#confectoris

         Wry smile takes bitten lips, concern still evident despite the simper.  “You can’t expect me to fall for that.”  After all, she does the same thing --------- distract from the question, make the conversation about THEM.  Speaking of yourself risks remembering, risks the self - loathing bubbling hotter, more acidic.  Cutting deeper.  It is easier not to answer.  “We’re talking about you, not me.”

                         ( besides.  she doesn’t have much of an appetite any more. )

“Y’know, I started about the same age as you, kid. Maybe a little before,” Dean glanced at the boy with a raised brow. It sucked, starting to hunt so young, but some people were meant for the hunting life. Sam, Dean, and even Avery, included. “Yer dad teach you, too?”

questions. / not accepting.

          SHE DOESN’T KNOW.  Whatever it is, it is all jaw and bile, like bible school.  THERE WILL BE WEEPING AND GNASHING OF TEETH.  There is pain.  Agony.  She aches, god, she ACHES —— and sometimes it spills out in ways it ought not.  Sometimes she laughs when she ought to cry and she is not sure why and it frightens her because she is not in control of her body or her self any longer —— there is something nebulous and out of control and it wriggles ‘round her bones and guts and lungs and and and ————

                         STOP — YOU’LL SCARE HIM — HE’S ONLY A CHILD —

good luck with everything!! ending you good vibes :0