SocraticPrince

Thrifted concert tees for bands I've never seen "Mature for my age" but a clinical teen Still a sad Waldo in the back of the scene While all of my friends are painted weebs and queens, I'm still a loner since 1 2 3. Church, choir, queer, drama I'm a human being bred from trauma I want to die at 25 Sometimes I can't tell if I was ever alive

My chest is aching. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. My back is breaking. Why am I crying? I might be dying, But I'm still breathing. I'm still breathing. I'm still breathing.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other in awkward apprehension as they stood in front of a bright blue door in a little suburban neighborhood just outside Topeka, Kansas. With a committed sigh, Sam leaned forward and decidedly rapped the door three times. Sixteen hours earlier they were in St. Paul, Minnesota, having just wrapped up a case involving a vengeful spirit and a box of cursed sex toys. Though tired, an urgent text from Charlie Bradbury had them back in the Impala to the address where they now stood. The front lawn was decorated for Halloween, with jack-o-lanterns and half-exhumed skeletons reaching out of the ground. It was, in fact, October 31st. The blue door swung open almost instantly, revealing a bright, smiling ginger in black robes with a knit blue and silver scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and a tall, pointed hat covering her head. “Hi!” she exclaimed happily, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Wow you guys are fast! Come on in!” Before they had time