if there's a hell for lovers and that's where you're gonna be
[Locked to thenerdangel. Hell For Lovers verse. No Warnings Yet. Current canon.]
[It shouldn't take as long as it does. A salt and burn is second nature to the hunter now, so really he shouldn't be struggling to contain the spirit. But here he is, being thrown head first into the baptismal font, an unseen spirit holding him down underneath the water. Spluttering, he tries to fight it off, tries to shake an invisible grip he can't see. Vision already spotted with black, Dean gives one last push, hands flat against the font as he knocks it down, clipping himself in the chin in the process.
Stone smashes against the ground, water spilling out over shoes that squeak as he twists, running and vaulting over the table altar like his life depends on it. And in his life it does. Something crashes near him and Dean almost fumbles with the lighter as he pulls it from his jacket, slides further towards the back. It's a last ditch effort but finally he's in reach of the little memorial tribute, the painting with hair sealed into the frame. It catches light just as a candlestick holder comes sauring over to him. Dean turns in time to see the spirit light up like a bonfire.
It takes him another moment to crawl forward, use the altar to lean on as he drags himself up, freezing when the hair on the back of his neck rises. Someone else is in the church with him. Looking down, towards the doors, Dean stiffens and then relaxes. Wild hair, dirty trench coat, impossibly blue eyes even here in the dark? Check.]
Took y'long enough, Cas.
[It shouldn't take as long as it does. A salt and burn is second nature to the hunter now, so really he shouldn't be struggling to contain the spirit. But here he is, being thrown head first into the baptismal font, an unseen spirit holding him down underneath the water. Spluttering, he tries to fight it off, tries to shake an invisible grip he can't see. Vision already spotted with black, Dean gives one last push, hands flat against the font as he knocks it down, clipping himself in the chin in the process.
Stone smashes against the ground, water spilling out over shoes that squeak as he twists, running and vaulting over the table altar like his life depends on it. And in his life it does. Something crashes near him and Dean almost fumbles with the lighter as he pulls it from his jacket, slides further towards the back. It's a last ditch effort but finally he's in reach of the little memorial tribute, the painting with hair sealed into the frame. It catches light just as a candlestick holder comes sauring over to him. Dean turns in time to see the spirit light up like a bonfire.
It takes him another moment to crawl forward, use the altar to lean on as he drags himself up, freezing when the hair on the back of his neck rises. Someone else is in the church with him. Looking down, towards the doors, Dean stiffens and then relaxes. Wild hair, dirty trench coat, impossibly blue eyes even here in the dark? Check.]
Took y'long enough, Cas.