John's eyes widened at the name Belfast. There was only one possible reason he'd have gone there--Kit--and the thought that he might have brought the fiend within a thousand miles of her made his blood run cold.
His eyes were already latching onto the watch when Crowley made to draw his attention to it, and he didn't answer until he'd seen the second hand dip sedately to the right.
"Almost did," he said then, awkwardly, blinking and loosening his grip as it occurred to him that he was clinging, and no matter how extreme the circumstances or how badly he needed an anchor right now, that quite simply was Not On. "Couldn't quite bring myself to give it up, though. 's a nice watch," he mumbled, sagging back to the bed. Christ, he was tired, aching to the marrow of his freshly-mended bones, and he doubted he'd ever feel really clean again no matter what he did.
He couldn't look Crowley in the face. There just weren't any rules in the Bastard's Handbook to cover a situation like this, and he didn't know how much the demon had seen or had time to absorb, how much he already understood or what he thought about any of it. He'd never felt more exposed in his life, and drew the covers up almost to his chin in a reflexive gesture, trying to find a way to say all the things that needed saying without sounding overly dramatic or sentimental or ungrateful or...stupid. Thanks for saving my life, why didn't you tell me?, I was wrong, I was stupid, I'm scared, and for the love of Someone, don't ever, ever do that again.
Somewhere between his brain and his mouth there must have been some kind of disconnection, though, because what finally came blurting out was the last thing he'd intended to say--albeit maybe the one that needed most to be said. "I'm sorry. Christ, I'm so sorry..."
His vision went suddenly murky. Cursing and turning his back to Crowley, he huddled into the bedclothes, squeezed his eyes shut and made his confession, not just to the demon but to the ghosts of all the others he could feel crowding around the bed; the ones who hadn't been around to take his apology by the time he could bring himself to give it. "You were right, everything you said--when I left--" He choked at the memory, which by whatever perverse chance had remained almost entirely intact, but went on doggedly in a voice he barely recognized as his own, "--all 'cept the bit about taking their part against you. I never did. Not that."
no subject
His eyes were already latching onto the watch when Crowley made to draw his attention to it, and he didn't answer until he'd seen the second hand dip sedately to the right.
"Almost did," he said then, awkwardly, blinking and loosening his grip as it occurred to him that he was clinging, and no matter how extreme the circumstances or how badly he needed an anchor right now, that quite simply was Not On. "Couldn't quite bring myself to give it up, though. 's a nice watch," he mumbled, sagging back to the bed. Christ, he was tired, aching to the marrow of his freshly-mended bones, and he doubted he'd ever feel really clean again no matter what he did.
He couldn't look Crowley in the face. There just weren't any rules in the Bastard's Handbook to cover a situation like this, and he didn't know how much the demon had seen or had time to absorb, how much he already understood or what he thought about any of it. He'd never felt more exposed in his life, and drew the covers up almost to his chin in a reflexive gesture, trying to find a way to say all the things that needed saying without sounding overly dramatic or sentimental or ungrateful or...stupid. Thanks for saving my life, why didn't you tell me?, I was wrong, I was stupid, I'm scared, and for the love of Someone, don't ever, ever do that again.
Somewhere between his brain and his mouth there must have been some kind of disconnection, though, because what finally came blurting out was the last thing he'd intended to say--albeit maybe the one that needed most to be said. "I'm sorry. Christ, I'm so sorry..."
His vision went suddenly murky. Cursing and turning his back to Crowley, he huddled into the bedclothes, squeezed his eyes shut and made his confession, not just to the demon but to the ghosts of all the others he could feel crowding around the bed; the ones who hadn't been around to take his apology by the time he could bring himself to give it. "You were right, everything you said--when I left--" He choked at the memory, which by whatever perverse chance had remained almost entirely intact, but went on doggedly in a voice he barely recognized as his own, "--all 'cept the bit about taking their part against you. I never did. Not that."