[ There is a lot that Castiel needs to atone for. He used to medicate these feelings away. Before that, he would pray, and that's what he's been doing, since leaving Sam. He should feel strange praying to a different world's gods, but these ones here in Deer Country have always been friendlier than his own. He sits cross-legged in front of a very stately spruce with a desiccated black dahlia planted at its base, and he prays for Dean's safe return.
—At least he prays until he's interrupted. His eyes open and he stares at the shriveled maroon petals as he listens, and considers if it's worth responding. Word will spread. All of Dean's friends will find out eventually, through each other. Castiel's responsibility these days extends as far as the occupants in the cabin behind him, and, well... We see how well that's been going. Better to be distant and not interfere.
"I'm just worried about my friend." Castiel stars at the mass of wilted dahlia, and remembers Dean, and what Dean was like before the world ended, and now again, and how much he valued his friends, like family.
With a sigh, he stands, and in the next blink, he's standing in Bolin's room behind the plate of offerings he's made; a gust of wind from the flight blows out the candle, stirs the tail of smoke from the incense, and ruffles the leaves of the spider lily. Castiel's hands are at his side, shoulders stiff, and his voice is rough, as if from screaming or disuse, or both. He looks down at the boy kneeling before him, and the plate of food. ]
I'm sorry; I don't eat. Offerings like this are...
[ His eyes track over the red spider-lily and his head tilts slightly as he wonders if there's any such thing as coincidence. ]
:,) tldr > action
—At least he prays until he's interrupted. His eyes open and he stares at the shriveled maroon petals as he listens, and considers if it's worth responding. Word will spread. All of Dean's friends will find out eventually, through each other. Castiel's responsibility these days extends as far as the occupants in the cabin behind him, and, well... We see how well that's been going. Better to be distant and not interfere.
"I'm just worried about my friend." Castiel stars at the mass of wilted dahlia, and remembers Dean, and what Dean was like before the world ended, and now again, and how much he valued his friends, like family.
With a sigh, he stands, and in the next blink, he's standing in Bolin's room behind the plate of offerings he's made; a gust of wind from the flight blows out the candle, stirs the tail of smoke from the incense, and ruffles the leaves of the spider lily. Castiel's hands are at his side, shoulders stiff, and his voice is rough, as if from screaming or disuse, or both. He looks down at the boy kneeling before him, and the plate of food. ]
I'm sorry; I don't eat. Offerings like this are...
[ His eyes track over the red spider-lily and his head tilts slightly as he wonders if there's any such thing as coincidence. ]
...Unnecessary. But thank you.