( That's the frustrating thing about what Dean can do — it seems like he can only ever repel things away from other people, like his protective instinct doesn't extend to himself. That glass begins to burst, and Dean's only thought is to raise an arm to ineffectually cover his own face and neck, already bracing for the cuts that are sure to line everywhere else on his body soon enough.
And then Geralt's on him, knocking some of his breath away but sparing him the surge of lacerations that would've come from the shrapnel, the thousands of tiny little projectiles ready to embed themselves in flesh.
Dean's flashlight hits the ground and rolls, still lit up, its beam stretching out long against the floor and lower half of the hallway. Distorting the shadows of the creatures crawling forth to meet them.
He coughs the breath back into his lungs, the heel of a palm pressing down on glassy floor, cutting into the meat of his flesh as he pushes himself up.
No time to say thanks. They're in it now.
His flashlight-free, bleeding hand goes for his holstered weapon. He aims over Geralt's shoulder without even rising to his feet yet. Cover fire - pop, pop, poppop. Three of the fastest somethings drop before they get too close for comfort. Maybe just enough time for Geralt to regroup and hold the front lone so Dean can regroup. It's a matter of trading each other a handful of seconds back and forth, because every single one of them count right now. )
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And then Geralt's on him, knocking some of his breath away but sparing him the surge of lacerations that would've come from the shrapnel, the thousands of tiny little projectiles ready to embed themselves in flesh.
Dean's flashlight hits the ground and rolls, still lit up, its beam stretching out long against the floor and lower half of the hallway. Distorting the shadows of the creatures crawling forth to meet them.
He coughs the breath back into his lungs, the heel of a palm pressing down on glassy floor, cutting into the meat of his flesh as he pushes himself up.
No time to say thanks. They're in it now.
His flashlight-free, bleeding hand goes for his holstered weapon. He aims over Geralt's shoulder without even rising to his feet yet. Cover fire - pop, pop, poppop. Three of the fastest somethings drop before they get too close for comfort. Maybe just enough time for Geralt to regroup and hold the front lone so Dean can regroup. It's a matter of trading each other a handful of seconds back and forth, because every single one of them count right now. )