[ Dean swallows, setting his jaw, muscle twitching in his cheek as he regards Cas. He's quiet for probably far longer than Cas is comfortable with as he thinks, trying to parse out an answer that isn't knee jerk and douchebaggy. It's a good question, why Cas. Why now, in the midst of chaos, when the world is crumbling around them yet again? Why not before, when they were in a similar situation? What changed?
Everything, he guesses. Everything and nothing. They are still the same people, no matter the time he's been here, though he likes to think he's softened a fraction, after everything. Hard to say, though, when he's faced with the most complicated person from his past, a man that has stood by him always, by every bad decision, every bad call, no matter what. Cas has always invoked complicated feelings that Dean didn't know how to deal with, and seeing him again amplified everything he thought he'd buried over the last two months. He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd probably never see his angel again, and right as he'd put it to bed, Cas' face appeared on the network, and everything Dean buried came bubbling right back up to the surface.
He wets his lips and looks at Cas, at the being whose arms he found such salvation in, the man who's kisses tasted like moonshine and the sweetest honey. Thinking back on it makes him twitch in his jeans, because Cas splayed out and spread wide on his lap like that had been one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen, and Dean's seen a lot in his life. He remembers what Cas felt like, his heat, how it felt to bury himself in his angel, how it swept him away, how Cas' heat and skin and tears are burned into his retinas, the memory at the forefront of his every waking moment.
Dean could be a dick, here. Easily. He could revert to the man he was when he arrived here, dismissive and cruel, condescending and unnecessarily mean. He could lean on the idea that Cas had used him, that they'd used each other, that it was a one time thing and there was nothing behind it.
It'd be a lie, a cruel lie that they would both instantly recognize for what it was.
He looks down, picking at a weed by his knee, rubbing the grass between blunt fingers. ]
cw; some spicy references
Everything, he guesses. Everything and nothing. They are still the same people, no matter the time he's been here, though he likes to think he's softened a fraction, after everything. Hard to say, though, when he's faced with the most complicated person from his past, a man that has stood by him always, by every bad decision, every bad call, no matter what. Cas has always invoked complicated feelings that Dean didn't know how to deal with, and seeing him again amplified everything he thought he'd buried over the last two months. He'd come to terms with the fact that he'd probably never see his angel again, and right as he'd put it to bed, Cas' face appeared on the network, and everything Dean buried came bubbling right back up to the surface.
He wets his lips and looks at Cas, at the being whose arms he found such salvation in, the man who's kisses tasted like moonshine and the sweetest honey. Thinking back on it makes him twitch in his jeans, because Cas splayed out and spread wide on his lap like that had been one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen, and Dean's seen a lot in his life. He remembers what Cas felt like, his heat, how it felt to bury himself in his angel, how it swept him away, how Cas' heat and skin and tears are burned into his retinas, the memory at the forefront of his every waking moment.
Dean could be a dick, here. Easily. He could revert to the man he was when he arrived here, dismissive and cruel, condescending and unnecessarily mean. He could lean on the idea that Cas had used him, that they'd used each other, that it was a one time thing and there was nothing behind it.
It'd be a lie, a cruel lie that they would both instantly recognize for what it was.
He looks down, picking at a weed by his knee, rubbing the grass between blunt fingers. ]
You know why.