[ Dean doesn't like that look on Castiel's face, the determination in his eyes, the blatant lack of fucks to give. He's seen the expression before, the look that belays not just fearlessness, but also the sparsity of concern for his own life.
That, Dean recognizes. He's seen it in himself, when he looks in the mirror. Castiel doesn't give a damn if he dies - his mission is to collect Dean, or die trying. It's obvious, and it's scary.
Religious fanatics are, generally speaking, not usually Dean's problem. He's never had a run in with them before, never had any dealings with them. Why would he? Dean doesn't care for religion and has no time for it, never bothered with church or Sunday school. He read the bible at some point because his momma had been a good, devout Catholic and he'd been curious, but on the whole, Dean didn't subscribe to faith.
(doesn't stop him from carrying a rosary in his jacket pocket, the mother of pearl beads worn and loved, the silver tarnished from praying fingers counting stones.)
Nah, Dean didn't subscribe to faith, didn't believe in God, doesn't know about all that heaven mumbo jumbo - how can you just 'confess' your deeds and be forgiven? That's bullshit. There's no get out of jail free card, not like that.
He should know, he's spent enough time in holding cells.
Dean does know there are fringe groups out there that are erratic, dangerous; their activists so, so deeply entrenched they're downright nocuous.
Dean is finally starting to realize all of this; the man with the too big suit and messy hair in front of him isn't someone he should be playing with. These are the kinds of idiots that strap bombs to themselves.
When Castiel turns to go, Dean doesn't buy it. Not for a second, and his instincts pay off. The knife comes flying in the blink of an eye and he dodges it, letting it bounce off Baby and clatter to the ground.
The distraction, though - it works, because next thing Dean knows, this batshit crazy wackadoodle is shooting at him, and Dean's immediate reaction is to try to scramble away, shoot back, empty the clip into Castiel's chest which does nothing because he's wearing a goddamn vest.
Course he is.
All around him, bullets smash into the Impala's siding and Dean bellows his fury, though his immediate concern should really be the bullets that aren't hitting the car, and are ripping through his body, instead. Into his arm, his thigh. The blinding pain drops him down to his knees, clutching his arm, bleeding from bicep and thigh both, unable to stand. ]
Are you crazy? What's the matter with you? You shot me!
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That, Dean recognizes. He's seen it in himself, when he looks in the mirror. Castiel doesn't give a damn if he dies - his mission is to collect Dean, or die trying. It's obvious, and it's scary.
Religious fanatics are, generally speaking, not usually Dean's problem. He's never had a run in with them before, never had any dealings with them. Why would he? Dean doesn't care for religion and has no time for it, never bothered with church or Sunday school. He read the bible at some point because his momma had been a good, devout Catholic and he'd been curious, but on the whole, Dean didn't subscribe to faith.
(doesn't stop him from carrying a rosary in his jacket pocket, the mother of pearl beads worn and loved, the silver tarnished from praying fingers counting stones.)
Nah, Dean didn't subscribe to faith, didn't believe in God, doesn't know about all that heaven mumbo jumbo - how can you just 'confess' your deeds and be forgiven? That's bullshit. There's no get out of jail free card, not like that.
He should know, he's spent enough time in holding cells.
Dean does know there are fringe groups out there that are erratic, dangerous; their activists so, so deeply entrenched they're downright nocuous.
Dean is finally starting to realize all of this; the man with the too big suit and messy hair in front of him isn't someone he should be playing with. These are the kinds of idiots that strap bombs to themselves.
When Castiel turns to go, Dean doesn't buy it. Not for a second, and his instincts pay off. The knife comes flying in the blink of an eye and he dodges it, letting it bounce off Baby and clatter to the ground.
The distraction, though - it works, because next thing Dean knows, this batshit crazy wackadoodle is shooting at him, and Dean's immediate reaction is to try to scramble away, shoot back, empty the clip into Castiel's chest which does nothing because he's wearing a goddamn vest.
Course he is.
All around him, bullets smash into the Impala's siding and Dean bellows his fury, though his immediate concern should really be the bullets that aren't hitting the car, and are ripping through his body, instead. Into his arm, his thigh. The blinding pain drops him down to his knees, clutching his arm, bleeding from bicep and thigh both, unable to stand. ]
Are you crazy? What's the matter with you? You shot me!