This is a disclaimer.
AN: Prompt was this quote: "The older I get, the more I believe in what I can't explain or understand, even more than the things that are explainable and understandable." -Lillian Gish. Is it scary I wrote this in under two hours during a phone call from my mother?
What I can't explain or understand
When we are children, we believe in everything. Unconditionally, unasked, untaught, we believe in elves and dragons, in dwarves, in hobbits, in princes on white chargers and Black Knights, in princesses in long gowns, in demons and devils, ghosts and barrow-wights.
We believe in Good and Evil, in Santa Claus, in the Easter Bunny, in Glinda and Ged, in Temar, in Luke Skywalker, in Eowyn and Aragorn, in Druss the Legend, in Sabriel and Artemis Fowl, in whomsoever can draw this sword out of this stone is the true-born King of England, in Pallas Athena and Queen Mab, in Tricksters and boogie-men, in Time Lords and dead girls named Chuck and magic carpet rides and forty thieves and wardrobes that will take you to a whole new world.
As we grow older, we know better. We scorn these beliefs, shrug them off, think of them with fondness and nostalgia and a shake of our heads.
Adults are rational, sensible, logical. That's why they're adults. We've long ago shaken off the susceptibility and the superstition that kept us in the dark for so many centuries since the fall of Rome, no? We're enlightened, these days. We're smart.
Children are cute, funny, sweet, innocent, and above all ignorant. What do they know?
And if our grandmothers, our great-aunts and grandfathers occasionally say… odd things, or tell old stories, or maybe mention something that happened in this house a hundred years ago…
Well, they're just old people. Their wits are going. They're no more sensible than children, with their witches and their pixies and their saucers of milk on the back steps of the house.
Sarah Blake is barely twenty-four, and should really be thinking of those old childish games with an eye-roll and a grin for old time's sake.
Instead, she is standing in the house of her murdered friend, looking up at a painting that moved, the picture changed of its own accord, she didn't imagine it –
And even as Sam Winchester runs for the door, shouting for his brother, she has a moment to wonder briefly if any of the other things she believed in as a child exist as well.
