[ He was ashamed. Ashamed of how badly he wanted to win, of what it was going to take to do what he thought would kill the Devil. Dean hadn't wanted any of it to end up the way it had and to finally have to realize who would need to die so he could finish the task - it was enough to kill him entirely. Too many parts of him were already dead but this, this would finish him off.
And he'd known that, but hadn't done a single thing to change it. He hadn't wanted to see the way Cas would look when he told him, hadn't wanted to have that conversation. It would have been too much to cope with and so he simply didn't give Cas what he deserved, killing himself instead by ounces.
That's not to say it was the right choice; Dean doesn't know what would be at this point. It's why he can't stand the idea now that he was ever the leader of their little pack, a man who was given the privilege to make decisions, ones that would get far too many people killed. Those lives were in his hands, Cas' most of all. And he'd fed him to the flames, tossed him under, given him away when all Dean ever wants is to keep him close.
Dean doesn't know what else to do in the moment, watching Cas turn away, the shrug of his shoulder, all indication that it means by far more for Cas than he wants it to. It's not as if it doesn't to Dean, he just doesn't know what to do with it, how to make it better, if it's even possible. And besides, there's another question within that, and Dean scrubs at his face for a moment, trying to suss out what he might even thinks he needs anymore. Which he isn't going to surmise within seconds.
Not quite, at least. ]
I used to think I knew what I needed.
[ And now, the only thing he can think of, is Cas himself. ]
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And he'd known that, but hadn't done a single thing to change it. He hadn't wanted to see the way Cas would look when he told him, hadn't wanted to have that conversation. It would have been too much to cope with and so he simply didn't give Cas what he deserved, killing himself instead by ounces.
That's not to say it was the right choice; Dean doesn't know what would be at this point. It's why he can't stand the idea now that he was ever the leader of their little pack, a man who was given the privilege to make decisions, ones that would get far too many people killed. Those lives were in his hands, Cas' most of all. And he'd fed him to the flames, tossed him under, given him away when all Dean ever wants is to keep him close.
Dean doesn't know what else to do in the moment, watching Cas turn away, the shrug of his shoulder, all indication that it means by far more for Cas than he wants it to. It's not as if it doesn't to Dean, he just doesn't know what to do with it, how to make it better, if it's even possible. And besides, there's another question within that, and Dean scrubs at his face for a moment, trying to suss out what he might even thinks he needs anymore. Which he isn't going to surmise within seconds.
Not quite, at least. ]
I used to think I knew what I needed.
[ And now, the only thing he can think of, is Cas himself. ]