@oracultist from here.
" you hand that thing over & i'll consider it. " dean's forearm cords, fingertip flexing the trigger hook & ready to pull. consternation forms a dueling furrow across his glowering brows. his hollow tips will do the job, too, already loaded into the chamber & awaiting the opportunity to fly.
but dad's journal ...
there it is, a thick roll of pages turned so many times that the edges crisp & curl, skin oils smudging the ink, notes scribbled into the margin, the edges stuffed with photographs, leaflets with added information or phone numbers. soft leather bent to the shape of his broad palm, to sam's. A PANG --- furious, with the thief, with himself for the tether choking him to this battered legacy --- strikes like a blaze in his breast. red streaks his vision with blood rushing so heavy in his ears that all he can hear is a thunderous, drowning roar. dean nudges his gun's nozzle in the air, a STAY BACK that he doesn't bother voicing.
dean, in his desperation, isn't too quick not to test it for a trap, & toes his boot at the edge of the book before snatching it up from the ground like it might disappear should he leave it any longer. " you need information, you ask. " a callous, wrathful growl bellows up from his throat. " give me one good reason why i shouldn't waste you right now. "
