oh when bobby sees how his boyâs shoulders start to relax. none of that stand-to-attention out of fear and loyalty bullshit, like john wasnât a dad but a commanding officer. like night and day, those boys, sam rebelling at every turn and dean keeping his back so straight it hurt to frigging look at. good kids - men, these days. good men. yet here and now dean still looks young enough, leaning over the table, casual and carefree and consumed by his new calling. the whole thing seems innocuous. bobby ainât ready to fall to his knees and start praying yet, but he ainât blind, either, and itâs hard to miss how something lights up in that boy these days and itâs triggered by the fluttering of wings.Â
the angelâs on the other side of the table, in bobbyâs favorite chair, all that might and terror and his eyes are on dean like heâs the one with all the answers. yeah, you can go ahead and add âborn yesterdayâ on the list of things which bobby ainât, and heâd threaten the damn angel with a rifle if he thought itâd help, but thereâs no point. if you hurt my boy, iâll shoot you, bobby thinks. the angel blinks and looks up to make eye contact thought the kitchen door. he nods solemnly - a reply. bobby snorts, and dean impatiently tries to catch his angelâs eyes again, one boot resting innocently against the angelâs black loafer under the table.Â
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
ellievsbear
areudirty
2087
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
