[It shouldn't surprise him - the Marquis has a habit of striking him speechless, almost effortlessly, certainly deliberately, so he shouldn't be surprised - but he blinks, glancing down at the water bottle, back up.
It's another of those moments, another where something unobvious is said behind something otherwise completely mundane, and part of Dean recognizes that long before his conscious mind catches up. It's the part of Dean that hangs onto the things that logic doesn't touch, that believes deeply and with conviction that he is not a good person, that he will fail, that those he loves are right to walk away and that they always will. That he is forgettable, useless, devoid of worth.
It hears what this is, and when the rest of him catches up he blinks uncertainly and, glancing up again, turns back towards the fridge without looking. He never really needed to anyway.
Then he snorts, because the moment has drawn out too long, and because he desperately needs something to cover up the deep, bloody twist of hurt that is a preview of what will be left when the Marquis goes, because he can't admit that what this is between them is a flavor of, of all things, love.
Because he can't miss his friend before he even goes.]
Man, are you sure? You don't have to like, drive or anything, right?
[ Spam ]
[It shouldn't surprise him - the Marquis has a habit of striking him speechless, almost effortlessly, certainly deliberately, so he shouldn't be surprised - but he blinks, glancing down at the water bottle, back up.
It's another of those moments, another where something unobvious is said behind something otherwise completely mundane, and part of Dean recognizes that long before his conscious mind catches up. It's the part of Dean that hangs onto the things that logic doesn't touch, that believes deeply and with conviction that he is not a good person, that he will fail, that those he loves are right to walk away and that they always will. That he is forgettable, useless, devoid of worth.
It hears what this is, and when the rest of him catches up he blinks uncertainly and, glancing up again, turns back towards the fridge without looking. He never really needed to anyway.
Then he snorts, because the moment has drawn out too long, and because he desperately needs something to cover up the deep, bloody twist of hurt that is a preview of what will be left when the Marquis goes, because he can't admit that what this is between them is a flavor of, of all things, love.
Because he can't miss his friend before he even goes.]
Man, are you sure? You don't have to like, drive or anything, right?