( not a lot of things can come back from the dead like that, so the list of things he's dealing with is, for once, pretty fucking short. frankly, it might be easier to cross off what he's not dealing with first — process of elimination tends to work in his favor in these particular cases.
so: definitely not a leviathan or an angel (no wolf, not even an alpha would have stood a chance against either of them); too soon to be a nazi thule bastard (they don't regenerate that fast); too old to be prometheus' kid (and wasn't that curse lifted when artemis killed zeus?) but he can't exactly rule demigod or any of the classical gods out of the question. could be a vampire if this was some kinda turf war, but surely a wolf wouldn't be stupid enough to go after a vampire without knowing how to kill one.
leaving ... well, not a lot. with all of the usuals out or at least very unlikely, he's starting to consider he might be dealing with something he's never seen before. which makes things a lot more complicated. and makes him far less inclined to lower his weapon. )
Nah, I don't think so.
( he stares down at booker, eyes narrowed. he doesn't like being in the position of not knowing how to kill something, especially something that can apparently revive itself from getting torn to shreds. he's probably not in a position to be making demands here, either, but dean has always been the type of man to vastly overestimate his own importance. )
You're gonna tell me what the hell you are and maybe I'll consider putting the gun down. ( but probably not. ) Wouldn't test your luck.
Of course. [ Booker's accent is thick, but the words are very, very dry; easy enough to get the gist of how very done he's feeling anyway.
He lets the last of the wound close, wincing as his skin stitches together on its own accord, and then he breathes out. It would have been a truly idiotic way to die his final death, especially knowing as little as he does about the thing that tore him up and tried to make its escape, so he's relieved about that at least. But the rest of him feels tired and a little resigned. What a curse to be brought back again. ]
You could shoot me but we both know there's no use in it.
[ It will hurt when he wakes up again, but he will wake up again, and he's going to be rather pissed off.
Merde. ]
May I at least sit up while you point that thing at me?
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so: definitely not a leviathan or an angel (no wolf, not even an alpha would have stood a chance against either of them); too soon to be a nazi thule bastard (they don't regenerate that fast); too old to be prometheus' kid (and wasn't that curse lifted when artemis killed zeus?) but he can't exactly rule demigod or any of the classical gods out of the question. could be a vampire if this was some kinda turf war, but surely a wolf wouldn't be stupid enough to go after a vampire without knowing how to kill one.
leaving ... well, not a lot. with all of the usuals out or at least very unlikely, he's starting to consider he might be dealing with something he's never seen before. which makes things a lot more complicated. and makes him far less inclined to lower his weapon. )
Nah, I don't think so.
( he stares down at booker, eyes narrowed. he doesn't like being in the position of not knowing how to kill something, especially something that can apparently revive itself from getting torn to shreds. he's probably not in a position to be making demands here, either, but dean has always been the type of man to vastly overestimate his own importance. )
You're gonna tell me what the hell you are and maybe I'll consider putting the gun down. ( but probably not. ) Wouldn't test your luck.
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He lets the last of the wound close, wincing as his skin stitches together on its own accord, and then he breathes out. It would have been a truly idiotic way to die his final death, especially knowing as little as he does about the thing that tore him up and tried to make its escape, so he's relieved about that at least. But the rest of him feels tired and a little resigned. What a curse to be brought back again. ]
You could shoot me but we both know there's no use in it.
[ It will hurt when he wakes up again, but he will wake up again, and he's going to be rather pissed off.
Merde. ]
May I at least sit up while you point that thing at me?