Dean listens, but his mind is somewhere at a distance. Usually he's so much better at disconnecting from the things he feels and the things he does, but it's taking him a moment right now to push it all aside. To distance himself from where he'd just been and where he is now, the electrostatic memories of hell creeping like vines at the edge of his business, a haunted house charade playing at the back of his mind. It's like he can still smell it, the fraying edges of burnt flesh and the way it all burned to the very core of his body, every time they-
every time-
Pay attention.
Dean finds himself looking up when Sam is already facing him, talking about the afterlife and thinking that this was somehow it. Their Heaven. Or some version of it, he's not entirely sure, but he supposes he could get behind that theory apart from the fact that you didn't really get transitioned from Hell out of anywhere. And if he could, if he was willing, he might even still be able to make Sam's idea work but he doesn't want to. Can't bring himself to offer the facts to the table that he was dead. It was his fault. It was what he'd asked for so that Sam could keep on living.
The only problem is he doesn't know what to say instead, and so he cants his head a bit, bobbing as if in thought, trying to figure out the best way to broach this without answering or deceiving any more than he has to.
But he's already lied. Why not lie some more.
"You mean what, like- Limbo? Be a pretty nice spot for it, I always thought limbo was, I dunno- supposed to be kind of a shit show." Granted, Dean thought most things were supposed to be a shit show so how was that any different from the norm. He still twists a bit, angling his shoulder against the wall so he can look at Sam straight on, brow furrowing a bit in construed thought, as if he's thinking really hard when he isn't truly thinking about much of anything apart from, well, all the things he doesn't want to think about.
"Could just be another Trickster thing, make us live in our very own little Hobbit Hole for awhile."
no subject
every time-
Pay attention.
Dean finds himself looking up when Sam is already facing him, talking about the afterlife and thinking that this was somehow it. Their Heaven. Or some version of it, he's not entirely sure, but he supposes he could get behind that theory apart from the fact that you didn't really get transitioned from Hell out of anywhere. And if he could, if he was willing, he might even still be able to make Sam's idea work but he doesn't want to. Can't bring himself to offer the facts to the table that he was dead. It was his fault. It was what he'd asked for so that Sam could keep on living.
The only problem is he doesn't know what to say instead, and so he cants his head a bit, bobbing as if in thought, trying to figure out the best way to broach this without answering or deceiving any more than he has to.
But he's already lied. Why not lie some more.
"You mean what, like- Limbo? Be a pretty nice spot for it, I always thought limbo was, I dunno- supposed to be kind of a shit show." Granted, Dean thought most things were supposed to be a shit show so how was that any different from the norm. He still twists a bit, angling his shoulder against the wall so he can look at Sam straight on, brow furrowing a bit in construed thought, as if he's thinking really hard when he isn't truly thinking about much of anything apart from, well, all the things he doesn't want to think about.
"Could just be another Trickster thing, make us live in our very own little Hobbit Hole for awhile."