[ castiel chooses not to answer. he also chooses to return the cap to the bottle and set it on its side on the mattress. he nurses the last of what's swirling around in the tumbler still clutched in his hands with small and measured sips, as though to savor the flavor he can't taste.
there are so many things he could say, and they all amount to the same thing. it's meaningless to argue. it's even more meaningless to argue with jack. he sits there in his half slump, coat wrinkled up around his hips and clinging to his thighs, legs dangling off the end of the bed. it makes him look like a little kid wearing his father's too-big clothes. a child after a tantrum, his dignity shed like his sobriety.
but children have no need for dignity. an angel does. he wonders if that's the advantage of allowing them their pride— not that it's ever helped more than it's harmed. castiel takes a deep breath, one that lifts his shoulders. they slump when he breathes out. ]
no subject
there are so many things he could say, and they all amount to the same thing. it's meaningless to argue. it's even more meaningless to argue with jack. he sits there in his half slump, coat wrinkled up around his hips and clinging to his thighs, legs dangling off the end of the bed. it makes him look like a little kid wearing his father's too-big clothes. a child after a tantrum, his dignity shed like his sobriety.
but children have no need for dignity. an angel does. he wonders if that's the advantage of allowing them their pride— not that it's ever helped more than it's harmed. castiel takes a deep breath, one that lifts his shoulders. they slump when he breathes out. ]
How is Dean?
[ back home, he means, of course. ]