Bound though he is, Dean twitches at the sound of a familiar voice cutting through the dull roar of pain. He's dying, he can feel it, a weight behind his eyes and bearing downward, sitting on his chest. It makes it easier, somehow, to be kind, knowing that he's almost at the end.
"Cherry," he says, barely getting the word past cracked lips. "I do, I want cherry pie."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-04-19 09:15 pm (UTC)"Cherry," he says, barely getting the word past cracked lips. "I do, I want cherry pie."