a million miles from home i'm walking ahead

bloodysalad:

a soundless exhale, a S I G H as stormy eyes meet
a gilded gaze. a lie.      they both know it —- it lingers
heavily in the air,             hanging above them in that
growing  s i l e n c e.  what does he say to that? sam
can    only    IMAGINE    what    the angel   has gone
through. it makes his stomach churn,     flip-flopping
until the bile rises in the back of his throat.

                           ’ ——- ‘course. ‘

a mumbled response,     half-hearted & nearly lost even
as his head falls.       fingers trail through chestnut locks,
brushing them back from his face.           he’s lost weight,
there is a gauntness       forming along his already sturdy
jaw. s t r e s s. PAIN.  even as he says nothing —- it’s
written all over his face.

        all banter is cast aside ; he looks  B E Y O N D  flesh & bone
        to  shining  DAMAGED  soul,  reads his  brothers’  s L o pP y
        signatures carved into it, & his lips compress into a thin line,
        jaw tensing as his gaze flits between the lines, reads scars &
        sores very  similar to his own.  guard slips  for a fraction of a
        moment, glamour  f l i c k e r s   &  features are momentarily
        marred  by  a  patchwork of  SCARS  &  burns  &  scorched
        corneas bleached like glass —————–

                                                                                  he turns away,
         one hand rubbing at the nape of his neck, shield raised once
         more  &  shredded visage knitting itself back into composure,
         before he  pivots to face the hunter again,  face a blank slate.

                                                                          “ —– just for the record,
        when i left you guys the tape, that was not the way i thought you mooks
        were gonna pull it off. ”