[ She might be surprised, when she looks over, to find a brief moment in which he meets her eyes. There's something deeply haunted there, something that doesn't translate to his features, as if manipulating the muscles of his face into a reflection of what's going on behind those too blue eyes is something he tries to mimic but that still doesn't quite come naturally.
That gaze only holds for a moment before he drops it to the table again. Something dark, bitter and ugly claws at his chest, makes breathing hard, and for a moment he's silent, just stares at the bottle.
So, he died for you.
Cas doesn't say it. He's become a cruel and twisted thing with a dark and blackened heart, who knows only how to weaponize emotion, not how to properly heal himself or others anymore. But he doesn't need to say it. They both know it.
She must be worth a lot, for Dean to throw himself away for her. And Cas remembers being sent to this death, a calculated plan that had no regard for his existence or lack thereof beyond being cannon fodder. Remembers, too, Dean kneeling in front of him, suturing a wound left behind by that very act, tears in his eyes. Remembers, too, Dean's refusal to share anything about the dangers out there, lest Cas leave and get himself killed.
It's too complicated.
Cas doesn't understand, just feels the way all of it hurts. ]
Yeah... Dean's good like that.
[ Used to be. And Cas... stopped believing he still was.
And now it's all ash and ruins, and Dean rising from it. Right back to self-sacrifice over sacrificing others. Cas is no longer sure which version he prefers to handle.
He drinks, too, long and deep. Doesn't care for the taste, or the pleasure of drinking. Just wants the end result. Drunk, numb, gone. There's not enough wine in the world to scrub any of this away. ]
no subject
That gaze only holds for a moment before he drops it to the table again. Something dark, bitter and ugly claws at his chest, makes breathing hard, and for a moment he's silent, just stares at the bottle.
So, he died for you.
Cas doesn't say it. He's become a cruel and twisted thing with a dark and blackened heart, who knows only how to weaponize emotion, not how to properly heal himself or others anymore. But he doesn't need to say it. They both know it.
She must be worth a lot, for Dean to throw himself away for her. And Cas remembers being sent to this death, a calculated plan that had no regard for his existence or lack thereof beyond being cannon fodder. Remembers, too, Dean kneeling in front of him, suturing a wound left behind by that very act, tears in his eyes. Remembers, too, Dean's refusal to share anything about the dangers out there, lest Cas leave and get himself killed.
It's too complicated.
Cas doesn't understand, just feels the way all of it hurts. ]
Yeah... Dean's good like that.
[ Used to be. And Cas... stopped believing he still was.
And now it's all ash and ruins, and Dean rising from it. Right back to self-sacrifice over sacrificing others. Cas is no longer sure which version he prefers to handle.
He drinks, too, long and deep. Doesn't care for the taste, or the pleasure of drinking. Just wants the end result. Drunk, numb, gone. There's not enough wine in the world to scrub any of this away. ]
You got a location for me? Where it happened?