The morbid line of questions does sober him, but the seriousness of it aids to bleed building tension into the dance. He doesn't lose step, let's it act as a therapy, a syringe drawing it out of him. the dull ache it inspires between his shoulders, twisting in his stomach, the tightness in his chest. If emotion builds in the body tissue, action should be able to work it free just as well. It likely doesn't go unnoticed that Cas skips over the question about his friend, the subject still too much of an fresh, stinging wound he's refused to let close. But the recent group trauma, somehow that's easier, more distant. Torture is an old companion Castiel's had experience at both ends of.
"The pit, yes. I was there." It's hard to be anything but genuine when this close into another's space, sharing air, moving as a synchronized unit, more a single generation of energy and heat. He sinks down into the mutual lunge, pausing to let the excited couple pass overhead. "Which vision did they share? The dark figure, the ascension visions, or the melding flesh? The last was at least partially real."
Several of the natives ended up disgustingly contorted and fused with the horrific mass of bodies twisted melted together at the base of the altar. Cas discusses it frankly, clinically. After you've battled through hell at its worse, it's hard to be moved by anything. But even the ritual shook him, truth be told. They use each other's strength to counter balance rise to their feet together, focus bringing Cas to sync up even to Obi-wan's breathing.
"If you wish, I can show you the visions directly, in the Horizon." They carry out another routine of steps, before Cas guides Obi-wan to twist under his arm again, though keeps hold of his hand to cross the Jedi's arms over torso, held with his back to Castiel's chest. They take a few twirling steps locked together before Cas spins him back out, drawing together close enough their foreheads brush, and they can lean one temple to the other's.
"The trench coat." A huff of air around a small smile sends a breeze against Obi-wan's ear, almost a laugh. Childish as it may be, it's something like a security blanket for him. Back home, it came everywhere with him, his defining trait to most (besides talking like a robot and being obsessed with the winchesters, apparently). It was armor as much as it was comfort. With Dean gone, it helps to have a piece of something so familiar. "Nostalgia, I suppose. At home, I had a similar coat. I rarely took it off."
no subject
"The pit, yes. I was there." It's hard to be anything but genuine when this close into another's space, sharing air, moving as a synchronized unit, more a single generation of energy and heat. He sinks down into the mutual lunge, pausing to let the excited couple pass overhead. "Which vision did they share? The dark figure, the ascension visions, or the melding flesh? The last was at least partially real."
Several of the natives ended up disgustingly contorted and fused with the horrific mass of bodies twisted melted together at the base of the altar. Cas discusses it frankly, clinically. After you've battled through hell at its worse, it's hard to be moved by anything. But even the ritual shook him, truth be told. They use each other's strength to counter balance rise to their feet together, focus bringing Cas to sync up even to Obi-wan's breathing.
"If you wish, I can show you the visions directly, in the Horizon." They carry out another routine of steps, before Cas guides Obi-wan to twist under his arm again, though keeps hold of his hand to cross the Jedi's arms over torso, held with his back to Castiel's chest. They take a few twirling steps locked together before Cas spins him back out, drawing together close enough their foreheads brush, and they can lean one temple to the other's.
"The trench coat." A huff of air around a small smile sends a breeze against Obi-wan's ear, almost a laugh. Childish as it may be, it's something like a security blanket for him. Back home, it came everywhere with him, his defining trait to most (besides talking like a robot and being obsessed with the winchesters, apparently). It was armor as much as it was comfort. With Dean gone, it helps to have a piece of something so familiar. "Nostalgia, I suppose. At home, I had a similar coat. I rarely took it off."