[ Ah yes. He's missed this, in the all of five minutes between his death and resurrection, a brief respite from the digs at how far he's fallen. ]
Yeah, well...
[ And Cas coats himself in venomen and wraps barbed wire tight around himself, digs the barbs into himself hard so he can give as good as Dean makes him take. ]
We mostly ate out.
[ Bitter resignation. There's no winning or losing in this brutality that has become of their once oh so profound bond, lying tattered between them, shambles no one wants to make the effort to repair, and no one wants to let go of either.
So they cut each other up, and Cas hates himself for it, because he used to be so much more than what he is, and if he still were, perhaps he could fix this. Perhaps he could do anything at all. ]
Don't trouble yourself on my account. I'm, uh... I'm good.
[ Liar, liar... something about pants. Cas barely hears Dean moving around on the other side of the room over the white noise in his ears. If his eyes prickle, no one ever needs to know - blink three times and they're dry, shiny only because they're clouded over with pain and self-medication.
Dean wasn't dead when he came here.
Dean's been here a while. He has throw pillows, and built a staircase.
No wonder he's angry. Cas is the last thing he needed to have here, a festering reminder of the ruin of a life he got to leave behind for... well, certainly not better shores. But shores without the burdens he'd shouldered before.
No wonder he was ready to shoot Cas on sight.
No wonder his resentment against Cas is hitting hard and fast. ]
no subject
Yeah, well...
[ And Cas coats himself in venomen and wraps barbed wire tight around himself, digs the barbs into himself hard so he can give as good as Dean makes him take. ]
We mostly ate out.
[ Bitter resignation. There's no winning or losing in this brutality that has become of their once oh so profound bond, lying tattered between them, shambles no one wants to make the effort to repair, and no one wants to let go of either.
So they cut each other up, and Cas hates himself for it, because he used to be so much more than what he is, and if he still were, perhaps he could fix this. Perhaps he could do anything at all. ]
Don't trouble yourself on my account. I'm, uh... I'm good.
[ Liar, liar... something about pants. Cas barely hears Dean moving around on the other side of the room over the white noise in his ears. If his eyes prickle, no one ever needs to know - blink three times and they're dry, shiny only because they're clouded over with pain and self-medication.
Dean wasn't dead when he came here.
Dean's been here a while. He has throw pillows, and built a staircase.
No wonder he's angry. Cas is the last thing he needed to have here, a festering reminder of the ruin of a life he got to leave behind for... well, certainly not better shores. But shores without the burdens he'd shouldered before.
No wonder he was ready to shoot Cas on sight.
No wonder his resentment against Cas is hitting hard and fast. ]