Wᴇʟʟ, I'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜɪᴅɪɴ'

[righteously]

Who: Winchester & Co.
When: September
Where: Free Cities, Libertas, & the Horizon
What: Quests, training, or Roadhouse socializing.
Warnings: Suicidal tendencies, alcoholism, other psychological traumas.

Aɴᴅ I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇs I'ᴍ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ
Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ɢᴏᴇs ᴏɴ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ
Aɴᴅ I'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ
Bᴜᴛ I'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴇᴛ 'ᴇᴍ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴇ, ɴᴏ
Nᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴇᴛ 'ᴇᴍ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪᴅᴇʀ

Comments

[righteously]

( About a second and a half after her scathing reprimand, the understanding hits his expression - and then morphs into something faintly annoyed. That whole clusterfuck... he's still less than happy about how that whole thing went down. Truth be told, he's training a little too hard here to get some of that out of his system. )

I'm fine. ( He says shortly, just a hair too dismissive to be a bark. ) Walking, talking, breathing. It's part of the job description.

( What he's actually finding a little significant about this conversation is how heated she is.

People don't get this emotional unless they got a real vested stake in somebody.

How well do they know each other later on exactly? )

[waywardsister]

Oh, cram the attitude.

[ Pot. Kettle. You know the drill.

Claire pushes some hair out of her face impatiently before crossing her arms. Shoulders curling inwards, her entire body language radiates tension.]

I don't care that you're up and at 'em. That's your business.

[ And she wouldn't let a near death experience or two keep her down and out either, so there's that. ]

But you don't get to wander off and almost die.

[ That's the part that rankles. He doesn't even remember that she can barely keep it together on a good day - that she doesn't know what she'd do if she lost him, the out-of-context Not-Yet-Dad, or Cas, the Absentee Pseudo-Dad.

Claire presses her lips together tightly, then shakes her head. ]

Take me with you next time. Wings stop looking cool when they're attached to a corpse, Bird Brain.

[righteously]

( He does cram the attitude. Not because of her order, not explicitly, but because he's sensing something here. Because his instincts when it comes to family, to people, rear up and take the reins for a moment. He's learned to trust them to steer when they're as insistent as they are right now.

Right now, they steer him into reaching out and curling a careful hand around one of those drawn-up shoulders. )

Hey. ( Seriously, but softly. There's as much empathy as there is firmness in this tone. ) Look at me. I'm okay.

( He can't promise that he's always gonna be okay, but he's okay now. She can let the tension out, she can let the relief in. He's not going anywhere any time soon.

A beat, and then with equal solemnity: )

And these things? Never gonna look cool. Ever. Not even once, dead or alive, trust me.