005. [location: alleyway] I gotta roll, can't stand still, got a flaming heart, can't get my fill.
Dean was staring down a Yorkie in an alley.
He had no idea who the Yorkie belongs to, or why it’s standing in the middle of an alley like it’s got nothing better to do, but Dean was damn near paralyzed. He hated dogs. Well, no, it wasn’t that he hated dogs, he hated tiny yappy dogs that really weren’t good for anything other than scaring the holy hell out of him. And big dogs weren’t much better. They were loud and big and he was pretty sure that they would all tear him apart if they were given the opportunity. He took it back-he was wrong. Dogs, in general, were bad, and he didn’t want them anywhere near him.
And yet the mansion was covered in them.
He had gone outside to escape the walls crowded with dogs that clearly wanted him dead. He had been trying to calm down and clear his head, because he wasn’t this guy. He wasn’t the one who ran terrified from little dogs. (Well, there was that one time, but he had ghost sickness, and they weren’t going to talk about that. Ever.) But somehow, here he was, staring down another tiny friggin’ dog, and wanting to run away like a scared little girl. He managed to hold that steady for all of five minutes. Then he turned on his heel, let out a sound that could have been a whimper, and fled from the scene. Of course, the Yorkie proceeded to chase him, yapping his head off the entire time.
This week friggin’ sucked.
He had no idea who the Yorkie belongs to, or why it’s standing in the middle of an alley like it’s got nothing better to do, but Dean was damn near paralyzed. He hated dogs. Well, no, it wasn’t that he hated dogs, he hated tiny yappy dogs that really weren’t good for anything other than scaring the holy hell out of him. And big dogs weren’t much better. They were loud and big and he was pretty sure that they would all tear him apart if they were given the opportunity. He took it back-he was wrong. Dogs, in general, were bad, and he didn’t want them anywhere near him.
And yet the mansion was covered in them.
He had gone outside to escape the walls crowded with dogs that clearly wanted him dead. He had been trying to calm down and clear his head, because he wasn’t this guy. He wasn’t the one who ran terrified from little dogs. (Well, there was that one time, but he had ghost sickness, and they weren’t going to talk about that. Ever.) But somehow, here he was, staring down another tiny friggin’ dog, and wanting to run away like a scared little girl. He managed to hold that steady for all of five minutes. Then he turned on his heel, let out a sound that could have been a whimper, and fled from the scene. Of course, the Yorkie proceeded to chase him, yapping his head off the entire time.
This week friggin’ sucked.