[ He tries to hold the look as long as he can when that answer finally does come, but it sinks and spins out of control to the point he has to shift his eyes away and look at something else. Probably doesn't necessarily mean it would, and that's not enough of him. Castiel has found that uncertainties are a better friend than unknowns because it lends the power of hope. It gives them something to look to even when everything is so bleak, so out of focus. And it's this world too, how it messes with them and twists them in different directions. For a moment, they are impossibly close, and tomorrow-- Well, tomorrow is never enough.

Instead, he tries to focus on what he's asked and what the truth of it is. Sometimes he fools himself into thinking that erasing what has been done would make him happier. That if he woke up an angel again, filled to the brim with grace and knowing, it would change his outlook. Yet, there's so much he's traded for his place at Dean's side, and it's too much to decide whether or not he would have thrown it away to keep what he'd lost. ]

Maybe. [ It's the definite he settles on, just as quiet as he looks around the room and finally back at him. ] But we're not them. He isn't you, and I'm-- I like this.

[ Whatever this co-existence happens to be, whatever sort of place they've found themselves in. Besides, he hardly wants anything to do with his other self, and past Dean is this strange conundrum he hasn't decided whether to really like or hate. At least his Dean is familiar. At least he can guess what would happen if he were to press certain issues. ]

Nothing is ever going to be perfect - I think we've managed so far. [ Being not so perfect, the two of them. ] Is that what you would want? If you could change things, would you want to be like them?

[ It makes him nervous to ask, and unconsciously, his fingers dig just a fraction harder into Dean's arm. ]