[ Something folds in on itself inside of Cas and he sees it. Watches it happen like a stack of cards taken out from the bottom row, collapsing inward until it's nothing but a flat and jagged pile. And all it took was one word. Dean doesn't feel powerful at that realization, he just feels sick. Guilty. But their situation hasn't changed. They're in no less danger now than they were before, he's just knocked the wind out of Cas' sails so maybe they're worse off.
A single second, just one for an apology, is all it would take to steer the dude into slightly better waters, but he doesn't take it. Can't. He's been in Deerington for three months now and he's not going to pretend like he hasn't been changed by it. But there's so much history between them, so much dirt and blood and darkness that his brain just short-circuited straight back to the status quo. The smile he's never liked seeing is pinned back in place on a face that's complicated in so many ways, and it takes every shred of restraint not to react to that stupid title.
Silent as he turns away and follows the path up towards Flatwoods Point, the liger doesn't catch up to him again, seems to opt to stay closer to Cas instead. Whatever it is Dean's not able to say, his dream guide seems to be the silent messenger for that sentiment.
They somehow manage to avoid anything too serious on their way back to Dean's house, only stopping once when the liger's nose lifts into the air, as though he's caught the scent of something. But eventually they're drawing up to the ramshackle house Dean's been living in since he arrived. Only when he's pushed the front door open and looked around - he's still pissed the stained-glass windows are even a thing - does he wait for Cas to step in so he can close the door behind him. ]
It's safer here.
[ Not safe. But safer. The interior is sparse enough that anybody not from a world like theirs would struggle to figure out whether anybody actually lives here. Not this it's all that easy to see with only a handful of candles lit in the hallway and everything else shaded in the eerie red from outside. It really is a miracle this house is still standing and not burnt to the ground. In fact, only thing that looks anywhere near like it belongs in this century is the flight of freshly build stairs, the wood much lighter than the rest of the house even in the red shade darkness.
There's a threadbare couch with threethrowpillows on it in what might have once been a living room to the right, and he gestures for Cas to head on in while he disappears towards the back of the house with one of those candles. The liger, apparently familiar enough with the floorplan, decides to stalk away and throw itself down bodily, stretching out in front of an old fireplace that's got the remains of a fire still dusting the bottom. ]
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A single second, just one for an apology, is all it would take to steer the dude into slightly better waters, but he doesn't take it. Can't. He's been in Deerington for three months now and he's not going to pretend like he hasn't been changed by it. But there's so much history between them, so much dirt and blood and darkness that his brain just short-circuited straight back to the status quo. The smile he's never liked seeing is pinned back in place on a face that's complicated in so many ways, and it takes every shred of restraint not to react to that stupid title.
Silent as he turns away and follows the path up towards Flatwoods Point, the liger doesn't catch up to him again, seems to opt to stay closer to Cas instead. Whatever it is Dean's not able to say, his dream guide seems to be the silent messenger for that sentiment.
They somehow manage to avoid anything too serious on their way back to Dean's house, only stopping once when the liger's nose lifts into the air, as though he's caught the scent of something. But eventually they're drawing up to the ramshackle house Dean's been living in since he arrived. Only when he's pushed the front door open and looked around - he's still pissed the stained-glass windows are even a thing - does he wait for Cas to step in so he can close the door behind him. ]
It's safer here.
[ Not safe. But safer. The interior is sparse enough that anybody not from a world like theirs would struggle to figure out whether anybody actually lives here. Not this it's all that easy to see with only a handful of candles lit in the hallway and everything else shaded in the eerie red from outside. It really is a miracle this house is still standing and not burnt to the ground. In fact, only thing that looks anywhere near like it belongs in this century is the flight of freshly build stairs, the wood much lighter than the rest of the house even in the red shade darkness.
There's a threadbare couch with three throw pillows on it in what might have once been a living room to the right, and he gestures for Cas to head on in while he disappears towards the back of the house with one of those candles. The liger, apparently familiar enough with the floorplan, decides to stalk away and throw itself down bodily, stretching out in front of an old fireplace that's got the remains of a fire still dusting the bottom. ]