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indiachick, because I should be working:
1. Go to page 7 (or 77) of your current WIP.
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written.
“Dinosaurs?” he says. “Dude, we’re in sixth grade. You’re too old for this cra—stuff.”
Castiel just shrugs. “I wasn’t allowed it, before now,” he says.
Dean blinks at him. “You weren’t allowed… to be a nerd? What kind of school did you go to?”
“I didn’t,” Castiel says. “Our Father said school would fill our heads with lies.” And he goes back to picking up books, perfectly calm, like a not-crazy person.
Well, that explains Castiel and his mom being on their own in that house. Dean feels like he ought to say something. “Sorry your dad’s a freak,” he tries.
“Oh,” Castiel says. “He isn’t my dad.”
That makes this fic look a lot fluffier than it is, eesh.
There’s just enough that he tastes it, iron on the back of his tongue, and he tastes blood often enough that it stopped making him wince years ago, but he still can’t help the way his eyes flick to his reflection in the mirror. Just for half a second; just to be sure it’s still him. Not a habit Sam will ever break.
These days, Dean does it, too.
----
Dean almost cracks this goddamn mirror as well. He ignores the bruises he can feel forming under the skin and raps as hard as he can.
There’s a moment when Sam looks like he might’ve noticed, starts a little and peers at the glass in puzzlement.
indiachick, because I should be working:1. Go to page 7 (or 77) of your current WIP.
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written.
“Dinosaurs?” he says. “Dude, we’re in sixth grade. You’re too old for this cra—stuff.”
Castiel just shrugs. “I wasn’t allowed it, before now,” he says.
Dean blinks at him. “You weren’t allowed… to be a nerd? What kind of school did you go to?”
“I didn’t,” Castiel says. “Our Father said school would fill our heads with lies.” And he goes back to picking up books, perfectly calm, like a not-crazy person.
Well, that explains Castiel and his mom being on their own in that house. Dean feels like he ought to say something. “Sorry your dad’s a freak,” he tries.
“Oh,” Castiel says. “He isn’t my dad.”
That makes this fic look a lot fluffier than it is, eesh.
There’s just enough that he tastes it, iron on the back of his tongue, and he tastes blood often enough that it stopped making him wince years ago, but he still can’t help the way his eyes flick to his reflection in the mirror. Just for half a second; just to be sure it’s still him. Not a habit Sam will ever break.
These days, Dean does it, too.
----
Dean almost cracks this goddamn mirror as well. He ignores the bruises he can feel forming under the skin and raps as hard as he can.
There’s a moment when Sam looks like he might’ve noticed, starts a little and peers at the glass in puzzlement.
no subject
I'm sure it's not too much of a spoiler to say there will be lots of sad mirror Dean. (And a little bit of sad mirror Sam, as evidenced above.) ;)
no subject