To the Core

Supernatural 100 drabble, word of the week: heart.

Summary: When something bad happens, there are always more victims than the official count – and it's hard to accept that protection can only go so far…

200 words on the dot.

A/N: My thoughts are with the victims and their families in London. What can I do but hope that the hate and senseless violence in this world might stop one day – probably when our planet stops turning.


It had taken all his skills, but in the end he'd hunted down that freak of nature and chopped off its ugly heads. He could still taste it on his tongue, the acrid smell of flesh and fur burning – could feel the fire under his own skin, where he'd soaked the claw marks on his hip in holy water.

There was a hot shower and cold beer waiting for him back at the motel, so why the hell was he still sitting in front of that house, watching the family of the latest victim through the window? Recognizing the furtive glances at the empty place on the table, the slumped shoulders, the attempts of keeping the talk going. But also a smile every now and then, an arm slung around a sibling's shoulder, the protective closeness of those who try to deal with the huge hole that was abruptly cut in their hearts.

There was no way back to before – but so many possible roads to afterwards. He wasn't really the praying type, but he hoped they wouldn't choose hate and revenge. It had done nothing to fill the empty space in his Dad's heart.

His cellphone rang.

"Coming, Sammy."