[ Castiel ignores those words, forcing back a sharp roll of his eyes so there's a passive look instead. He knows Dean is hurting, and that this, whatever it is, is his way of expressing it, lashing out without so much as thinking about it. For that, at least, there is no blame. They have their vices and their faults, and somehow, they are still here. They have still come this far. He realizes that they might never be as they'd been before, when he'd been an angel and Dean so righteous, but perhaps it could be better. If only they can work through these things without estranging themselves again.
For several seconds, he watches him. He's so drunk, and it's almost pathetic, pitying. Yet, he isn't going to give him that or judge him. Besides, what he says after causes him to come up short, thoughts falling away to one simple truth. Castiel hesitates and then presses forward to sit beside him on the bed, impossibly close so that their knees and thighs touch. He's never been overly concerned with personal space, and even now, especially now, it doesn't matter. Resting his forearms on his legs, he idly looks at his hands. ]
You have always had me, Dean.
[ It's equally soft, an intimate whisper that's just as good as a confession. It had been a promise Castiel had made--that he would be there, that he would never leave, that Dean would not suffer alone. ] I can't understand why it's taken you so long to see it.
[ And only then does he risk a glance at him, nerves suddenly drawn tight. Like he's exposed something that should never have been said. ]
you love it just as much as i do
For several seconds, he watches him. He's so drunk, and it's almost pathetic, pitying. Yet, he isn't going to give him that or judge him. Besides, what he says after causes him to come up short, thoughts falling away to one simple truth. Castiel hesitates and then presses forward to sit beside him on the bed, impossibly close so that their knees and thighs touch. He's never been overly concerned with personal space, and even now, especially now, it doesn't matter. Resting his forearms on his legs, he idly looks at his hands. ]
You have always had me, Dean.
[ It's equally soft, an intimate whisper that's just as good as a confession. It had been a promise Castiel had made--that he would be there, that he would never leave, that Dean would not suffer alone. ] I can't understand why it's taken you so long to see it.
[ And only then does he risk a glance at him, nerves suddenly drawn tight. Like he's exposed something that should never have been said. ]