( one can't really expect a celestial being such as an angel of the lord to understand something as frivolous as the justification behind a human being's choices, their emotions and where they take them. someone that has spent the majority of their lifespan watching the evolution of humanity as a whole, looking in from the outside can't possibly understand their whims, their mistakes, their means of repentance when it all comes back around again –
and even more so, there is this unfathomable creature dean winchester, with his jagged edges and steadfast will, cracked and chipped but just as resolute as he ever has been. he breaks the mold, and does it with a smirk, because conventional just isn't his style.
but it still stands to reason that he wonders whether or not he really does belong in the pit, a thought which still swirls around in his mind, would continue to do so if it weren't for the sudden change in the being before him. that sound – he can't quite put a word to it, perhaps because there isn't one – reverberates all throughout the surrounding space, like the residual vibration of a pinged tuning fork, and he stops. stops thinking, stops poking and prodding long enough to fully regard castiel with the whole of his attention.
because all he'd said was his name. and that's never been enough to give someone a stroke.
he is the one they've been looking for? who the hell are they, and why have they been looking for him in the first place? he wants to ask more questions – something that he normally wouldn't do, because talk is cheap and there's so much more promise in action, less room for a margin of error or some downright shady shit.
with words, it's easy to lie. he's done it often enough himself that he should more than know the ins and outs, but with the desperation practically shivering through the one standing before him, pleading with him to please come, he thinks it might be in his best interest to just … go with the flow of things for a while. see where it takes him.
and if it's up and out of the pit –
yeah, okay, fine. you get me the hell outta here and then i get to ask why you're looking for me in the first place.
his expression is almost expectant, as if he doesn't expect the other to deny him such a simple request, and he does inevitably step forward – into the warmth, the brightness of those outstretched hands, the overwhelming rush of it enveloping him the moment he's close enough.
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Date: 17 Dec 2015 21:19 (UTC)and even more so, there is this unfathomable creature dean winchester, with his jagged edges and steadfast will, cracked and chipped but just as resolute as he ever has been. he breaks the mold, and does it with a smirk, because conventional just isn't his style.
but it still stands to reason that he wonders whether or not he really does belong in the pit, a thought which still swirls around in his mind, would continue to do so if it weren't for the sudden change in the being before him. that sound – he can't quite put a word to it, perhaps because there isn't one – reverberates all throughout the surrounding space, like the residual vibration of a pinged tuning fork, and he stops. stops thinking, stops poking and prodding long enough to fully regard castiel with the whole of his attention.
because all he'd said was his name. and that's never been enough to give someone a stroke.
he is the one they've been looking for? who the hell are they, and why have they been looking for him in the first place? he wants to ask more questions – something that he normally wouldn't do, because talk is cheap and there's so much more promise in action, less room for a margin of error or some downright shady shit.
with words, it's easy to lie. he's done it often enough himself that he should more than know the ins and outs, but with the desperation practically shivering through the one standing before him, pleading with him to please come, he thinks it might be in his best interest to just … go with the flow of things for a while. see where it takes him.
and if it's up and out of the pit –
yeah, okay, fine. you get me the hell outta here and then i get to ask why you're looking for me in the first place.
his expression is almost expectant, as if he doesn't expect the other to deny him such a simple request, and he does inevitably step forward – into the warmth, the brightness of those outstretched hands, the overwhelming rush of it enveloping him the moment he's close enough.
sound fair? )