Supernatural: Dean/LaylabloodofpykeFebruary 22 2012, 19:52:55 UTC
His knees hurt.
He’d been kneeling for almost half an hour, trying to think of what to say, and he was sure his knees were scratched and bleeding by now.
What’s a few more cuts and bruises? He shrugged, shifting his weight, clasping his hands, feeling like a damn idiot. This is pointless. The thought sprung into his mind, unbidden, and he tried to shove it back, tried to wrestle it away, but he couldn’t. Pointless, a voice somewhere in his head hissed at him. Like there’s even a God out there. And if there was, what makes you think he’d listen to you? A growl escaped his lips, low and angry, ripped snarling from his throat.
He bowed his head, feeling his heartbeat in his fingertips, and cleared his mind. Or tried to, anyway, he was never much good at this kind of stuff. He straightened, reached for his glass, and wished Sammy was here. He’d be good at this shit, all this faith stuff is right up his alley.Sitting back on his haunches, he waited a beat, swirling his drink, before sighing and leaning back to the bed
( ... )
Re: Supernatural: Dean/LaylasnickficFebruary 22 2012, 22:01:11 UTC
Ohhhh. This is lovely. Yes. I can totally see his attempt working out this way - feeling awkward, struggling to find the words, and finally just blurting it all out. And then the obits - oOh, Dean.
He’d been kneeling for almost half an hour, trying to think of what to say, and he was sure his knees were scratched and bleeding by now.
What’s a few more cuts and bruises? He shrugged, shifting his weight, clasping his hands, feeling like a damn idiot. This is pointless. The thought sprung into his mind, unbidden, and he tried to shove it back, tried to wrestle it away, but he couldn’t. Pointless, a voice somewhere in his head hissed at him. Like there’s even a God out there. And if there was, what makes you think he’d listen to you? A growl escaped his lips, low and angry, ripped snarling from his throat.
He bowed his head, feeling his heartbeat in his fingertips, and cleared his mind. Or tried to, anyway, he was never much good at this kind of stuff. He straightened, reached for his glass, and wished Sammy was here. He’d be good at this shit, all this faith stuff is right up his alley.Sitting back on his haunches, he waited a beat, swirling his drink, before sighing and leaning back to the bed ( ... )
Reply
Thank you so much for this.
Reply
Leave a comment