[ Castiel grunted, but again he was relieved that she was pulling harder, rather than continuing the caresses from before. The plucked feather came free in her hands, and for a moment Cas just seemed to focus his breathing, exhaling and inhaling like he was controlling the pain before lifting his head at the next comment, glowering fiercely at her.
Dean Winchester was always a hot topic. He was protective, had been since Dean had become the first human that he had ever laid his hand upon. ]
Dean is not...he's not damned. He is not lost.
[ Castiel wasn't how sure he believed that. There was a darkness in Dean that he couldn't properly fathom, and he wasn't even sure whether it had been there always, or existed only since his stint in Hell, never having met the man before he rescued him. But he could see that shadow, thick and frightening beneath the surface, and it concerned him as much as it seemed to concern Dean himself. The fact that she knew that Castiel was worried about that corruption only made her more dangerous; not because her approach, trying to humanize herself along side Dean, had any chance of working; but because it meant that she knew Castiel far too well for his continued health and happiness, particularly strung up and helpless as he was.
He tried so hard not to give anything away, but she was so close, and the feelings he had for Dean were so strangely personal - particularly so raw from his almost-rebellion - that he couldn't help but express something in his express, a wide eyed concern, a nervous licking of his lips, that was far too clean and simple in its clarity of the turmoil passing just below. ]
And you are nothing like him. [ He tried to say, with much more conviction. ] His motives are pure, and yours are far from it.
no subject
Dean Winchester was always a hot topic. He was protective, had been since Dean had become the first human that he had ever laid his hand upon. ]
Dean is not...he's not damned. He is not lost.
[ Castiel wasn't how sure he believed that. There was a darkness in Dean that he couldn't properly fathom, and he wasn't even sure whether it had been there always, or existed only since his stint in Hell, never having met the man before he rescued him. But he could see that shadow, thick and frightening beneath the surface, and it concerned him as much as it seemed to concern Dean himself. The fact that she knew that Castiel was worried about that corruption only made her more dangerous; not because her approach, trying to humanize herself along side Dean, had any chance of working; but because it meant that she knew Castiel far too well for his continued health and happiness, particularly strung up and helpless as he was.
He tried so hard not to give anything away, but she was so close, and the feelings he had for Dean were so strangely personal - particularly so raw from his almost-rebellion - that he couldn't help but express something in his express, a wide eyed concern, a nervous licking of his lips, that was far too clean and simple in its clarity of the turmoil passing just below. ]
And you are nothing like him. [ He tried to say, with much more conviction. ] His motives are pure, and yours are far from it.