[John says nothing while Mary speaks. He tries to absorb it all, but after she drops the bomb, he stops listening. He's lost in his thoughts now.
It can't be true, it just can't. He's always thought she was pretty, since the moment he first saw her. But then she opened her mouth, and the whole illusion was ruined, wasn't it?
And pretty doesn't equal love, he knows that.
They did hate each other at first. To him, she was that weird, stubborn, (pretty) girl with weird, stubborn parents. To her, he was that loudmouthed, cocky jackass from the bad side of town.
After a while all that hate burned down to a constant aggravation. It was like they were competing to be the bigger pain in the ass. Sides were taken. Insults were thrown. Friendships were strained. All because everyone knew Mary Campbell and John Winchester couldn't stand one another.
And then one day, it was love.
She's right, it makes sense. Perfect, crystal-clear, horrific sense. They might not love each other, not really. All those fights, that's the disgust, the burning aggravation. It's still there, so strong it bubbles up and erases the work of angels. She doesn't really love him. He doesn't really love her.
Before he knows what's happening, John is vomiting his lunch on the garage floor.]
I had a word vomit of feels
It can't be true, it just can't. He's always thought she was pretty, since the moment he first saw her. But then she opened her mouth, and the whole illusion was ruined, wasn't it?
And pretty doesn't equal love, he knows that.
They did hate each other at first. To him, she was that weird, stubborn, (pretty) girl with weird, stubborn parents. To her, he was that loudmouthed, cocky jackass from the bad side of town.
After a while all that hate burned down to a constant aggravation. It was like they were competing to be the bigger pain in the ass. Sides were taken. Insults were thrown. Friendships were strained. All because everyone knew Mary Campbell and John Winchester couldn't stand one another.
And then one day, it was love.
She's right, it makes sense. Perfect, crystal-clear, horrific sense. They might not love each other, not really. All those fights, that's the disgust, the burning aggravation. It's still there, so strong it bubbles up and erases the work of angels. She doesn't really love him. He doesn't really love her.
Before he knows what's happening, John is vomiting his lunch on the garage floor.]