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SHARDS, SHREDS, SCRAPS
Conditioned

by Sade Lyrate

There is undeniable imperative in the clipped words.

So he tries. He really, really tries, but he can't be sure his body obeys beyond the pain.

His ears catch the command over the thrum, mind remembers that you really shouldn't need to be reminded to keep your eyes open on a hunt.

That's easier, though. Compared to breathing, that's ridiculously easy. The darkness passes, but the face he sees isn't clear enough to make out whether it's Sam or Dad. What kind of an idiot goes hunting in mist so thick, anyway? The tone's the same, however, no matter who's talking to him. Issuing demands and orders he's near-always failed to ignore.

Now, though, he just wants to tell that voice to shut the fuck up, leave him alone.

And while they're on it, would it really kill Sam/Dad to stop hovering?