Sam, Dean, OFC, Wee!chester.
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable does not belong to me.
A/N: To celebrate my birthday, I'm posting fic. Enjoy.
Summary: December Jones sits on the front porch, chalk in one hand and paper doll in the other. Inside, the television blares midday self-help programs but no one listens. Chalk dust kisses the wood and blankets her fingers, pale pink, blue, yellow and white. It’s wedged under her nails and she doesn’t think it’ll ever come out. Across the road, the house come alive, breathes light and bright and a boy waves at her from the passenger door of a big black car.
( January Sun. )
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