( dean has never fancied himself an open book – even for as much as sam tends to be able to read him like one, even when he's lying through his teeth and expects it to go off without a hitch, to find belief where there shouldn't be any. ( much like sam has always begged him to have a little faith even when their futures look bleak, and when you're staring down the proverbial barrel of the gun meant to kill you? it's … kinda hard to find faith in anything, especially when you're surrounded by nothing but destruction, death and general chaos.
always the beacon of light, aren't you, dean?
it's no big thing that he can't find the right words to lend a meaning to what he's feeling, because that's just par for the course for our resident monster hunter; it's sam that's good with words, and so long as there's a general blanket understanding of what's just happened, how it's made him feel outside of that whole being-flayed-alive feeling, they're good. he's clean, he's whole, he's so close to being back where he needs to be that he can almost taste it – on the tip of his tongue, catching behind his teeth, almost choking him with the realness of it all.
suffice it to say that this is all pretty damned overwhelming, and he likes to think that he can take a lot without feeling over-encumbered. there's still something of a heavy feeling sitting in the middle of his chest, right over his heart, and he can't put a finger on what it feels like, exactly, but … hell, it's better than everything that had bled into him in hell, and he thinks he'll be just fine with it. ( and maybe, somewhere along the way, he'll figure out what it means. maybe once he's topside, maybe once he's had a bacon cheeseburger and a beer and hugged his brother so tightly that he just might pop.
there are a lot of maybes. always have been, always will be, and there's not a lot that he can do to change any of that. his life is mapped out in maybes, would-have-beens, could-bes, endless possibilities tracing the lines of years he has left, and he has no fucking clue what he's supposed to do with them now that he's being given another chance to right his mistakes. )
there's a quiet sort of calm that creeps over him at the angel's words, the sort of calm that has a lingering wariness to it, even when the eye of the storm has passed. he thinks again that he's clean and he's whole, and this celestial being is about to take him back to the life he'd left behind, a brother and a father-figure and everything else he'd been convinced he would never see again, and – jesus, forgive him for just a second, because this is all so heavy that even though he's consciously accepted what's happened, it's still taking him time to acclimate to it.
an equivalent to what could have been a sigh shivers around him. he knows they can't stay here, knows that he has things he needs to get back to, needs to find sam and bobby and figure out this whole mess – but he doesn't like not knowing, doesn't like not having a single damn clue about what he's supposed to do from here on out, because how can you just pick back up from forty years ( or, topside, four months ) in hell like nothing ever happened?
you promise me. there's a firmness in his words, resolution. you find me, and if i don't remember, you beat it into me. got it? this ain't something i wanna let stay in the dark.
he doesn't want to forget this, because it means a debt will remain unpaid, and there are already so many things that he can't do anything about that he doesn't want this to be added to the list. there's another small moment of silence, and damn it all, there's no profit in holding off until the very last minute, is there? might as well get this over with.
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Date: 25 Dec 2015 06:21 (UTC)always the beacon of light, aren't you, dean?
it's no big thing that he can't find the right words to lend a meaning to what he's feeling, because that's just par for the course for our resident monster hunter; it's sam that's good with words, and so long as there's a general blanket understanding of what's just happened, how it's made him feel outside of that whole being-flayed-alive feeling, they're good. he's clean, he's whole, he's so close to being back where he needs to be that he can almost taste it – on the tip of his tongue, catching behind his teeth, almost choking him with the realness of it all.
suffice it to say that this is all pretty damned overwhelming, and he likes to think that he can take a lot without feeling over-encumbered. there's still something of a heavy feeling sitting in the middle of his chest, right over his heart, and he can't put a finger on what it feels like, exactly, but … hell, it's better than everything that had bled into him in hell, and he thinks he'll be just fine with it. ( and maybe, somewhere along the way, he'll figure out what it means. maybe once he's topside, maybe once he's had a bacon cheeseburger and a beer and hugged his brother so tightly that he just might pop.
there are a lot of maybes. always have been, always will be, and there's not a lot that he can do to change any of that. his life is mapped out in maybes, would-have-beens, could-bes, endless possibilities tracing the lines of years he has left, and he has no fucking clue what he's supposed to do with them now that he's being given another chance to right his mistakes. )
there's a quiet sort of calm that creeps over him at the angel's words, the sort of calm that has a lingering wariness to it, even when the eye of the storm has passed. he thinks again that he's clean and he's whole, and this celestial being is about to take him back to the life he'd left behind, a brother and a father-figure and everything else he'd been convinced he would never see again, and – jesus, forgive him for just a second, because this is all so heavy that even though he's consciously accepted what's happened, it's still taking him time to acclimate to it.
an equivalent to what could have been a sigh shivers around him. he knows they can't stay here, knows that he has things he needs to get back to, needs to find sam and bobby and figure out this whole mess – but he doesn't like not knowing, doesn't like not having a single damn clue about what he's supposed to do from here on out, because how can you just pick back up from forty years ( or, topside, four months ) in hell like nothing ever happened?
you promise me. there's a firmness in his words, resolution. you find me, and if i don't remember, you beat it into me. got it? this ain't something i wanna let stay in the dark.
he doesn't want to forget this, because it means a debt will remain unpaid, and there are already so many things that he can't do anything about that he doesn't want this to be added to the list. there's another small moment of silence, and damn it all, there's no profit in holding off until the very last minute, is there? might as well get this over with.
yeah, yeah … i'm ready when you are. )