( They've sacrificed themselves before on more than one occasion. Directly and indirectly, with or without foresight. It may just be that time has muffled the previous incidents, but right now he doesn't remember any of them feeling as permanent as what happened. Some part of him always knew, some part of him always held out hope that things could be undone.
But not that one.
He's a hypocrite, he knows. Not but months earlier he'd done something similar -- granted, it had been in an alternate life, but throwing himself on that spear so Cas could live would have wrecked him just as hard as what Dean's feeling now.
It's different. It's just different. At least then he'd gotten to say a proper goodbye, at least then they had more than a scarce handful of seconds to have even the mildest kind of resolution. At least there he'd had the ability to find goddamn words, and the feelings in his chest weren't really some shocking epiphany that robbed him of every scrap of that time.
He didn't even get to say it. It's that particular fact that decides which emotions get precedent here, and so it's not anger lacing his features when he finally does pull back. He doesn't go far. Doesn't take a step away. Just edges far enough that he can make eye contact, see the angel's full face when his throat more or less musters up the ability to make words. )
Cas...
( Maybe word, singular, because he doesn't get any farther than that one shaky, rusty syllable.
On another planet not so long ago they stood like this in their living room, a breath away from Dean sacking up enough to finally pull the trigger. He was a coward then, he was an idiot back home, and while he might still be an idiot here he at least knows better now than to miss out on a second (third?) chance.
One hand lets go of the back of Castiel's coat to instead find the side of his jaw, fingertips hanging tight around the back of his neck to hold him in place while his mouth clears the distance between them decisively. Not giving himself the opportunity to second guess it this time.
He thought you were gone. Really, really forever gone. )
no subject
But not that one.
He's a hypocrite, he knows. Not but months earlier he'd done something similar -- granted, it had been in an alternate life, but throwing himself on that spear so Cas could live would have wrecked him just as hard as what Dean's feeling now.
It's different. It's just different. At least then he'd gotten to say a proper goodbye, at least then they had more than a scarce handful of seconds to have even the mildest kind of resolution. At least there he'd had the ability to find goddamn words, and the feelings in his chest weren't really some shocking epiphany that robbed him of every scrap of that time.
He didn't even get to say it. It's that particular fact that decides which emotions get precedent here, and so it's not anger lacing his features when he finally does pull back. He doesn't go far. Doesn't take a step away. Just edges far enough that he can make eye contact, see the angel's full face when his throat more or less musters up the ability to make words. )
Cas...
( Maybe word, singular, because he doesn't get any farther than that one shaky, rusty syllable.
On another planet not so long ago they stood like this in their living room, a breath away from Dean sacking up enough to finally pull the trigger. He was a coward then, he was an idiot back home, and while he might still be an idiot here he at least knows better now than to miss out on a second (third?) chance.
One hand lets go of the back of Castiel's coat to instead find the side of his jaw, fingertips hanging tight around the back of his neck to hold him in place while his mouth clears the distance between them decisively. Not giving himself the opportunity to second guess it this time.
He thought you were gone. Really, really forever gone. )