"Don't. Don't you dare."
(you occupy everything)
Crowley's voice has dropped back into a hiss, the harsh whip and crack of sibilants and consonants ruthlessly slicing any other sort of unevenness from his voice.
(the book fell that always closed at twilight)
"I think I've been doing pretty well at Not Minding. And I'm going to keep doing well, because. I mean, I would literally - "
(so I love you because I know no other way)
The demon's hands come up again, white and sort of - cupped, almost, in front of the lumpish yellow 'A' on his chest. It's horrible.
(and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet)
Then it's gone.
(in this part of the story I am the one who - )
"But you have some fucking nerve, angel. You don't get to do this."