[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]