#hervelle

[fallenangelwings]

Send me  ⚠  for my muse to find yours wounded and lost in the middle of nowhere | @hervelle

That stretch of wooded road should have been peaceful. A quiet run between two towns, with nothing but the sound of nature and the car itself to keep Jo company. But somewhere down the line, a hush fell over the forest. Like the landscape was holding its breath.

On the horizon, a pinprick of light could be seen through the driver's side window. It swelled like a comet, a burning blazing gold, and for a moment? It looked like the universe might have said fuck Jo in particular, because an entire damn METEOR was heading straight for her car. Changed its mind at the last second, because it streaked high overhead, and carved a thunderous path of broken trees through the woods beyond the road.

It wasn't the next extinction event — that was the good news. There was no mushroom cloud or concussive blast to flatten the car with Jo in it, not today. Lying inside that crater was Castiel, unconscious, looking like he'd gone ten rounds with Lucifer himself before the banishing sigil finished him off.

[roadravaged]

@hervelle | 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅

" you should see the other guy, "

✶ ━ the quiet jingle of bells above the roadhouse door announced someone's entrance, putting a pause to dean's festivities ( slamming shots of hot whiskey at the bartop while awaiting sam's return from wherever he was off to, ) and his most recent shot glass was dropped to the counter with a clink. it wasn't too frequent that they had time to pitstop here along the way of where their jobs were taking them, and the time spent was cherished. it felt as though it were one of the last slivers of a normal life he could grasp onto, some semblance of a family without their parents. more of a home than lawrence ever could have felt to him, at least. someone slid themself up onto the stool beside him, and his demeanor relaxed at that. jo.

it was only a moment of comfort before eyebrows raised at her in concern. he knew she could handle herself in any situation, god only knows she didn't need any help or want it, even. it was one of the traits he'd admired the most in the harvelle family line, even if it had started with a rifle pressed to his back once upon a time. that didn't prevent a pang of worry at the sight of a split in the blonde's eyebrow, crusted blood resting around on the skin around it. looked like she caught a right hook or lost a fight with something she'd ran into.

dean pursed his lips, the stinging from the alcohol still present in his throat and requiring a cough before he'd be able to speak normally. when he did, there was a light air of playful curiosity in his words.

" really, now ? i'm guessing you got 'em good ? feel like elaborating ? "

[bloodsalted]

@hervelle || a meme continuation || from here.

dean's hands are the only thing about him that's steady. internal organs feel as if they're twisted in a knot and vibrating at the same time. trembling in the sheer anxiety riddled adrenaline that he can taste in the back of his mouth. coppery and foul. sheer willpower holds him together as he patches her up. every stitch. every twitch of her skin that ripples in the aftermath is carefully studied by a pair of green eyes made paler by the light reflecting in their hues. color that fight for dear life as his pupils dilate in concentration.

tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek--dean holds his breath. you can't keep doing this to me. fucking christ. a plea that he knows will fall upon deaf ears. unheeded out of a sense of duty to a life that killed her. for all his bravado and all his knowledge and the trail of dead he's left in his wake--his lack of protecting her only shoved another razorblade of tangible proof of undeniable reality under his skin and into whatever tattered remains of a soul he's got left. saving the people he loves the most is always a hair out of reach and a million lightyears away at the same time.

running towards some inevitable fate where he's a witness to his ultimate failure time after time after time. feels like the dreams he has where something's chasing him and no matter how desperate he is? getting his legs to work's impossible. so he trudges through some invisible muck and mud towards grasping onto a straw's worth of hope that this time it might be different. this time never is. and she's sitting proof of his greatest fear; they'll all die and he'll be the last one left. holding onto her ghost for months will, one day, become years if she doesn't get out.

"family business that killed you once," his heart squeezes in his chest and he doesn't make eye contact--the corner of her mouth gets spoken to. it's the best he can do. needle and thread are forgotten. she's patched up. like new. except not. "jo--i don't think i can--," he sighs. nostrils flare. "i can't lose you like that again. got enough ghosts in the haunted house carnival ride my head's stuck on. having you trapped in there? seeing you fading off.." lips press together and he trails away--there's no words and he can't find 'em.

[klarsynt]

oh he's handsome i fear

yeah <3

[stllinski]

❛  what do you want? you can tell me.  ❜

it is not that simple. they are constantly surrounded by chaos. living lives that are torn apart by turmoil and war. death. he had mourned her, he had already lost her. flowers at her unmarked grave. tears stained his pillows late at night when no-one else could hear him. and now she is here, flesh and blood. breathing and asking him questions he never thought he would have the chance to answer. tongue parts his suddenly-dried lips, as if it will bring with it the right words to say.

“ joanna... ” her name a prayer on his tongue. it is not spoken in denial or grief like the years she was gone. hazel eyes dare drop to the curvature of her mouth, if only a moment, before training back on her own. those words she wants to hear, and he wants to utter into existence, bare against the back of his teeth. “ you know -- it's not that easy. ”

[bloodsalted]

@hervelle || inbox catch up! || okay. i'm gonna combine ideas!

[ SHIELD ]:     in order to protect them from physical harm caused by a third party, the sender shoves the receiver against the wall and shields them with their body.

can't stick around for long once you set a grave on fire. especially this close to town. never know who's gonna start driving up that short driveway to escape the watchful eye of the local police. kids looking to get high or drunk. someone looking to get lucky. dean's ran into it all when finishing jobs in cemeteries before. and judging by the not-so-warm receiving he's had from the police chief? he doesn't wanna push his luck. once he's sure that the bones are nothing more than ash and scattering in the wind, dean hops into the impala and turns his sights into getting the hell outta dodge.

sooner he gets this place illuminated red by his taillights in his rearview mirror? the better. his foot's got the pedal to the metal when he sees red and blue lights plugging up the best way outta town. the impala rolls to a stop a couple blocks away. dean's muddy boots hit the pavement as he climbs out, leaving the door open and stretching his arm cross the top as he leans his weight on it. forest hued eyes squint towards the commotion. the hell's going on up there?

that's when--out of the corner of his eyes. he sees a cop running by. flashlight bobbing as he makes his way towards an alley before disappearing around the corner. curious. dean's lips press towards one another. a thoughtful pucker. he figures fuck it, he's already on their bad side but they got nothin' to arrest him for and makes his way towards the same alley--a lean forward and he peeks around the corner. the cop's running out the other opening when he sees movement by a little alcove opening that borders the back door of some kinda shop.

his attention stays there. then freezes. every piece of him freezes when he sees a woman lean out and look both ways. he doesn't think she spots him but he sees her. and--his heart bursts to life in his chest with a rush of adrenaline. this can't be fuc---what? there's little to no time to react. even as he has a million thoughts rush into his head. demons battling demons. hope battling REALITY. doesn't matter cause he hears them coming behind him and quickly bolts around the corner. dean's a blur of motion running right at her.

she's barely made a movement. maybe sticking around to make sure the coast is clear. but he's on her when her head swings back in his direction. hand over her mouth and both their bodies tumbling into the darkness the little space provides. she lands with her back against the wall, dean pressed to her chest and round eyes staring down into hers with a look of disbelief and damn near fear. wobbly, breathless. his mouth opens. closes. then opens again to mutter one thing... "jo?"

[boyblooded]

@hervelle | 💌

she wanted to ruffle his bangs .

✧ ━ the wholesome gesture brought a wide grin to sam's face , dimples protruding his features as he stood over the blonde . it wasn't often that their run - ins with each other were positive , ( and honestly , a little awkward after the whole demon - possession part . ) though he'd held out hope that she'd known neither he or his brother would do anything to harm any of the harvelle name : they were practically an extension of their own family , as beloved and dear as bobby was . a palm of his own reached down to return the ruffling with a small laugh . ❛ hey , dork , it's good to see you again . you been doing alright ? what y' been up to lately ? ❜ there was a deep sense of respect when he spoke to her , an appreciation .

[inwire]

[ clean ] sender helps bathe receiver (after getting badly injured???? perhaps??? maybe?????) for dean

@hervelle

it's a real junkie-adjacent move, this crash and spill into the truck stop shower. costs them a ten for the water, and another ten for the clerk to ignore what it looks like (cause even without all the blood, what else would it look like?), and the guy on duty keeps it professional, only stares at how dean's draped over her long enough to point to the stall key.

they're both soaked in it, between the gash on dean's forehead, and the residuals of some nasty blood magik ritual they got themselves caught in the middle of. pig or cow or virgin blood, whatever. dean doesn't keep a copy of witch's digest on hand, so he doesn't know what the fuck that horror show actually entailed -- just that ten minutes into the getaway ride, all the sigils still painted on their skin started itching and flaking and burning and the smell is so fucking awful. road kill bad. maybe it was pig.

jo looks better because she did better. she didn't fall for the bait in the same stupid way he did, and get cracked across the skull with something metal and sharp that's making him see a little double. they're not the blind leading the blind here, which is a good thing, and leaves him room to make bleary cracks about the way she manhandles him under the shower spray. he cuts it out once the clothes start peeling off ('cause that's tacky, even for him), and tugs at the hem of her shirt where mirror bruises and bang ups peek out. worse than he thought, but he's not doing much thinking to begin with. forget the witches; ellen's reaction strikes real fear.

"fuck, fuck, okay, wait." he has to call uncle, save himself, intercepts her hand and the rag she's brandishing like a weapon toward his face. the antiseptic stings like a motherfucker. "jesus. you .. gimme that." and he's too sloppy, but gentler, dragging it over the marks on her skin in a struggled focus. hard to tell what's his, hers, or the pig's the way it drains into sludge. "like that. see? don't gotta .. you don't gotta pummel me with it."