“Every time [Buttercup] asked the farm boy to do something for her, he would say, ‘As you wish.’ One day, Buttercup realized that whenever the boy said ‘As you wish’, what he really meant was, I love you.”
Excerpt from the Screenwriter’s Bible, on subtext and The Princess Bride;
The top gif is full of duty. Dean’s face is set strong, he’s not going to fall apart because he knows Sam couldn’t handle it. He’s being the parent, putting on a show. His arm stretches across Sam’s shoulders protectively and he kind of vice grips him.
But, in the second gif, Dean’s face is soft and full of regret.
He’s easier with Cas. More open and vulnerable in this shot.
There are things unsaid there, a million thoughts and nothing he can do about it, because he’s all out of time. He doesn’t vice grip Cas. His hand is dead center on his back, pushing their chests together. It’s a warm, intimate hand placement, and he just kind of holds him.
Really, his face has love in both gifs, but I think it’s two different examples of love. Familial versus romantic.
This idea is followed through later when Dean asks Cas to look out for Sam when he’s gone. Dean views himself as Sam’s parent, and asking Cas to fill in for him in his absence is like asking a significant other to step up. It’s very, very much a “look out for our son” kind of moment (without Sam actually being their son).
Of course, this is just my musings on it. If anyone has anything they’d like to add, I’m all ears!
All of this. The ‘look out for Sammy’ bit was like a married couple discussing their kid’s future after the other one is gone…
(And, since we haven’t cried enough about this – when hugging Sam, Dean is mostly sad for Sam – because he knows Sam will be alone now, and Dean hates to see his baby brother upset and in pain – but when hugging Cas, he’s also sad for himself – for all those feelings we know he wants to experience differently, maybe even for the first time and that will now come to nothing – Dean is sad for Cas, but is also sad for himself, because he’ll never know what sharing a life with Cas would have been like.)
You know he’s probably thinking “there are so many things I’d like to say, to do, but I can’t because we’re finally, for the last time, out of time.”
The angst of this post continues to haunt me to this day. Look at how it’s become relevant again.
Dean with his feelings starting to bubble out when he’s all out of time. Feelings that are easy to ignore and push down when you’re the one going off to sacrifice, and not the one who has to live with the void and ache of continuing on.
Only this time, Dean isn’t that person. This time, Cas is the one lost, and Dean’s gotta face the cold truth.
And look how well he’s starting.
This is the face of someone who is wholly unprepared to deal with the mountain of shit he’s been cramming down for nearly a decade. ESPECIALLY after he’d finally just started becoming more emotionally open and honest with himself (and the people around him) by taking a step back from his toxic tendencies and refocusing.
And ESPECIALLY when he’d been so visibly prepping and beginning to deal with those unsaid feelings in a more constructive way.
So what we’ve got now is a Dean with no walls, and the rug getting ripped out. I think it goes without saying that Season 13 is gonna hurt…
I just couldn’t get this post by @k-vichan out of my head and it was driving me nuts so this happened.
“Dean, I want you to understand that this Nephilim business is urgent and an all hands on deck situation,” Cas says. “The angels approached me for help and I needed to do something.”
Dean stares resolutely at his desk. “You could’ve stayed with us and helped us if you wanted to so badly.”
“The angels are my family and I-”
“The angels are your family?” Dean asks, incredulous, finally turning to look at Cas. “We—me and Sam—are your family.”
“But you were—” Cas cuts himself off, glaring at Dean’s wall in frustration.
“What?” Dean stands, stepping into Cas’ personal space. “What, huh?”
“You said I was your brother.” Cas looks Dean in the eye like he’s challenging him. “You were lying.”
“No,” Dean shakes his head. “I definitely wasn’t.”
“I’m an angel,” Cas grits out. “I can sense when someone’s lying.”
Dean pauses in contemplation. He remembers the conversation in his baby, of course, and he has a sneaky suspicion that he knows what Cas is getting at.
“You’re our family,” he says slowly. “Am I lying?”
Cas is silent for a beat. “No.”
“Sam and I, we want you to stay with us, here. Am I lying?’
“No.”
“You’re like our brother,” Dean says, cataloging every shift on Cas’ face.
Cas narrows his eyes at him, and jackpot. Dean was right.
Dean swallows hard, hesitating for only a moment.
“I love you,” his voice comes out soft, almost a whisper. “Am I lying?”
“I— no.” Cas is visibly shocked. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m in love with you,” Dean rephrases, letting the breath he’d been holding in out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cas asks, face twisted in confusion.
Dean laughs bitterly. “Why? Because you keep leaving, that’s fucking why.”
“I thought—” Cas looks dazed. “I thought you didn’t want me here. I thought you were lying.”
“Well, clearly you were wrong, dumbass,” Dean grumbles.
“You were lying,” Cas retorts. “Dumbass.”
“Don’t ‘dumbass’ me,” Dean sputters. “Just, c’mere.”
Cas takes a step forward and Dean raises a hand, brushes his cheek.
The ocean is a flat plane of glass, and the boat doesn’t
cause a single ripple as it glides along the surface. Dean has no idea how they
managed to drift out so far, but somehow they’ve completely lost sight of the
shoreline. The only indication of the horizon is the thinnest, faintest line; a
stray hair caught in a watercolour canvas.
It’s light out, the air around him a diffusion of pink and
gold and reflected back in the water’s mirror surface, but he can’t find the
sun. Perhaps it’s nearing dawn.
Dean’s leaning back against the bow, hands behind his head.
The gunwales are kind of digging into his shoulders, but he’s smiling.
His companion is silent and placid where he sits near the
stern. The light is catching the tips of his hair, setting off the dark with
glints of gold. Clasped hands hang between splayed knees.
Dean inhales thick, salt air and lets his eyes drift closed.
“This was a good idea. We needed a vacation.”
“You deserve it.”
Dean hums, contented. “You too. Hell, we’ve all been through
the ringer lately.”
Cas nods. “I suppose we have.”
Their voices float easily through the air, but in the space
all around them it’s perfectly quiet, save the occasional soft, gentle slap of
water against the boat.
“Seriously, we shoulda done this years ago.”
“When?” Cas asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “After
the apocalypse, but before the leviathan? Maybe between the Mark of Cain and
Amara?”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a downer, Cas?” Dean
replies peaceably.
“Once or twice.”
Another long and companionable silence stretches out between
them. They’ve been out here a while now and the sun probably should’ve risen,
but it’s hardly a concern: the glow of light around them is warm enough. In
fact, Dean could probably afford to take off his jacket, were he not far too
comfortable to move.
“Dean. How long do you plan to stay out here?”
Dean cracks one eye. “What, you got somewhere to be?”
Cas’ answering smile is fond, and only slightly tinged with
sadness. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.” Dean drops his eyelid.
“It’s just, there are things you need to do.”
Both Dean’s eyes open now, and he leans all the way up to
sit on the hard, wooden seat. The boat rocks and sways. “Yeah, Cas, there’s
always something. But you are cutting into our hard-earned relaxation time,
man. You keep this up, you can kiss that second date goodbye.”
“This is a date?”
Dean gives him a look. “You take a lot of platonic pre-dawn rowboat rides?”
“I suppose not,” Cas says, and he casts his eyes out to the
water. “I’m just a little surprised.”
“But not disappointed.”
There’s a faint blush dusting Cas’ cheeks. Maybe it’s just
the light. “No.”
“Because you love me.” Cas’ eyebrows rocket up to his
hairline, and Dean shrugs defensively. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
“Well, that’s
certainly true.”
Dean’s gotta give him that one. “Touché.”
Cas is looking at him patiently, waiting.
Feeling rather like a third-grader forced to answer a
question he wasn’t listening to in the first place, Dean casts his eyes down,
suddenly intensely interested in the rough woodgrain below his feet. The fact
that the boat has no oars is a mild curiosity.
“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Probably shoulda said it then. Guess
I just figured you knew.”
“Because you’re always so open and honest with your
feelings.”
That’s two points to Cas.
Dean plays for time a while longer, scraping his boots
through the coarse, black sand he tracked in from the beach. “Alright, well,
there it is. Better late than never, right?”
This time Cas doesn’t bother trying to hide the heartache in
his smile.
They sit in silence again, for minutes or maybe hours.
Eventually Cas looks left to the non-existent sun. “It’s probably time to go
back,” he says quietly.
Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Little longer.”
“You have responsibilities, Dean.”
Dean scoffs. “What, you mean Rosemary’s baby?”
“He didn’t ask to be what he is.”
“He’s the literal
antichrist, Cas.”
“Whatever he is,”
Cas says firmly, “good or evil, he needs someone. He needs guidance.”
“He needs a bullet
in the neck.”
Cas shakes his head. “You don’t mean that. He’s an innocent,
Dean. And he needs you and Sam, now that I can’t be there for him anymore.”
Something flickers in Dean’s chest, like a moth beating against
his heart. He frowns, confused, and finds Cas’ eyes.
The intent expression on Cas’ face gradually shifts to one
of resignation. He sighs softly. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”
Dean jolts awake to a blaring car horn.
Sam is driving, the hideous sodium streetlights casting
harsh lines of shadow across his face when he turns to the passenger seat. “You
were talking again.”
Dean doesn’t answer as he reacquaints himself with the deep,
aching chasm in his chest.
Sam swallows visibly, shadows of raindrops on the windshield
like pockmarks on his skin. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Dean grits his teeth. “Yeah, Sam. There were these clowns.
Like thirty of ‘em, and they all kept piling out of this Volkswagon.” The lie
slides easy off his tongue.
Sam throws up a hand in surrender. “Okay.”
Anger is easier. Anger is always easier.
Dean closes his eyes tight and tries to chase the soft,
pink-gold light of the ocean. He inhales Baby’s familiar leather scent,
desperate for a whiff of salt air.
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