*In my blood...tainted blood...nothing good...* "Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to – to fight those things. Those demons. Tell me why you don't."
He never does, I notice. I mean, these evil angels are totally not humanity's fault. So far above us, literally and figuratively, it's almost funny. Angels and gods should handle demons and devil. This is their mess, but instead, who do they get to do their dirty work for them?
Bastids.
"Get away from him, right now." Sam jerked out of the angel's touch and saw that Dean had the Colt out and up, trained on the angel. The narrow barrel wavered, Dean's whole arm shaking – his face pale and his eyes wide and shocked and dark. "If the demons are just...fucked up angels and this kills them...it'll kill you, too."
How I loved Dean for this, how I wished he'd have pulled the trigger. It'd either have worked, or it wouldn't have. This smug bastid doesn't seem like he'd hold a grudge if it didn't. Nothing to lose by trying.
Sam looked up at the angel. At Raziel, who guarded the Tree of Life. Who, said the stories, stood atop Mount Sinai at every dawn, proclaiming to all mankind the fifteen-hundred keys to the mysteries of the world. And Sam could feel them. He could hear them, somehow, a whispering all through his heart. So many secrets...so much power.
I dunno, this angel seems pretty stingy with his secrets. I just wanna throw a water balloon at his head. Or a rhubarb pie. I effing hate rhubarb. It sucks that Sam has to play on this guy's team, but I guess it's better than the alternative.
When an angel's got you over a barrel. . . .
"Wait! How come I can – why couldn't I do this before? Why now?"
The angel smiled, sunlight on ice, shivering apart into a million, fluttering fragments. Receding and fading and flying away all at once. "Because you asked."
Seriously, I wanna deck him. I've never wanted to hit an angel in my entire life, until this guy. Cryptic, smug bastid. Seems like the type that'd smile while he ripped your heart out. And it wouldn't even be personal, just--necessary. Soulless and heartless. Nothing would ever be personal, for them.
Gah--I'm spent, for tonight. I'm gonna sleep off my headache and dream of punching angels. I shall awaken refreshed :)
no subject
He never does, I notice. I mean, these evil angels are totally not humanity's fault. So far above us, literally and figuratively, it's almost funny. Angels and gods should handle demons and devil. This is their mess, but instead, who do they get to do their dirty work for them?
Bastids.
"Get away from him, right now." Sam jerked out of the angel's touch and saw that Dean had the Colt out and up, trained on the angel. The narrow barrel wavered, Dean's whole arm shaking – his face pale and his eyes wide and shocked and dark. "If the demons are just...fucked up angels and this kills them...it'll kill you, too."
How I loved Dean for this, how I wished he'd have pulled the trigger. It'd either have worked, or it wouldn't have. This smug bastid doesn't seem like he'd hold a grudge if it didn't. Nothing to lose by trying.
Sam looked up at the angel. At Raziel, who guarded the Tree of Life. Who, said the stories, stood atop Mount Sinai at every dawn, proclaiming to all mankind the fifteen-hundred keys to the mysteries of the world. And Sam could feel them. He could hear them, somehow, a whispering all through his heart. So many secrets...so much power.
I dunno, this angel seems pretty stingy with his secrets. I just wanna throw a water balloon at his head. Or a rhubarb pie. I effing hate rhubarb. It sucks that Sam has to play on this guy's team, but I guess it's better than the alternative.
When an angel's got you over a barrel. . . .
"Wait! How come I can – why couldn't I do this before? Why now?"
The angel smiled, sunlight on ice, shivering apart into a million, fluttering fragments. Receding and fading and flying away all at once. "Because you asked."
Seriously, I wanna deck him. I've never wanted to hit an angel in my entire life, until this guy. Cryptic, smug bastid. Seems like the type that'd smile while he ripped your heart out. And it wouldn't even be personal, just--necessary. Soulless and heartless. Nothing would ever be personal, for them.
Gah--I'm spent, for tonight. I'm gonna sleep off my headache and dream of punching angels. I shall awaken refreshed :)