a) if it’s a question, i don’t wanna end up spamming the blog with anon asks so you’re better off asking on your account so i can answer privately
b) dude i have 200 asks
c) i’m lazy as fuck
trigger warning: rejection
You absently hum some old Rolling Stones song whilst folding fresh, crisp, angelically white towels, throwing them over the rack in the classically dated bathroom. It was weird, if slightly confusing, how nice the bunker was. When was it built? The Men of Letters must be pretty old – several generations at least – yet the whole thing felt modern. Judging by the décor it must have been expensive, too. It was all baffling.
You step into the shower, continuing to hum. Life was plain odd. A year ago you were graduating from a top university with your parents sitting together in the front row, beaming. Now you were washing blood from your skin.
You didn’t even have a sob story. Your parents had divorced the week after your ceremony – you’d discovered they were putting on a front so as not to ruin your day – but that hadn’t overly bothered you. Your friends were all alive (you hoped); your apartment still intact.
You’d been in your final year when you met them. It was late. Quiet, too. Maybe too quiet, but the quiet had never bothered you, nor the dark. What was bothering you was how the hell the stomach in front of you’s lining had been so heavily eroded. It wasn’t abnormal for its pH to drop to 1, sure, but for extended periods of time? Not so much.
Click. Probably the chilling cabinet.
Click. It’s probably broken.
Click. You look up.
All of a sudden your head was slammed from the top of your spine and your body forced forward so your lungs’ contents are forced out of you. Your eyes bulged as you choked and swallowed for oxygen, but are immediately cut off as an iron grip crushes your trachea. It begins with a warmth in your stomach. Pleasant, even. But it quickly heats into a fire, roaring through you, spreading and tearing and rising up, pausing in your chest; enveloping. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe.
You glance frantically around for something, anything. Your eyes land on the dismembered organs on the work bench and it all clicks. Some psycho serial killer was trying to burn people from the inside out!
Black spots begin to cloud your vision and quickly take over as your thrashing subsides without your permission. Everything is tunnelling until the last thing you see is a spotlighted, inflamed, dejected stomach lying on marble slab.
Your eyes shoot open and you gasp dramatically, raking in air – but it burns like hell. The whole action triggers retching in the back of your throat and all of a sudden your body convulses onto its side as you inadvertently empty the innards of your own stomach. It only ends after a solid 5 minutes, but even then you continue spluttering blood.
It’s only then your situation comes rushing back to you and you freeze. Where was the crazy killer? How had you survived? Your head jerks up and your eyes immediately crash into a pair of brown ones belonging to a shaggy giant crouching a few feet from you. He smiles.
You scramble backwards, crashing into the stone work bench, wanting to make a break for it but your body not responding. Oh, God. Here it is. I’m gonna die.
“Go away!” You scream as a weak threat, or at least you mean to scream. It comes out as a hoarse whisper and it’s your throat that screams. An uncontrollable hacking cough is forced out of you, blood spraying the tiled floor.
He moves towards you and you can only stare up in terror. His arms grip your waist as he hoists you up onto a clean surface of the counter. Your head begins to spin.
If there was one thing you weren’t, it was a quitter. In a last ditch attempt, you wedge your left foot into his groin and throw yourself off the counter, stumbling towards the door, his moans of pain all the reassurance you needed. You reach the door and launch yourself out towards the opposite wall so you’re able to check the corner of a T-junction in the corridors. You flatten yourself against it and are about to move out when a shadow looms on the wall of the passage you’re about to take. You’re sure your involuntary yelp gives you away, but you nonetheless turn to dash the opposite way towards a door at a dead end. Your body slams into it as you frantically shake the handle. No, no, no, no. The one door in the entire building that uses a key instead of a coded lock, and this was it. You slump to your knees and turn over to sit with your back against the door in order to face your fate.
He’s terrifying. That is the only word you can use to describe him. His face is raked with black lines and all sorts of scratches line his body. His green eyes would be pretty if there wasn’t something positively murderous in them; his hair sticking at all sorts of angles as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Your whole being is spasming with sobs that drag through you as your eyes don’t leave the figure moving towards you in slow motion.
It seems like a life time, but he finally arrives.
He crouches down, his right arm extending…
And cups your cheek. “Hey, hey, ssh.”
Your head strains away but there’s nowhere for it to go. Your body freezes, rigid as a scarecrow.
“It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you.” There’s footsteps behind him as his taller friend from earlier appears.
Your breathing increases and you bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t need this. your brain repeats over and over.
“Really, we’re not.” The tall one speaks and you start, your eyes flickering to him.
Green Eyes drops his hand. “Actually, we just ganked that son of a bitch who tried to kill you.”
Your eyes flicker between them. There, back, there, back.
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Just do it quickly. Please.”
One person retreats. One person stays. One of them pulls you into a broad chest and wraps their arms around you, and you completely let it go. You simply sob into it, but the arms only hold you tighter and a hand strokes your hair.
Thus was how you met Sam and Dean Winchester.
You think back to how they’d begged you not to tag along with them. How Dean had joked about not wanting your ‘pretty little face’ to be ruined; although if they knew you any, they’d have to try harder than that.
You’d not thought about Dean’s little comment back then. Brushed it off as just part of his nature.
But just recently it had crossed your mind more than once. Dean thought you were ‘pretty’. Although then again, didn’t he think everyone was pretty after a few drinks? You had been witness to his mannerisms in bars; flickering eyes and tiny movements over some girl’s body, grinning whenever he caught your eye over the her shoulder. He thought he was such a stud. You would always shake your head, smile, and maybe turn and make some comment to Sam.
Back then Sam and Dean were your big brothers – that was all. They would make you hot cocoa if you were sick; make fun of you if you messed up a hunt; ruffle your hair when they knew you’d made an effort.
But then something had started moving. Like a little caterpillar, itching underneath your skin. Suddenly you noticed Dean’s body – how did he get it like that without working out? And the eyes. Their green was abruptly brighter, framed by a perfectly chiselled face with a spattering of freckles that somehow made him look like a boy again. You tried to ignore it, and the caterpillar made its cocoon. It was easier to ignore it, especially when he stopped flashing you those grins when you were out at bars, which had become the bane of your life. Months went by.
Then, out of nowhere, the cocoon broke. A butterfly burst out, and Dean hit you with full force – you were completely and unalterably in love with him.
You’d waited before doing anything, of course. Months to be sure. But tonight was the night. Sam had driven up to Sioux Falls to see Bobby whilst you and Dean stayed and did ‘research’ in the snug warmth of the bunker as the world froze over outside. You’d lit a fire in the main room earlier after Sam left and nipped off to take a shower.
You finished the last coat of mascara, still miraculously being able to open your eyes after so many layers, and smiled. You were definitely improved, that much was true. You just hoped Dean thought you looked okay.
You slip on a skirt over your nicest underwear and neutral tan heels, stand your tallest and take a deep breath. This was it – and you felt like dancing. You and Dean, Dean and you. You’d had just one serious boyfriend when you were younger, and were eager to experience that feeling again. The excitement, the exhilaration, the sex. It was always so much better with someone you totally had feelings for.
You love the sound heels make as they clack over wooden floorboards. It’s confident, it’s independent and it’s wholly self-assured.
“Dean!” You call through the bunker. “Hey, Dean!”
A faint “yeah?” echoes back. Still by the fire.
Your heart beats increasingly intensely as you near the doorway, and you take a deep breath. “Dean.”
“Yeah?” He’s still looking down at the books in front of him, evidently scanning for some piece of information. He evidently finds something, jots it down, then looks up, and his mouth falls open slightly. His eyes run down to your toes and back up again, and he swallows.
You smile. “Hey.”
His expression is completely dumbfounded yet inherently unsure. “Oh, god, Y/N…”
Your smile falls. “Dean?” You ask nervously. Oh, no.
He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re beautiful, but…”
Your blood runs cold and rushes in your ears, your hand shooting to your forehead. You forget how to breathe. “Oh, my….” You attempt a swallow but it gets stuck in your throat. You turn away.
You hear a chair scrape backwards across the floor and footsteps travel towards you, but you just stay planted in the same spot unable to move. How could you have been so stupid? Of course he didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t. He was like your brother!
A hand tentatively touches your shoulder and you jump round to face it. Him.
“Y/N, you’re…” His other hand rubs his mouth. “God, I’m such a douchebag. If you’d…. last year,” he attempts, and searches your face.
You stare back at him until it clicks. Last year. The grins, the looks. That was flirting.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry…” A thumb gently swipes away a tear you didn’t realise had fallen. His voice is husky and low. “I really like you, but –“ you choke out a sob. “ – not like – not like that.” His eyes are drowned in pain.
That’s when the cracks inside you fall away into shards, leaving the pane empty. You felt hollow, but most of all broken – and that’s when you realise just how hard you’d fallen for Dean Winchester.
You give a rush of tiny nods, averting your gaze from his before dodging and turning away so he couldn’t grab you as you left. How stupid could you be? You felt humiliated, ugly, undesirable. You look ridiculous! Dressing up like this? You looked obsessive.
You’ve taken but a few steps into the next room when a hand grasps your shoulder. How…? In that millisecond you frown. You closed the door behind him so you could shut him out; out of your mind, out of your life –
You know who it is before you turn. “Hey,” he says.
Without looking to see his face, you throw yourself into him and his arms wrap around your torso immediately. His left arm moves to the area just above your waist and the right to stroke your hair, and he doesn’t even stop when you’ve soaked his checked shirt and squeezed him to an inch of his life.
You don’t know how long the two of you stand there wrapped around each other, but eventually he pulls away when the juddering sniffles post-sobbing have cleared. He just stares down at you for a few moments then smiles. “You okay?”
Your eyes finally meet his and look away almost immediately down to the floor. You just take a deep breath. You don’t trust yourself to speak.
“You know it’s not you, right?” Sam pauses. “Dean, he – he’s just broken, and God knows how long that’ll take to fix, but – you’re not – you’re still beautiful.”
You let out a solitary sarcastic laugh. Right.
“Hey, don’t you dare put yourself down for some guy, Y/N. There’s someone out there who thinks you’re funny, smart, amazing; someone who loves the way you jump at small noises and – and – how you think Skittles are the coolest thing ever, and those freckles you hate – and if someone doesn’t ‘get’ you then – then they can go screw themselves. Screw everyone. ‘Cus all they talk is jack.”
“Sam, it’s not just ‘some guy’, it’s –”
“Yeah, it’s Dean. I get it.” He sighs and looks down, looking somewhat perplexed. He releases both hands from your body and runs the right through his mane of hair.
“You’re gonna be pissed, and protective, ‘cus he’s your brother, I know, but can you please at least try to understand?”
“Loud and clear.” He grimaces and turns to go, and begins walking away from you.
“Sam, don’t be mad.”
He turns around. “Mad?” He laughs incredulously, looking around the wood-clad room. “I’m not mad. I’m just tryna’ figure out why the hell you like my douchey brother so much.” His eyes rest on you.
“You know it’s kinda crazy how after all this time you still trail around after him like a puppy dog.”
Your face contorts into disgust. “What?” Already Sam looks like he wants to shove the words back down his throat. “Like a… What the fuck is that meant to mean?”
“No, Sam, you’re the asshole here.” You pause. “Just leave me alone.”
There’s a deafening silence until Sam suddenly starts forward and gains such momentum in the short time that it looks like he’s going to take you in his path. He stops extremely close to you and stares down at you with crushing force.
“You know what the worst thing is? Seeing you just – God – seeing you like this. This isn’t you! Don’t you get it? He – he changes you!” He pauses, breathing heavily. “When I first saw you back in that lab, it was weird, ‘cus you know what my first thought was? It was how easy you’d be to fall in love with. Dean sure as hell saw it –” Sam runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes.
You just stare right back up at him. Baffled. Bewildered. Bemused. Was he…?
He swallows and nods. His face crumples simultaneously with yours. Oh, God.
“Oh, God.” You whisper.
He looks down, but you continue looking at him. After a few moments his eyes flicker back up.
More moments pass. You know it’ll happen before it does, yet as his lips brush yours it feels like you imagined it. A mirage. A dream.
Sam bows his head and the two of you stay like that for minutes. He moves away and leaves ever so softly.
And suddenly you’re back in the lab 365 days ago looking at an organ on bench. This time it’s yours and there’s a significant hole in your ribcage. One sentiment remains the same.
will need money 4 air fares. pay by paypal
probs self harm & that’s it
submit any POV you like sweetheart!
sorry only just saw this!!
so i finally did the one with charlie and the bone marrow!!
also hope y’all have happy holidays umu
Charlie taps the Star Wars theme tune in the wooden arm of the chair, slowly at first, but quickly increasing in speed until it all becomes a jumble of thuds and that grumpy overweight middle aged man in the corner’s unkempt eyebrows almost totally cover his eyes. You clap your hand over hers.
“Hey. It’s gonna be okay.” You rub soothing circles into the pale smoothness of the back of her hand and glance up at her pasty pallor. It could’ve been the cream coloured everything of the numerous hard surfaces in the room reflecting on her skin, but it also could’ve been the fact she was about to get pregnant. With your baby.
She smiles at you briefly before looking down at your hands. “Yeah, I know, you’re right. It’s just – this is so friggin’ scary, y’know, like – after I was sure I played for this team I kinda thought that was synonymous with not having kids.”
Your brow puckers slightly.
“Not that – not that I’m having second thoughts. At all. Though I’m scared as hell about all this mom stuff I’m also totally excited and there’s no-one I wanna make babies with more than you.” She frowns. “That sounded more romantic in my head.”
You chuckle. This had to be why you loved her. Or, not to mention the fact she was gorgeous, or she had amazing taste in music, video games, TV, films, or the fact she was the sweetest and cleverest person you had ever – or would ever, you were pretty sure – met. You lean forward and peck her on the lips, and before you have the chance to say anything more a female doctor pops her head out of the door, “Charlie Bradbury and Y/N?”
Your fingers on her hand stop to clasp it and pull her, along with yourself, to your feet. She squeezes your hand extremely tightlyand both of you follow Dr. Pond, as it said on her name badge, into the light.
It’s only when you both reach the car that either of you stop to take it in.
Charlie takes a deep breath in. “I’m pregnant. Oh my God.”
You nod dazedly. “You’re pregnant.”
She turns to you. “I’m pregnant!” Then and there her face is a ray of sunshine – not a boiling, spitting ball of magma – a star; happiness; the light. It’s goodness. The most genuine grin spreads across her face and it’s infectious. You pull her close to you, tight. You read somewhere once that no matter how hard you try, there will always be a microscopic area of space between two surfaces. Right now, that has to be impossible. Your bodies are pressed together into the tightest hug imaginable that somewhere turns into a deep kiss which makes your legs go weak.
You’re not sure how long the two of you are stood there for, but when you pull back the sun is going down. You let out a small laugh.
A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Imagine what the guys’ll say.”
The two of you descend the somehow pristinely pearly polished wood of the opening stairs down to the bunker, hands still clasped tightly together.
When you arrive on the main floor, Cas is standing there with his usual stoic, confused expression and his head whips around like a cat on your arrival. His eyes narrow – hey, nothing new.
“You okay, Cas…tiel?” Charlie’d only met Cas last week and, despite you telling her otherwise, had insisted she didn’t have nickname rights to him yet since she didn’t share a ‘profound bond’ with him – whatever that meant – but couldn’t seem to get out of the habit of using it.
“Yes, I’m fine.” His head cocks sideways. “You’re… Different, Charlie.”
“What d’you mean?” You chip in.
His eyes narrow further.
It all comes out of her like vomit, then: “I’mpregnant.”
His eyes move to space on the floor in front of your feet.
“…With Y/N’s baby.”
His eyes flicker up to yours. “You must be mistaken. That is biologically impossible.”
You attempt to help. “No, Cas, see, there’s this thing in modern medicine with bone marrow –”
“Hey, so, I’m thinkin’ tonight we order pizza. My baby’s all fixed up, the world can put its crap on hold –” Dean’s footsteps echo loudly around the bunker whilst he dusts his hands off on his jeans. “What’s up?”
You and Charlie exchange glances for a couple of seconds.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on? You gonna tell me or we playin’ Charades?”
Charlie pulls herself in close to you so your face muffles her speech when she talks. “You’re gonna be an uncle.”
Dean’s eyes widen then he frowns and his jaw sets in a hard line. “Sammy!”
A distant “yeah?” is thrown off the walls, which is followed by footsteps.
“No, no – Dean, no, it’s – it’s gonna be me.” Charlie blurts before Dean can say anything else.
His brow furrows even more. “But you don’t… Did some guy – hell, did some guy do something to you? ‘Cus I swear to god I will hunt the bastard down and –”
“No! No, no! The baby’s Y/N’s.”
He looks around the room like he’s trying to figure this out. “But…” He blinks a few times. “You know, I might be wrong, but don’t you need a guy to do that?” He pauses. “Wait, did you get one of your, uh, LARPing buddies to jack off into a jar for you and do it that way?”
“Ew! Dude, no! Oh, ew, Dean. Seriously?”
“No, we –”
“Hey, everything okay?” Sam sounds mildly breathless upon his abrupt arrival into the ‘dining room’.
“Charlie’s pregnant. It’s mine. Before you ask, just listen, okay?”
His mouth opens, then closes, then he simply nods.
“We’ve been planning this for ages, we – we really wanted a kid together but of course we…” You look down and clear your throat. “Yeah.” You look up again. “And we thought how totally awesome it’d be if it was, you know, ours, and not some random donor that would never be a part of this baby’s life.” You swallow. “So my doctor told me about this new thing that’s coming in. It – it uses your bone marrow, to, uh, make… The lil’ wrigglers, and it works that way. So it’s biologically yours. Or mine.” You look around at their faces.
Cas is intensely staring at you with a frown on his face, unwavering. Dean’s eyes flicker between you and Charlie, as if he can’t quite comprehend what you’ve just told him. Sam looks thoughtful and after about 10 seconds breaks the thick silence by stepping towards you both and pulling Charlie and you into a bear hug.
“That’s amazing! So I’m gonna be an uncle?”
Charlie grins and nods.
Sam begins laughing and it’s catching. Soon, the three of you are in hysterics and after a minute or so you remember Cas and Dean. You lean round Sam to peek out at them and are dismayed to see both still standing there with frowns on their faces and your smile slips away.
You step out of the hug to place yourself directly in front of Dean. He slowly shakes his head whilst staring you down, an unreadable expression on his face, and your heart sinks. God, no. He had to be one of the only people you absolutely knew you wanted to meet this kid, to be in his or her life, and if he wanted nothing to do with it…
Dean swallows thickly, and before you know it has stepped forward to envelop you totally in a hug. His left hand curls over the back of your head and he buries his nose in your hair, and that’s when you know it’s going to be alright. This is how he interacted with Charlie – this is how he interacted with a sister.
“If it’s a boy you better call it Dean, okay?” He mumbles into your hair.
You grin and nod into him, softly making a sound of agreement. Just like you did with Sam, though, you peek round his shoulder to see Cas, who is now looking at Charlie intently whilst she chats animatedly to Sam.
His eyes snap to you.
You pause. “What do you think?”
He gives a small nod. “Congratulations.”
“You don’t… You don’t think it’s, uh, weird?”
“I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. ‘Children are a heritage of the Lord’.”
You’re not totally sure what that means, but you nod and smile anyway.
Love is love, no matter where it comes from.
You stare forward at the Impala’s dashboard heavily shadowed in 2am gloom, and consider all the options. Sam was definitely on the demon blood, most likely Ruby’s – that much you know.
You feel a painful jolt of a jealousy thinking about Ruby. What could she give Sam, besides her blood, that you couldn’t? Did Sam like her?
You’d been able to have a slight grip on the situation at first. Some nights he’d sleep with his head in your lap and whenever he had a funny start you’d run your hands through his hair soothingly and offer him some sleep meds.
But then there came a time where it stopped working. He twitched and writhed and beads of sweat and tears dripped down his temples and soaked your trousers. You’d pressed a light kiss to his forehead and whispered about how strong he was in his ear – like a mother would – but that didn’t work either.
One night, though, he stopped. Stopped wriggling and squirming and just lay peacefully for the first time in months. You’d glanced over at Dean and he’d just shrugged, so you’d thought yeah, maybe he is getting better.
You’d let your eyelids slip closed into a dreamless slumber.
You tuck your knees up to hug them and curse yourself. You should’ve known. If it seems too good to be true, it usually is.
Dean looks sidelong at you. “You haven’t eaten for 48 hours. I’m stoppin’ off at the next food place, okay?”
You shake your head and mumble a muffled “no,” but Dean ignores this and a half hour later he pulls into a truck stop and gets out, giving the instruction for you to stay put. Where the hell would you go anyway?
While you wait you drum rhythms on the leather seat. 2 days he’d been gone. You could travel a long way in two days, which snakes doubt into your mind. Dean was pretty confident he could find him (“what don’t I know about that kid?”) but he must know that if Sam doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.
You jump slightly when Dean opens the door and tosses you some chocolate and a couple of juice boxes, then gets in.
The corner of your mouth pulls up slightly. “Nutritional, huh?”
He raises an eyebrow sarcastically. “Well it’s that or beef jerky.”
Hours later you you’re standing outside the hotel Dean seems to be positive Sam is staying at.
You open your mouth to speak again but Dean cuts you off. “I swear to God if you ask me whether I’m sure it’s here one more time, I am dumping your ass on a one way train ride to Mexico.”
You hold your hands up in mock defeat. “Okay, okay, just checking.” Looking up at the ominous doors beneath the harsh glow of a neon sign and your grin fades. You’re worried you’re not going to like what you see.
Dean takes a sharp breath in. “Okay, let’s do this,” he says under his breath and checks his pockets. “Got your salt and gun?”
You nod and your heart speeds up. It’s partially adrenaline – you get to end Ruby, here, tonight – but it’s also the thought of seeing Sam again. When you’d all met in a bar years and years ago, you’d thought he was pretty cute. When you’d got talking, you’d thought he was pretty nice. When you’d gone hunting, you’d thought he was pretty clever. But when he’d gotten ill, you’d realised you weren’t sure if you could live without him, and that scared you.
You load your gun and hold it close to you out of habit. Bullets couldn’t kill a demon, sure, but they could incapacitate one long enough for Dean to shove a knife in its neck.
There’s nobody at reception – if there was, they’d probably call the cops because of a guy and a girl walking through with pistols – so you slip by undetected.
You follow Dean up a flight of stairs and he edges on to a landing and stops by door 66, gesturing for you to stand the other side of the frame. You silently follow the instructions.
Dean wordlessly counts down from three on his fingers and busts in with brute force. You follow him in and spot Ruby – but not Sam – immediately. Rage fills you, it courses through your veins and in a second you’re across the room and have her against the wall, your arm jammed over her meatsuit’s windpipe. “Dean!” you signal desperately and he’s next to you in a millisecond, the knife nearly –
Suddenly he’s thrown backwards and you look back in confusion when you are, too.
You’re still standing up, just, but Dean is splayed out on the floor coughing whilst you blink the lights away from your eyes.
“Guys, I’m glad you’re both here,” Sam says looking between the two of you, “let’s just talk this out.”
“Sam, she’s killing you! Can’t you see what an idiot you’re being?” As soon as it comes out you want to take it all back. Shove it back down your throat and bury it.
Sam stares at you. Just stares, and oh God, it’s the worst stare imaginable. Hurt mingles with sadness mixes with an undertone of anger.
You shake your head slowly. “Sam that’s not what I –”
“No, she ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Dean cuts in.
Ruby merely looks at Sam, but his gaze is still locked on you, so she exits so quietly it’s as if she was never here. You wish she was never here.
Sam’s voice is tight and restrained when he speaks. “She’s helping me find Lilith.”
Your breath gets stuck in your throat. “No, she’s manipulating you!”
“Listen – we’ve got a lead on a demon close to Lilith, what’s the problem with that, huh? Neither of you have one.”
“We can do this without Ruby. Just us three.”
“I don’t get why you even hate her so much. She’s helping me!”
“That’s crap, Sam! Why can’t you let Dean help?” You gesture to him. “Why not me?”
“Because Ruby can give me what I need – she supports me, and with her blood I can kill Lilith.”
Your voice is still ascending and you can’t stop it. “Ruby isn’t the answer to everything, you know!”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” your voice wavers and wobbles dangerously but you’ve started now and can’t stop. “Does Ruby stay up so she can hold your hand if you have a bad turn? Does she worry about you constantly? About how you’re slipping away from her with every second that falls away and there is nothing – absolutely nothing – she can do about it but sit and wait and hope that she can be the light that leads you out of the dark? Does her whole being hurt at the thought of losing you or – or how much she loves you?” Your breathing is heavy and fast like you’ve just ran a marathon for a few moments, then you realise what you’ve said. Your eyes widen and you take a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
His eyes focus hazily on the space above your head. “What?”
When you next speak, it’s a whisper. “I’m so scared, Sam.”
His eyes slowly, so slowly, drop back to fix yours in a stare.
And the next time he blinks, his eyes are black.