Funny. Bit morbid.
[ Bit cruel, which... seems uncharacteristic of Dean.
Well, no, that's not true.
It seems uncharacteristic after... last night? Earlier? Some undetermined hours ago, at any rate.
Cas's fingers flex around the neck of the bottle a bit. ]
You, uh. You know I don't really count as "angel" anymore.
[ Bit cruel, which... seems uncharacteristic of Dean.
Well, no, that's not true.
It seems uncharacteristic after... last night? Earlier? Some undetermined hours ago, at any rate.
Cas's fingers flex around the neck of the bottle a bit. ]
You, uh. You know I don't really count as "angel" anymore.
[ The fact that Cas thinks it's a sick joke? Maybe that cuts a little deeper than either of them would have guessed back home. Things are different here and so is he. But not so much that he doesn't feel something ugly slide into his chest before he forces it down and shakes his head. ]
This place pulls people from wherever the hell it wants. You were dead. Now you're not.
[ It's the kind of idea that hurt to think about when he first arrived because it made him so angry. That he'd had no choice or say in being here at all. It still does. But alternate timelines are something he'd already known about. ]
There's another version of you here. From the other timeline. [ He pauses, has settled his gaze on Cas clutching that bottle. ] From where past me's from. Except they stopped the apocalypse.
[ And Dean now knows that he fails at that. ]
This place pulls people from wherever the hell it wants. You were dead. Now you're not.
[ It's the kind of idea that hurt to think about when he first arrived because it made him so angry. That he'd had no choice or say in being here at all. It still does. But alternate timelines are something he'd already known about. ]
There's another version of you here. From the other timeline. [ He pauses, has settled his gaze on Cas clutching that bottle. ] From where past me's from. Except they stopped the apocalypse.
[ And Dean now knows that he fails at that. ]
[ Cas sits in silence for a moment, in a stillness that has become unusual for him since everything inside of him has started rotting away, leaving the labyrinthine caverns of his own body too empty, still and silent.
It takes a moment to process, but... well. Of course.
Of course he'd wind up being the useless surplus.
Cas smiles in the vague direction of the sheets, then nods, shrugs, and drinks deep. What else is there to say or do. ]
You know. I did ask you about available assets...
[ He liked past!Dean, in no small part because it needled at his Dean, so turnabout's fair game, he supposes - for him to be confronted with the better make and model of himself.
Except it sounds as if there will be no escaping this one.
Of course the only voice ever reaching out to him... would be his own. And of course he ended up unwittingly, harshly, rejecting himself.
There's some fucking poetry in here somewhere. ]
It takes a moment to process, but... well. Of course.
Of course he'd wind up being the useless surplus.
Cas smiles in the vague direction of the sheets, then nods, shrugs, and drinks deep. What else is there to say or do. ]
You know. I did ask you about available assets...
[ He liked past!Dean, in no small part because it needled at his Dean, so turnabout's fair game, he supposes - for him to be confronted with the better make and model of himself.
Except it sounds as if there will be no escaping this one.
Of course the only voice ever reaching out to him... would be his own. And of course he ended up unwittingly, harshly, rejecting himself.
There's some fucking poetry in here somewhere. ]
[ The stillness is a little disconcerting, but then Cas speaks and it's probably something close to what Dean figured was going to fall out of this mouth. He doesn't think that Cas doesn't think before he speaks. At this point? He knows better with the number of times those words are shaped to needle at him. Not talking about it? Yeah, he doesn't know what to say either other than to frown slightly and finally pushes himself up off the bed. ]
I don't know what to say to you. I know you think I'm gonna say something I woulda said back in our world.
[ He pauses, raising his eyebrows as if he's half-surprised about this too. ]
But I'm not. I have no idea where to begin explaining to you what the past three months has been like.
I don't know what to say to you. I know you think I'm gonna say something I woulda said back in our world.
[ He pauses, raising his eyebrows as if he's half-surprised about this too. ]
But I'm not. I have no idea where to begin explaining to you what the past three months has been like.
[ He thought five years had torn a gap between him and Dean, a friendship burnt to bitter ashes, with just enough sinew connecting them to make sure they can't quite disentangle themselves from one another, no matter how hard they might try when it doesn't count.
When it counts, Dean can snip his fingers, point, and Cas will go. The fact that this Dean doesn't seem to want that anymore leaves Cas reeling and unable to find the footing he'd fallen into. ]
I was being mostly seriously. While, hm. Some warning would have been... let's say appreciated... There are monsters here, you said? I'm assuming I... other me... can still smite. Fly. Heal. That is useful to have on board.
[ Why, after all, wouldn't he be on board? Cas still sees no reason not to follow Dean with a smile and some barbed wire on his tongue, and he did die for him twice. Once out of his own volition even.
He picks at the frayed edges on his jeans. His tone is... not soft, perhaps, but softer than it could have been. Some of the mockery shaved off, almost like they're talking strategy on equal grounds.
What was it? Newborn steps? Close enough. ]
When it counts, Dean can snip his fingers, point, and Cas will go. The fact that this Dean doesn't seem to want that anymore leaves Cas reeling and unable to find the footing he'd fallen into. ]
I was being mostly seriously. While, hm. Some warning would have been... let's say appreciated... There are monsters here, you said? I'm assuming I... other me... can still smite. Fly. Heal. That is useful to have on board.
[ Why, after all, wouldn't he be on board? Cas still sees no reason not to follow Dean with a smile and some barbed wire on his tongue, and he did die for him twice. Once out of his own volition even.
He picks at the frayed edges on his jeans. His tone is... not soft, perhaps, but softer than it could have been. Some of the mockery shaved off, almost like they're talking strategy on equal grounds.
What was it? Newborn steps? Close enough. ]
Some warning? Okay. How did you figure that was gonna go? 'cause the way I remember it, there wasn't exactly a good time to bring that up.
[ Honestly, between almost shooting Cas on sight because he didn't believe the town had pulled him here and then patching up injuries he'd caused by sending the guy off to his death, the other version of Cas hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. So if he sounds defensive? It's because he's feeling attacked.
He wanders over to the window and though he can't see out of it - this one is depicting a hoard of Croats swarming one of the old abandoned trucks from the camp - it's more habit than anything to try gauge what's going on outside.
There's another window, downstairs at the front of the house in the room he uses to store all the weapons and maps, that's of the moment he chose to use Cas as a diversion. Maybe he should warn him about that too, but eventually he decides that would probably just be a waste of time. He can own what he's done, had to push through the guilt of it. Doesn't mean he's pushed through the guilt of anything else he did to Cas though and that still feels heavy as stones in his blood.
He's barely looked over his shoulder at Cas again before he speaks. ]
Yeah. He can. But he's not on a leash, if that's what you mean.
[ Honestly, between almost shooting Cas on sight because he didn't believe the town had pulled him here and then patching up injuries he'd caused by sending the guy off to his death, the other version of Cas hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. So if he sounds defensive? It's because he's feeling attacked.
He wanders over to the window and though he can't see out of it - this one is depicting a hoard of Croats swarming one of the old abandoned trucks from the camp - it's more habit than anything to try gauge what's going on outside.
There's another window, downstairs at the front of the house in the room he uses to store all the weapons and maps, that's of the moment he chose to use Cas as a diversion. Maybe he should warn him about that too, but eventually he decides that would probably just be a waste of time. He can own what he's done, had to push through the guilt of it. Doesn't mean he's pushed through the guilt of anything else he did to Cas though and that still feels heavy as stones in his blood.
He's barely looked over his shoulder at Cas again before he speaks. ]
Yeah. He can. But he's not on a leash, if that's what you mean.
[ Cas expects it would go about as well as any other conversation they've had in the past few years; extremely poorly.
He can't quite remember the last time they talked without tearing into each other, flinging careless pain, needling at one another or hailing straight up verbal low blows. Their bond had been... something entirely profound once. Now? It felt like a leash, like a whip, like a double edged sword. ]
Well... no. But I mean.
[ Cas makes a vague gesture, sets the bottle down and slowly lowers himself onto the bed, stretching out a bit and sighing at the momentary relief it brings his wounds.
He's noted the window - chooses not to comment. Where to even begin with this place. ]
I mean, you mentioned monsters. Past... or... uh. Other Me, isn't going to let you fend for yourself, no? [ His head lolls to the side lightly, blue eyes on Dean. He's not being spiteful, but... ] It's you. [ As if that explains anything.
But really, it explains everything.
It's always been enough, and even when it wasn't, Cas still did it anyway because at that point, why choose a different poison. ]
He can't quite remember the last time they talked without tearing into each other, flinging careless pain, needling at one another or hailing straight up verbal low blows. Their bond had been... something entirely profound once. Now? It felt like a leash, like a whip, like a double edged sword. ]
Well... no. But I mean.
[ Cas makes a vague gesture, sets the bottle down and slowly lowers himself onto the bed, stretching out a bit and sighing at the momentary relief it brings his wounds.
He's noted the window - chooses not to comment. Where to even begin with this place. ]
I mean, you mentioned monsters. Past... or... uh. Other Me, isn't going to let you fend for yourself, no? [ His head lolls to the side lightly, blue eyes on Dean. He's not being spiteful, but... ] It's you. [ As if that explains anything.
But really, it explains everything.
It's always been enough, and even when it wasn't, Cas still did it anyway because at that point, why choose a different poison. ]
Fend for myself?
[ The 'it's you' he hears, but it's unexpectedly harsh against parts of him that are still raw that if he wasn't already tense as hell right now he'd be frowning deeply. Yeah, that's part of the goddamn problem. Cas has decided to stretch out on his bed and there's a habit, a routine, that's been dragged back out of the darkness, ready and waiting to chew Cas out for that. In the end he's just stubbornly quiet for verging on half a minute.
It's not something he has any need to talk about right now. Not when at any second the house could be the next target of all the crap outside and he's already running on fumes. So he chooses to sound offended instead of affected, injects anger into his voice when what he's really feeling is another fresh pile of guilt. ]
Oh I can look after myself. I don't need his help. And--
[ Cutting himself off, his molars squeeze together, jaw set and lips pressed into an unimpressed line. The truth is that the juiced up version of Cas has saved his ass twice now here in the town. The rest of his sentence 'and I don't need your help either' is what he bites back.
Help has been a thing he hasn't genuinely asked for in a long time because needing help is showing weakness. And when was the last time he was allowed to be weak? Hell. ]
Are you asking for an explanation or an apology? Because right now? I don't have either for you, Cas.
[ The 'it's you' he hears, but it's unexpectedly harsh against parts of him that are still raw that if he wasn't already tense as hell right now he'd be frowning deeply. Yeah, that's part of the goddamn problem. Cas has decided to stretch out on his bed and there's a habit, a routine, that's been dragged back out of the darkness, ready and waiting to chew Cas out for that. In the end he's just stubbornly quiet for verging on half a minute.
It's not something he has any need to talk about right now. Not when at any second the house could be the next target of all the crap outside and he's already running on fumes. So he chooses to sound offended instead of affected, injects anger into his voice when what he's really feeling is another fresh pile of guilt. ]
Oh I can look after myself. I don't need his help. And--
[ Cutting himself off, his molars squeeze together, jaw set and lips pressed into an unimpressed line. The truth is that the juiced up version of Cas has saved his ass twice now here in the town. The rest of his sentence 'and I don't need your help either' is what he bites back.
Help has been a thing he hasn't genuinely asked for in a long time because needing help is showing weakness. And when was the last time he was allowed to be weak? Hell. ]
Are you asking for an explanation or an apology? Because right now? I don't have either for you, Cas.
[ There are things that Dean doesn't need to say to have them heard. Cas' gaze drops away form him. Strays to the ceiling, then skitters off to the wall.
There he is, the Dean he remembers, just under the surface. And all Cas has to do is dig, and dig, and dig, and he'll ruin what Dean's become, and find what he's been.
It's a hollow discovery.
It's not Dean how's the dead weight dragging them into the muck.
It's Cas, and he knows it. ]
I'm not asking for anything.
[ 'Am I allowed to sit here?' 'Am I still worth your time?' 'Can I stay, just a while?' 'Have I ever done anything but hurt you?'
If he doesn't ask, Dean can't say no.
If he doesn't ask, Cas can keep dreaming up sweet lies over bitter truths. ]
I know you don't need it.
[ Cas' help. Cas' company. Cas.
Either version works. ]
But you said you wanted it.
[ Cas' help, that is. What little he can offer these days. ]
So... a brief. Right?
[ He doesn't need explanations or apologies.
And he doesn't offer them in return. ]
There he is, the Dean he remembers, just under the surface. And all Cas has to do is dig, and dig, and dig, and he'll ruin what Dean's become, and find what he's been.
It's a hollow discovery.
It's not Dean how's the dead weight dragging them into the muck.
It's Cas, and he knows it. ]
I'm not asking for anything.
[ 'Am I allowed to sit here?' 'Am I still worth your time?' 'Can I stay, just a while?' 'Have I ever done anything but hurt you?'
If he doesn't ask, Dean can't say no.
If he doesn't ask, Cas can keep dreaming up sweet lies over bitter truths. ]
I know you don't need it.
[ Cas' help. Cas' company. Cas.
Either version works. ]
But you said you wanted it.
[ Cas' help, that is. What little he can offer these days. ]
So... a brief. Right?
[ He doesn't need explanations or apologies.
And he doesn't offer them in return. ]
Edited 2020-10-09 23:45 (UTC)
[ Frowning, his own gaze dropping regretfully to the floorboards, Dean exhales slowly, fully, through his nose. Trying to yank back any sense of control over his temper is always an uphill battle. It's like trying to calm part of himself that just wants rage, wants the anger to bury into because if he's cloaking himself in that anger? Nothing else can touch him.
This? This is a mess. And the information - the proof - that Cas is here and alive again is still so fresh in his mind that he has no idea how he feels about it. He's been trying to figure it out ever since they parted ways downstairs and every time he thinks he's getting close to really working it out, his brain tells him he's just going to fuck Cas up more than he already is. ]
You're a mess.
[ For the first time in a long time, his tone isn't accusatory, or mean, or meant to cut Cas down to size. It's simple fact underpinned by the fact that he knows damn well if Cas goes outside like he is now? It's not gonna end well. ]
Yeah, I want your help. But not like this. You're hurt. Still trying to recover from what I did. And if you think I'm gonna give you a brief that sends you out into that? [ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the stained glass window, but he means further beyond. ] You're wrong.
This? This is a mess. And the information - the proof - that Cas is here and alive again is still so fresh in his mind that he has no idea how he feels about it. He's been trying to figure it out ever since they parted ways downstairs and every time he thinks he's getting close to really working it out, his brain tells him he's just going to fuck Cas up more than he already is. ]
You're a mess.
[ For the first time in a long time, his tone isn't accusatory, or mean, or meant to cut Cas down to size. It's simple fact underpinned by the fact that he knows damn well if Cas goes outside like he is now? It's not gonna end well. ]
Yeah, I want your help. But not like this. You're hurt. Still trying to recover from what I did. And if you think I'm gonna give you a brief that sends you out into that? [ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the stained glass window, but he means further beyond. ] You're wrong.
[ Changed, but not so much. Looks like Dean still has it in his head that Cas is a toddler, and needs some upstart human to supervise his every step taken lest he get himself killed.
The hypocrisy is astonishing, honestly, coming from Dean Winchester of all people.
The twitch to the corners of Cas' lips is nothing short of bitter, his sigh utterly resigned.
All he wants is information. All he wants is to be looped in.
And because Dean sees nothing in Cas but a mess of his wrongfully assumed own making, he withholds, pushes Cas back into the corner he was in long before his death. No longer a friend, a partner, a confidante, no longer brothers on the battlefield. Cas is nothing but a liability.
He pushes himself up slowly, mindful of the way the stitches pull uncomfortably, and gets to his feet. ]
Yeah, uh. Sure. I'll be downstairs, then.
[ If Dean doesn't mind him going downstairs. After all, given what a mess he is, Cas might just trip.
The annoyance hangs around his shoulder like a mantle, but he bites down on the need to taunt Dean with it. Cas is too exhausted on all fronts to put up the fight, to argue his case and capability. ]
The hypocrisy is astonishing, honestly, coming from Dean Winchester of all people.
The twitch to the corners of Cas' lips is nothing short of bitter, his sigh utterly resigned.
All he wants is information. All he wants is to be looped in.
And because Dean sees nothing in Cas but a mess of his wrongfully assumed own making, he withholds, pushes Cas back into the corner he was in long before his death. No longer a friend, a partner, a confidante, no longer brothers on the battlefield. Cas is nothing but a liability.
He pushes himself up slowly, mindful of the way the stitches pull uncomfortably, and gets to his feet. ]
Yeah, uh. Sure. I'll be downstairs, then.
[ If Dean doesn't mind him going downstairs. After all, given what a mess he is, Cas might just trip.
The annoyance hangs around his shoulder like a mantle, but he bites down on the need to taunt Dean with it. Cas is too exhausted on all fronts to put up the fight, to argue his case and capability. ]
Edited (typo) 2020-10-10 15:48 (UTC)
[action] | October 25th, the Impala | cws: grief, mentions of death, substance abuse
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
perfectantidote
2020-10-23 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
[ For a while after Skye's visit, Cas just... sits inside that house. The one Dean claimed for himself here in Deerington, with the fixed up staircase and the derelict everything else. Just... Sits there and breathes, and exists, and listens to the silence within it.
He feels, perhaps, that just like himself, the house without Dean is just an empty body with little point to it.
How long he sits there in the dark, with nothing but the wine and the company of his own white noise thoughts, until finally he moves. Grabs his bag, grabs some weapons, and is outside before he even knows, properly, what he's doing.
For once, the siren call of the orange plastic bottle is driving him away rather than luring him in. Same for the blood. He can't drown himself in it now, not when...
It's not hard to find, and not far from the house. Cas quietly stalks the streets, weapon ready, senses... far from sharp. He's not been sleeping - no one has.
The Impala is a mess, but he can hardly focus on it. Instead, he watches. He witnesses. Over and over again. It feels like he's violating the privacy of a corpse to steal this moment away, and for once something he does in clear defiance of Dean's comfort levels doesn't bring him twisted satisfaction. It just makes his jaw clench, too blue eyes as still as the rest of him.
Cas moves, eventually, methodically, eyes peeled on the surrounding landscape - or what little he can see, in the blood red darkness. He's smart enough to know the outcome before he tries, but... he has to.
Can't quite help it, like an itch he needs to scratch. So he slides into the driver's seat of the wreck. The car means nothing to him, but... she's Dean's. And if here, in this place, she's not left to rot, then Cas has to at least make an attempt to salvage her. He turns the key in the ignition. In his peripheral, the hound bites down on Dean's neck, snuffing him out. Over and over and over again. Ignition. Death.
The Impala won't even give him so much as a desperate, stuttering gurgle. She's silent like her master, and... oh.
Cas freezes, hands white-knuckling around the steering wheel. There's a strange burn in his eyes, a clench in his chest that he can't quite categorize. His breath hitches and his vision swims, and Cas wonders if he's about to just... pass out, body and mind long past their respective limits. His lip trembles, and he doesn't... doesn't understand, the way it feels like something's trying to crawl up his chest and spill forth.
Not until something wet trails over his cheek.
Cas hasn't shed a tear in all his billions of years of existence. Not when he lost countless siblings, not when he went through re-education, not when Dean pushed and pushed until Cas shed his allegiances, a choice that sent him into spiralling freefall, a choice he would make over and over again if given the chance to change things. Not when Heaven slammed shut and his wings fell limp, uselessly dragging in the muck where no one can see but he can still feel something. Not when it all hurt so much, too much, and all he had left were painkillers to numb it all, and orgies to make him feel less alone, to drown out the silence and the horror of feeling, of existing the way he does, now, of the carcass of his trueform he can still feel, locked inside a prison of flesh and bone that was never meant to be his body.
It pales, all of it, in light of losing Dean, and his spiralling mind doesn't care that he'll have him back in a week, because right now he's gone, and Cas hadn't expected it to hit this hard... and yet, it does. Here, in the wreck of the Impala, unable to even do this much for the man who gave him freedom to die in the dirt rather than continued existence under Heaven's yoke, it feels like Cas has lost the last thing he had left to lose.
The haunting image of an ever repeating death and the silent emptiness of the Impala are the only witnesses here, in the dark, as for the first time since he was created, this broken, fallen angel cries. ]
He feels, perhaps, that just like himself, the house without Dean is just an empty body with little point to it.
How long he sits there in the dark, with nothing but the wine and the company of his own white noise thoughts, until finally he moves. Grabs his bag, grabs some weapons, and is outside before he even knows, properly, what he's doing.
For once, the siren call of the orange plastic bottle is driving him away rather than luring him in. Same for the blood. He can't drown himself in it now, not when...
It's not hard to find, and not far from the house. Cas quietly stalks the streets, weapon ready, senses... far from sharp. He's not been sleeping - no one has.
The Impala is a mess, but he can hardly focus on it. Instead, he watches. He witnesses. Over and over again. It feels like he's violating the privacy of a corpse to steal this moment away, and for once something he does in clear defiance of Dean's comfort levels doesn't bring him twisted satisfaction. It just makes his jaw clench, too blue eyes as still as the rest of him.
Cas moves, eventually, methodically, eyes peeled on the surrounding landscape - or what little he can see, in the blood red darkness. He's smart enough to know the outcome before he tries, but... he has to.
Can't quite help it, like an itch he needs to scratch. So he slides into the driver's seat of the wreck. The car means nothing to him, but... she's Dean's. And if here, in this place, she's not left to rot, then Cas has to at least make an attempt to salvage her. He turns the key in the ignition. In his peripheral, the hound bites down on Dean's neck, snuffing him out. Over and over and over again. Ignition. Death.
The Impala won't even give him so much as a desperate, stuttering gurgle. She's silent like her master, and... oh.
Cas freezes, hands white-knuckling around the steering wheel. There's a strange burn in his eyes, a clench in his chest that he can't quite categorize. His breath hitches and his vision swims, and Cas wonders if he's about to just... pass out, body and mind long past their respective limits. His lip trembles, and he doesn't... doesn't understand, the way it feels like something's trying to crawl up his chest and spill forth.
Not until something wet trails over his cheek.
Cas hasn't shed a tear in all his billions of years of existence. Not when he lost countless siblings, not when he went through re-education, not when Dean pushed and pushed until Cas shed his allegiances, a choice that sent him into spiralling freefall, a choice he would make over and over again if given the chance to change things. Not when Heaven slammed shut and his wings fell limp, uselessly dragging in the muck where no one can see but he can still feel something. Not when it all hurt so much, too much, and all he had left were painkillers to numb it all, and orgies to make him feel less alone, to drown out the silence and the horror of feeling, of existing the way he does, now, of the carcass of his trueform he can still feel, locked inside a prison of flesh and bone that was never meant to be his body.
It pales, all of it, in light of losing Dean, and his spiralling mind doesn't care that he'll have him back in a week, because right now he's gone, and Cas hadn't expected it to hit this hard... and yet, it does. Here, in the wreck of the Impala, unable to even do this much for the man who gave him freedom to die in the dirt rather than continued existence under Heaven's yoke, it feels like Cas has lost the last thing he had left to lose.
The haunting image of an ever repeating death and the silent emptiness of the Impala are the only witnesses here, in the dark, as for the first time since he was created, this broken, fallen angel cries. ]
Any chance you're able to track down my spider bait brother?
( He sees you on the Fluid, like him. It's a lot to get used to being able to see message streams, but knowing the other Dean is there, and - working? He's doing something.
Sam would go, but going half cocked into the forest as the sun sets is just asking for a spider to get the jump on Sam. And Jack can't be down two Winchesters. Now that Dean is his Winchester right now. )
( He sees you on the Fluid, like him. It's a lot to get used to being able to see message streams, but knowing the other Dean is there, and - working? He's doing something.
Sam would go, but going half cocked into the forest as the sun sets is just asking for a spider to get the jump on Sam. And Jack can't be down two Winchesters. Now that Dean is his Winchester right now. )
[are you ready for this, dean? the texts come one after the other, barely any break given for him to reply before jack's sending the next-]
Dean. How do I cook a frozen burrito?
Why is there a pineapple on the wall?
What does trigonometry mean?
The police are cats. They look like they're possessed. But they're not. What's wrong with them?
Dean. How do I cook a frozen burrito?
Why is there a pineapple on the wall?
What does trigonometry mean?
The police are cats. They look like they're possessed. But they're not. What's wrong with them?
[ Who is this kid that's been with them for a month and somehow they're friends? He's so out of practice having friends that it leaves him feeling both uncomfortable and exposed. ]
sam was helping you but he didn't show you how to use a gun on day 1? sloppy
[ It's not exactly judgement, more like he doesn't know what else to say because he doesn't understand yet. He doesn't get it and it bothers him. What the hell's the missing piece here? ]
sam was helping you but he didn't show you how to use a gun on day 1? sloppy
[ It's not exactly judgement, more like he doesn't know what else to say because he doesn't understand yet. He doesn't get it and it bothers him. What the hell's the missing piece here? ]
Hey! Dean Winchester!
This is Spider-Man calling.
Are you home?
I'm gonna knock on your window.
Hope you're not changing or something, that'd be awkward.
I'm not intentionally trying to be a pervert.
I'm gonna knock.
I'm knocking!
[.......................... There's someone knocking outside his window.
A man in a red and blue superhero suit, hanging upside down.]
This is Spider-Man calling.
Are you home?
I'm gonna knock on your window.
Hope you're not changing or something, that'd be awkward.
I'm not intentionally trying to be a pervert.
I'm gonna knock.
I'm knocking!
[.......................... There's someone knocking outside his window.
A man in a red and blue superhero suit, hanging upside down.]
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