veerin
It's like sonar, the way that his voice reaches me, fills me up, guides me. It's like a light at the end of the dark and damp tunnel, the one that makes me feel weak and useless and utterly lost. I feel his words resonate in my bones. His words hit me with intense force and fill me up. It's like nothing else.
It was a mistake. All Dean wanted to do was agitate them a little bit, give Sammy a little scare. But the next thing he knew he was dashing for the car with Sam's chubby hand in his, the buzz of dozen of angry bees loud in his ears. Tears rolled down over Sam's red cheeks as Dean counted the stings on his arms; one, two, four, seven. He bit his lip and whispered a sorry, shoulders suddenly like lead.
I saw the immediate slouch of his shoulders. He sank back into the chair, burying himself in his coat and the thick scarf wound around his neck. It was as though he wished he could invisible. He didn't want anyone to see him for what he really was. Not even himself.
A couple flicks of the wrist, a fist and a slap, fingers locking and finally pulling away. "Radical," they said in unison.
Her advice is terrible. She's got lots of great qualities, a pretty little present with all the bows and ribbons. But her advice is absolutely terrible.
There’s no way to tell its spring here. There aren’t any flowers or birds. There isn’t sweet, fresh, perfume air outside. There isn’t warmth and relaxation. There’s dirt and darkness and air that kills. Its spring because the calendar says so, not because you can feel it.
There's no way to tell it's spring here. There aren't any flowers or birds. There isn't sweet, fresh, perfume air outside. There isn't warmth and relaxation. There's dirt and darkness and air that kills. It's spring because the calendar says so, not because you can feel it.
The iron bar is cold in his sweaty hands, eyes searching in the darkness for her figure. He hears a shout and spins around. He swings the iron, slicing the smoky woman in two. She lets out a screech as she disappears, body flashing and contorting. He smiles, gets a smile back.
It's a mystery why--after everything--he still cares about me. He still throws himself in the line of fire to keep my safe. He still stitches me up and lends me a coat and lets me sleep on long drives. It's like a dream. A dream and a nightmare rolled into one.
It tastes like salt in his mouth. It's unwelcome and unexpected and too much. He can't believe he's said it but there it is, out in the open, pulling tears from the other boy's eyes. He swallows, shocked at himself. He knows then what he wants to say, but he doesn't get the chance. Suddenly it's too late.
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