[Once upon a time, Dean firmly believed that if he took his eyes off his friends, his loved ones - particularly just after they'd graduated - they would disappear, or unimaginable evil would befall them. He still believes it, of course, that hasn't changed, but he is able most times to overcome the intensity of it. He would not have held it against the Marquis if he turned back around and found his friend gone - he forces himself to turn away because if it happens, then it happens. Nothing he can do about it.
This has been the hardest lesson he has ever learned, and he is not anywhere close to mastering it. He is no better at goodbyes now than he was when anyone else he loves gave him the opportunity to say one. He won't be any less aimless in the days to come, whether others notice it or not.
But he turns away because what he has learned - what he has been working on learning, what has always been disconcertingly easy with this man in particular - is to trust that the people he loves will do what they think is necessary, and only that. If the Marquis needs to go, he'll go - now, not at all; Dean knows he'll go eventually - and if he wants to stay, he'll stay. Dean can trust him that far.
He smiles with his back turned when the other man speaks; he hears what the Marquis doesn't say, hears the compliment, hears that it's all the moreso because de Carabas also gets to indulge in his very favorite pastime of being right. It isn't a smile in any way appropriate for sharing; it's acknowledgement and gratitude and all the soft, brittle emotions they don't share. That Dean doesn't share with anyone anymore, not in anything like visible, acknowledge proportions. Your heart beat with London's, the Marquis says. It goes into the same niche in his chest alongside things like I just reminded you of who you really are and We will always be family.
So he pretends to have to look around the fridge, pretends to have to make a decision, and he's shaking his head by the time he turns around with his own beer in hand. If something else needs said, Dean doesn't know what it is.
He holds up one of the bottles of water that have, mysteriously, been appearing in his mini-fridge for several months now; unspoken, unacknowledged, and always present among the beer bottles and the occasional half sandwich. And he grins.]
Since when did you rely on me to get you anything?
[ Spam ]
This has been the hardest lesson he has ever learned, and he is not anywhere close to mastering it. He is no better at goodbyes now than he was when anyone else he loves gave him the opportunity to say one. He won't be any less aimless in the days to come, whether others notice it or not.
But he turns away because what he has learned - what he has been working on learning, what has always been disconcertingly easy with this man in particular - is to trust that the people he loves will do what they think is necessary, and only that. If the Marquis needs to go, he'll go - now, not at all; Dean knows he'll go eventually - and if he wants to stay, he'll stay. Dean can trust him that far.
He smiles with his back turned when the other man speaks; he hears what the Marquis doesn't say, hears the compliment, hears that it's all the moreso because de Carabas also gets to indulge in his very favorite pastime of being right. It isn't a smile in any way appropriate for sharing; it's acknowledgement and gratitude and all the soft, brittle emotions they don't share. That Dean doesn't share with anyone anymore, not in anything like visible, acknowledge proportions. Your heart beat with London's, the Marquis says. It goes into the same niche in his chest alongside things like I just reminded you of who you really are and We will always be family.
So he pretends to have to look around the fridge, pretends to have to make a decision, and he's shaking his head by the time he turns around with his own beer in hand. If something else needs said, Dean doesn't know what it is.
He holds up one of the bottles of water that have, mysteriously, been appearing in his mini-fridge for several months now; unspoken, unacknowledged, and always present among the beer bottles and the occasional half sandwich. And he grins.]
Since when did you rely on me to get you anything?