Dammit. [ He mutters to himself under his breath, shaking the chain just to make some noise, even if one some smarmy jackass who's name he missed and didn't care about had told him to quit hurling feces like a howler monkey.
Screw that guy. Dean assumed the instructions were because he was being annoying, so if he can cause any mild inconvenience whatsoever, that's what he's been doing. Throwing the tray at the door, rattling his chains, clanking his tin cup against the walls, shouting at anyone who will listen to let him out, he doesn't belong here, where the hell is Cas?
He's obnoxious. It's probably why he hasn't been let out of this Game of Thrones cell, though it's difficult for Dean to acquiesce and do what they want just to get a better room. He's not a damn dog.
But damn, he's hungry, and in desperate need of a shower.
He sits back against the wall, head tipped back, nothing to do with himself but wait, count the cracks on the wall again, think about how mad he is for giving in and going with Uriel.
Dean is currently imagining a menagerie of ways he could kill that jackass when he hears footsteps again, and he cracks an eye and glares at the door, tensing for the taser when the door creaks open, but instead of an angry guard accompanying some poor schmuck bringing him dinner, it's Castiel. ]
I didn't think you were coming back. [ He doesn't move from his position against the wall, feet on the ground, wrists resting on his knees, head tipped back against the wall. Dean's watching Cas with an exhausted, heavy lidded gaze; curious, accusing, very much I told you so. ] How's life on the outside? Enjoying your freedom?
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Screw that guy. Dean assumed the instructions were because he was being annoying, so if he can cause any mild inconvenience whatsoever, that's what he's been doing. Throwing the tray at the door, rattling his chains, clanking his tin cup against the walls, shouting at anyone who will listen to let him out, he doesn't belong here, where the hell is Cas?
He's obnoxious. It's probably why he hasn't been let out of this Game of Thrones cell, though it's difficult for Dean to acquiesce and do what they want just to get a better room. He's not a damn dog.
But damn, he's hungry, and in desperate need of a shower.
He sits back against the wall, head tipped back, nothing to do with himself but wait, count the cracks on the wall again, think about how mad he is for giving in and going with Uriel.
Dean is currently imagining a menagerie of ways he could kill that jackass when he hears footsteps again, and he cracks an eye and glares at the door, tensing for the taser when the door creaks open, but instead of an angry guard accompanying some poor schmuck bringing him dinner, it's Castiel. ]
I didn't think you were coming back. [ He doesn't move from his position against the wall, feet on the ground, wrists resting on his knees, head tipped back against the wall. Dean's watching Cas with an exhausted, heavy lidded gaze; curious, accusing, very much I told you so. ] How's life on the outside? Enjoying your freedom?