artsyunderstudy:(x) Dean wasn’t sure where to go, to be perfectly honest. Cas hadn’t spoken since
artsyunderstudy: (x) Dean wasn’t sure where to go, to be perfectly honest. Cas hadn’t spoken since they left Nora’s, just staring blankly out the window as the scenery flew by, hands folded across his lap. It was weird, the little differences, the way Cas held himself. Less stiff, leant back, chin rested against his shoulder. If he still had wings Dean imagined them folding around his body. Tucking himself away from a world he was trying to convince himself he was ready to face. Dean’s eyes flickered down to Cas’ hands again. He had long fingers, one’s he’d thought about lacing with his own calloused and thick ones. Dean thought a lot about Cas’ hands, once this weird epicenter of all the angel’s power. Now they just lay flat, benign, bleeding. Shit, Cas was still bleeding. “How’s the hand, buddy?” Dean asked, voice a little thick as he stared at the road ahead of him. There was a small, gravel parking lot not far off, surrounded by a thin copse of trees and a fence that cut a path into an open field. A nature walk, most likely. “It’s nothing,” Cas answered. Read More -- source link
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