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theorememes2025-11-03 08:07 am
TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire
BUFF
Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.
DEBUFF
For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.
At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.
And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.
All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.
As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.
Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"
They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.
"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"
When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.
On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.
"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."
You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.
It's beautiful, except—
The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.
Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.
Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.
Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).
Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.
And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?
Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?
This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.
It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.
Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.
This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.
Eventually, it comes time to launch.
The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.
As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.
Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.
To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.
They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.
"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"
As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.
Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.
As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.
This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.
There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.
If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.
Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.
Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.
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[ A little mimicking Cas's voice and tone. As a treat. Dean is personally taking that to mean he's right and Cas just doesn't wanna admit it. ]
Well make sure you keep me posted on that one, buddy.
[ Dean will probably miss it enough for both of them. If he's honest, which he won't be. ]
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The ult leaf taco does not in fact bring down the house. It's too busy. Castiel morosely removes the fries from it and tries not to get dramatic about what this might mean, thematically.]
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Wasn't what he meant by "keep me posted," but the power situation is more important than... y'know. Whether or not he'll miss being able to eat with Dean and actually enjoy it, once they get that mojo back online. Like actively more important on every level.
Easy come, easy go. Even if it was kinda nice to be able to get his mind off it for a minute there.
So Dean smooths his expression back out, shakes it off. ]
Doin' it the old fashioned way in the meantime. But that's what you got me for. [ He snags one of those fries that Cas kicked out of his ult leaf taco, because secondhand food-sharing is way less complicated than getting hand-fed. Never mind that the other fries are still here directly in front of Dean.
Cas will never know a guard dog so devoted to guard dogging him as he will next time Dean thinks there's shit going sideways. Good luck getting rid of him this time, asshole, and other unfair things to think. ] Hell, it's a pretty cushy joint for it, too. Kidnapped in style.
[ Nothing to even kill yet. That's gotta be a first, right? The biggest immediate threat was Cas trying to set stuff on fire. ]
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(If Cas ever figures out that Dean is trying to guard-dog him, there's gonna be an uncomfortably personal shouting match in the hallways, probably.)
Dean eating off of Castiel's plate is nothing new so he takes no notice of it, satisfied with the pork-slaw-leaf combination.] Yes. That also concerns me.
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Okay, good. It should concern you. [ Hold onto it tight. Be extremely concerned by how cushy the kidnapping is. ] This is givin' us candy after we're already in the van.
[ The fun is fun, he wants to have the fun, don't get him wrong. He'll eat the candy, or in this case the fries. Trusting anything is a whole other ball game, and it's one he's been playing his whole life.
Head on a swivel. Keep the guard up. Find some space jerky and start stockpiling. And other such valuable life tips.
But nothing's gonna change the big picture: they are not here by choice and they're gonna kill all these space gods about it at the first opportunity. Obviously. ]
cas in his mind: wow my favorite human is so smart and so sharp wow wowowow
There had been that pithy remark, Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home, by Starling's Lament in Flight, but Castiel is under no illusions that it can't be that simple. Especially since their potential ability to return is hinged upon doing what their hosts already wanted them to do.
The decadence, the hedonism, the lavish fixtures and features...they're being coddled. Using honey to attract flies. There will come, eventually, the stick.
Castiel, having watched Dean closely for those few seconds of thought, their eyes meeting and communicating their agreement (This really is a bunch of horseshit, huh), finally blinks and looks down at his food. He's...full, he thinks, and pushes the rest of it aside.] ...we will make it back home. [Because, if for no other reason,] We can't leave Sam alone again.
waow (basedbasedbasedbased) dot jpeg
He knew Cas would get it. That's that eye-to-eye shit that hopefully keeps them from getting killed out here.
The last part, maybe, gives Dean a harder time. Leave it to Cas to freakin' acknowledge it outright. Cut to the heart of the worst thing about all this and leave it on the table for Dean to pick up. Getting abducted is one thing, getting set down and assigned some mission whether he likes it or not, a tool in the hands of something bigger, that's just another Thursday. Sam is--
The hard part.
The thing that hurts, the thing that makes him wanna pace around like a caged animal and gnaw on the bars. ]
No, we can't. [ The we smooths over one or two jagged edges in Dean's infinite collection of jagged edges, at least. We will make it back home, we can't leave Sam alone again. We will get out of this together or Dean's not fucking going. Not this time.
If Cas thinks he's gonna pull another Purgatory, he's wrong. ] You know Sam. This time tomorrow, he's gonna be worried. Then he's gonna be pissed off, 'cause he has no leads.
[ Probably no leads, anyway. Not a ton of evidence. And who can be sure exactly how much confidence that Dean didn't just... take off for some bullshit solo mission, after everything? Stop taking his calls? Much to be worried about. ]
Pretty crappy timing, you know? I think me and him were finally gettin' our act back together.
[ Sort of... back on even ground with each other. Back in sync. And Sam right there where Dean can do his damn job and watch out for him.
Not that he guesses he gave Sam all that much of a choice. ]
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Anyway. Dean's never been agitated about Sam being worried or pissed off. There's something wise concerning him.]
Dean, [Castiel says quietly, hands folded atop the table between them and leaning forward imploringly,] Sam's smart. He knows how to look. He'll figure out we didn't leave willingly.
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His heart just got shelled like a pistachio in full view of the public. After everything they've ever been through, he should probably be used to it. Yet here he sits. Stuck reeling, cutting his gaze back down to the table for a few seconds over Being Known.
Anyone else, Dean would've brushed this whole line of thought off already. Moved on, cracked a joke, thrown something and walked off, whatever. But-- well. The but kinda speaks for itself. (As far as Dean's concerned.) ]
I don't know what to do if he doesn't figure it out. 'cause that's... [ He shakes his head. Huffs out some kind of a laugh at himself because he can't help it. Because it sounds stupid just thinking it, he knows it's stupid, but- ] Hell, I think that'd hit harder than the alien abduction.
[ A little bit of honesty for Cas, as a treat. Cas usually gets Dean's honest emotions quota.
He'd rather die than have Sam potentially think he'd just. Just leave him behind without a word. Leave him with the work, leave him to their searching, after hauling him back into the life in the first place.
Sam's smart. 'course he is. He's always been smart.
It's the not knowing what's going on one way or the other that's gonna keep Dean on edge. ]
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Sure, he'd picked up on their tension, and while he might not know exactly why the brothers are fighting this time, he knows it never lasts for long. Something always brings them back together. Dean's insecurity about that here might be over their fight but he just needs a reminder of what he already knows, and after a day of miserable ineffectuality, Castiel is eager to provide it and pull that tremulous note of anxiety out of Dean's tone.]
Sam knows you. He knows the lives you both lead. He knows how hard you fight to stay by his side. [Castiel's fingers flex atop the table but otherwise he doesn't move, using instead his steel steady voice to deliver his conviction.] Sam will never believe you'd disappear without a word.
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Can't have that all the time, obviously. But it's a relief every time he gets to. ]
... yeah. Yeah. [ And local man is resolutely not thinking about spending a year murdering his way through Purgatory to find Cas specifically, even though he and Benny could've gotten out and back to Sam way before that. (Never mind that Dean used to believe that their dad would never disappear without a word on purpose either, and look how well-placed that was.)
That's obviously... different. And not relevant to this reassurance that Cas is trying to provide. Scratch that, is successfully providing.
He runs a hand down his face. ] It's fine. Just-- crappy timing. Like I said. Not that this stuff's ever had good timing, right?
[ The default at this point should be "disappointed, not surprised." Wouldn't have to feel all these dumbass feelings if he'd stop getting caught off-guard about it, honestly. This was supposed to be a fun little lunch and now he's making it a bummer. What's the point of anything, etc. ]
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...but he still looks so troubled.
So now Castiel is in a bind. How does he help his friend? He can't solve the problem immediately, and he's already tried to reassure him. Without his powers it's going to be ever more likely that he'll need Dean's help, at least in navigating mortality until he can figure out how to tap back into his grace. So what can he do? How can he help Dean endure what's likely to be weeks, if not longer, of this separation from Sam?]
Abrupt kidnappings usually don't have a best time, no. [Eugh. That's not helping. Maybe...staying positive...?] ...erm. Unless it was...preferable. ...during the apocalypse might've been nice. [Some decadence in the middle of all that 'being hunted by heaven and hell' shit. Of course, that also would've left Sam all alone, so maybe it's just as bad. Yikes.]
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Is Dean that much of a sadsack or is Cas just being supportive? Things to ponder while Dean is finishing off the food. ]
Maybe. [ Could be a nice thought.
He wonders if there's a really nice beach setting in that holo deck. Didn't pay a ton of attention when he realized it was boring. ] Since they never wanna fit it in between one thing and the next.
[ Since there's always a next thing. Although, well-- ]
Guess if they did it that way, it just makes 'em the next thing. Can't win for losing here, buddy.
[ Shoves another fry in his mouth. But in a cool way. We stay silly here, right? The horrors are endless but we stay silly and we stand by our "it's fine." ]
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It really is just one thing after another.
[You know, he's still more scared and more angry now that Dean's here, but...colors are a little brighter with Dean here. At least. Maybe that's selfish. Cas will let himself not feel guilt over that for ten minutes, as a treat.]
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The human spirit truly is indomitable. ]
Only every damn day. [ nbd. ] I'm startin' to think the universe has a little thing for us.
[ Kinky son of a bitch. Really likes the stubborn ones who commit atrocities. ]
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Anyway.] Though I don't think this was as deliberate as everything else has been.
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But because what he's hearing is... he's probably the most fuckable person in God's grocery store. Straight from the angel's mouth. ]
Hm. Yeah. [ Like, they're not the main characters here. This wasn't a super special "go grab a Winchester or two for our bullshit universe ending purposes." ] Just somethin' hungry enough to not be picky, maybe. Happens all the time.
[ We feed and serve some psychic old gods or whatever. Kidnapping of opportunity? Happened to smell their brand of chum in the water and pulled?
Gotta be something. There's a lot of people in this haul. ]
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The use of 'hungry' as a descriptor is...it reminds Castiel, actually. He tilts his head consideringly, lips pursed in thought before he asks,] Dean. Do you...remember anything? From between your last memory on Earth and waking up here.
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More important questions at work here, anyway. ]
Yeah. Not much. [ Dean works over how to... put it. For a little bit. Perks of being a professional, right? Run it through the mental database, find relevant words. ]
I felt this... pull. Y'know. [ He taps the center of his chest twice. Not a physical pull, something harder to place.
Dean would like to think he'd notice a tug on his soul, but what does he know. ]
Instinct, right? "Get through the door. Something's in there." [ And what is Dean if not an instincts-based man? A hunter. Through and through. Something is in there, it's important, move.
(Maybe that feeling was just because Cas was here, though. Not a fight to jump into, not a threat to meet in the middle before it could come sniff out Sam. Hard to be sure.
No point putting that thought on blast without proof.)
He gets frustrated with himself for not being able to explain the rest properly, to wrap his head around it enough. Dean leans in, jabs his finger on the table between them as he speaks. ] And there was. Now I don't remember what the hell it was exactly, but I know I-- saw some stuff. Cosmic welcome wagon, maybe.
[ Girl how come he can remember 40 years in the horror of hell in sharp clarity but a little eldritch space horror is where his comprehension draws the line??? This is supposed to be his JOB. ]
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Instincts are a funny thing, and Dean's are impeccable. And instinct, as it exists, is not something angels experience; at least, not in the same capacity. Instincts are defined as behaviors executed in reaction to stimuli, not through conscious thought, but all an angel has is conscious thought. Actions taken are deliberate and intentional. Castiel doesn't have instincts. Maybe that lack, maybe his inability to trust in Dean's instincts because he couldn't understand them is what lead to-
Lead to...things happening the way they did.
Dean's instincts telling him to come here is different. Castiel can't recall anything like that. He felt a pull, and then he felt trapped. But as for images- it's almost as if his memories have slotted themselves in their place. He could recall everything he'd witnessed in his life with perfect clarity; the birth and death of planets and stars, the rise and fall of human civilizations across Earth. Maybe what he saw was so similar, it's difficult to differentiate.
The feeling of being trapped. He doesn't think he was, physically, but maybe it was more like...he couldn't get away. He couldn't escape. Try as he might, he can't conjure any images, sensations to accompany the feeling; nothing but a tiny but pervasive sense of dread he can't seem to shake.
But that's been there ever since he rebelled. That's normal.]
The pull is typical, [Castiel tells Dean.] I've spoken to others. Everyone felt that.
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Lines up with what he's been hearing around the place, in less-direct terms. Always good to have it from as many sources as possible. ]
Look at you doin' your due diligence. Hunter 101. [ Precious. Adorable. True growth. ] Takes a lotta juice to compel an angel like that, right? We're not talkin' about 'hit your local library' stuff.
[ Everyone felt that obviously includes Cas. Sounds like deep-dive research shit to him. Maybe that on-ship library will have something worth finding. ]
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It wouldn't be any ordinary transmission spell or subatomic anomaly, no. [He could go further into it, either scientifically or arcane, but Dean wouldn't be interested in the details of either. Maybe if Sam were here. Sam loves going into the crazy shit humans haven't been able to study and quantify just yet.] Let alone sever me from my power so efficiently. It's wholly dissimilar to previous times.
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Yeah, I was worried you were gonna say that. [ Well. The basic gist of it. Not the subatomic anomaly talk specifically. That's more of a Sam point of interest. Genius stuff, y'know, wanting to learn just for the sake of learning.
Makes sense, though. That this is some whole new fucking... thing. He shoves the last of the food into his mouth before he follows up, because table manners are a myth that he chooses to not believe in. ] Research from the ground up, huh. Been a while since we had to do that.
[ No trusty geek boy. No one else in the Super Friends to call for help digging around, no guarantee if they're working with some of the same basic rules that they know or if the "whole new fucking thing" is more of a wholly new fucking thing. Damn.
It's doable. The only option Dean's gonna allow is for figuring this out to be doable. Pain in the ass, though. ]
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Cas never was very good at guessing things about Sam.]
...I suppose we should get started, [is all Cas says, because he doesn't have to say everything else. Dean already knows. They might have each other for now, but their little band is incomplete without the other Winchester, and least of all because of how worried Dean will be without him.]
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It would be good to have him, though. For a lot of reasons. But no point saying what they both already know. And Cas is here, and that's always-- well. No point digging around in the sentiment of that, either. Gift horses, right? Especially when the gift horse is the size of a house? ]
Yeah. [ One corner of Dean's mouth quirks up, because he is a) a little fond despite himself, but most importantly b) a bastard. ] Countdown to your next meal's already goin', buddy. Better hit those books while we can.
[ Sucks to be human-ish. The cycle is never-ending. ]
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