Jo is torn between not knowing how far to imagine the worst or wondering if she even has a clue far that could go with all the years those two have known each other and too many harrowingly plausible options than she ever wanted to think she could reach for at a question to herself in less than six months. Cas, who ambles around trying not to look at the edge of bed sick all the time as it is, looks gutted even worse for the wear. His blue eyes were soft and spiraling lost, and maybe in someone else, the first response would be sympathy, but it made Jo want to grit her teeth. It stirs something up black and hot, ready to be volatile, just needing to be given a direction. ]
Well, fuck him. He doesn't get a vote in it.
[ Jo reaches out and grabs one of the hands from in Cas' lap and squeezes it, and her voice is a little hard—and just this side of a wire tight, thick, she can't entirely make it not be at her command immediately—a little more demanding for Cas to keep looking at her. Because whatever just happened, he isn't alone. He doesn't have to stand alone in a room and figure out how to hold it, handle it, carry it to make it more livable for anyone else around him.
(And this isn't done. This is the next first step.
The first of them, but surely not the last, to see Dean this way.) ]
And whatever he said, Cas, it was all lies. Dean wouldn't go around threatening you or any of them. It's his face and his voice, and it's got his memories, but it's not him.
no subject
It's as oblique as it isn't.
Jo is torn between not knowing how far to imagine the worst or wondering if she even has a clue far that could go with all the years those two have known each other and too many harrowingly plausible options than she ever wanted to think she could reach for at a question to herself in less than six months. Cas, who ambles around trying not to look at the edge of bed sick all the time as it is, looks gutted even worse for the wear. His blue eyes were soft and spiraling lost, and maybe in someone else, the first response would be sympathy, but it made Jo want to grit her teeth. It stirs something up black and hot, ready to be volatile, just needing to be given a direction. ]
Well, fuck him. He doesn't get a vote in it.
[ Jo reaches out and grabs one of the hands from in Cas' lap and squeezes it, and her voice is a little hard—and just this side of a wire tight, thick, she can't entirely make it not be at her command immediately—a little more demanding for Cas to keep looking at her. Because whatever just happened, he isn't alone. He doesn't have to stand alone in a room and figure out how to hold it, handle it, carry it to make it more livable for anyone else around him.
(And this isn't done. This is the next first step.
The first of them, but surely not the last, to see Dean this way.) ]
And whatever he said, Cas, it was all lies.
Dean wouldn't go around threatening you or any of them.
It's his face and his voice, and it's got his memories, but it's not him.