passionthat she admires most.
Andmaybe the success that he had with it.
Her hand fished her phone mindlessly.Fingers fiddling on the screen. Tap taptap.
📨 : Dean선배님
I wonder how can you pull out youremotions and let it resound too profoundly. Your voice, your song hits so hardI just…
[ Message not sent. ]
In the midst of crowd, she lost herself.In the midst of emotions, she lost herself.
Three.
A pursuit to bring her back on track hasbrought her feet inside this dimly lit room filled with neons and liquors and aband on the stage. A bar is not something she’s been for a lot of times, atleast not like this. The ambience feels different than the usual concerts orshows the other has performed in. This feels more intimate.
No rowdy crowd. Only people lulled inthe initial kick of the liquor in their system and the soulful voice echoing inthat small space.
And Haebitna is situated at the farback, a glass of mango juice on one hand, her phone on the other.
📨 : Dean선배님
Sunbaenim, I actually came tonight. I’msorry I had not been able to before.
Her phone finds its way on the tablewhen the music starts once more. The screen is left idle until it shuts off.
Haebitna takes a sip of her drink andthe music.
Hewouldn’t notice anyway.
Four.
She sees him in the middle of the night.No. Watches him from the screen. Sleeplessnight always leads her to streaming something online, or watching videos leadsto her sleepless nights. Tonight, it was the former.
It is in this kind of night that hadkept her wondering, how is it to stand on stage? How is it to hold thatmicrophone without the quivers? How is it to be someone like him who seem tohave all that it takes?
Howto become a Dean?
She closes the video, taps on the envelopeicon, then taps on the keyboard.
📨 : Dean선배님
Whoah. You look so cool. Well. Youreally are cool. There aren’t many people who could have that same passion insinging as yours, more so find the courage to pursue it. And be successful init. But you.. wow… just.. really.. wow.
It takes just a few seconds before she islulled into dreamland – plugs on both ears, and message left unsent.
Howto be like you?
Five.
An acquaintance becomes a best friend.
At least, that is what she had grown torealize as she dangles the shot glass in between fingers, shaking the contentsas though admiring the liquid and its wonders. It makes you think of things,see things, and do things you haven’t or couldn’t.
A kick of courage, perhaps. It is probably the reason why the occasional drinking had progressed to regular sessions.
More than just a kick, it is a great chunk ofcourage that had brought her to sing her heart out in that red tent, with theowner as the sole audience to her small show. Haebitna doesn’t sound drunk, orat least her voice issn’t. In fact, she sounds beautiful, too beautiful thatshe wonders if it is only a figment of her imagination or an auditory hallucinationcaused by the alcohol in her system.
Theold woman behind the counter doesn’t mind though. She enjoyed cleaning her tentstall with Haebitna’s voice as her own radio.
Courage is also the fuel for her to skimthrough her contacts and make a call. Knowingly or unknowingly.
….ring ring ring….
….ringring ring….
…ringring ring…
He does not answer.
But she doesn’t stop there.
With her humming in the background, shetypes and types and types.
📨 : Dean선배님
Sunbaenim!! Sunbaenim!!!!
📨 : Dean선배님
Ahh. You’re really cool, you know? It’slike there’s another you whenever the mic is on your hand and you start tosing. Like, being possessed with a singing god or something.
📨 : Dean선배님
I listened to your song last night!!! It’s awesome!! Like… really really awesome! The song’s stuck in my head and I’ve been singing it the wholetime now. Even ahjumma here is humming to the tune already!
