#thecvildead

The action is SO QUICK she doesn't even truly take the time to consider — no elegant sliding of thoughts through her brain, no stuttered musings — SIMPLY the swish of her foot pulling back and DRIVING the PEACH into the farthest wall.

╭EVIL HORRIBLE FRUIT╮

Petite frame heaves air as though she were just running for MILES, emerald gaze locked squarely on the splattered fruit clotted against the brick. Her focus flicks to him and the image of the rugged man TRUSSED into a tight ballgown swims comically before her.

‘ y’wanna? …. i woulda’ thought the whole thing with  anna would’ve spurned you off the idea. ’

at least sam didn’t have an angel lurking inside him, so — maybe that wouldn’t be all bad. the youngest winchester does have to know what he’s asking, though, there’s no hiding ash’s … special interests. ( well, no, there was hiding ; but ashleys’ sure he’s let it slip once or twice when he was drunk, or got a little fidgety when a scene involving it would pop up in a tv show or movie. )

‘ …. yeah, sam. i could. there uh … anything … y’want, specifically, or …. ’

he’ll test the waters.

sam couldn’t blame ash’s hesitance. it wasn’t his fault. when he saw anna get hypnotized, it was pretty traumatic. but in that same sense, sam was also high on demon blood all the time from ruby ( that fucking bitch. ).

‘ yeah, i know.  — but i’m not anna. ’

there was a symbolism of defiance in his voice. out of all the times sam’s been forcibly controlled unwantedly, he figured if he asked for it, it might be different. more of an enjoyable experience. besides, ash had been there through all of it anyway. all the fucked possessions and highjacks, the end of the world and the beginning of the rebuild.

and yes; sam knew of ashley’s particular interest in hypnosis. it didn’t bother him one bit.

‘ up to you. ‘ he replies, shifting in his seat only slightly. he seemed very on board with what he was asking ashley to do.

@thecvildead

The last thing Dean remembered was feeling cold. Ice cold. Like someone had pumped an IV of freezing water through his veins. The world around him, closing in as it faded to a pitch black, and he was lost in it’s abyss.

Then suddenly, everything felt ...warm. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he could breathe again. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more mercy. He felt whole again. He hadn’t felt this good in... months? Years? Ever.

But the curse etched into his skin burned. Itched for more than this.

His eyes shot open, and the emerald green they’d shone before, was corrupted by a darkness. Still, a smirk formed at the corner of the hunter’s lips as he laid still on his bed. Turning his head after a moment to scan the familiar room.

“What if there isn’t a way?” He doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t even want to think it, but it’s not like he’s got a choice, with Michael yelling in his head about the inevitability of Dean’s failure. Besides, it’s not fair to let Ash get his hopes up when the certainty is settling in Dean’s bones that there’s no way he’s getting out of this one.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Maybe the truth is more selfish, that he’s tired of putting up a strong face for everyone, of holding all the doubt and terror inside. He wants someone to know how badly he’s drowning. Even if it will hurt them to hear it.

He clings to Ash’s shirt, exhausted but unwilling to fall asleep and lose a second of this, to succumb to the vulnerability of his dreams, where Michael has more power, it seems, every time Dean closes his eyes.

“No body said we were going anywhere right this second. You were just snoring loud enough to wake the dead. You should seriously get checked out for that.”