just look at Dean’s face…heartbreaking
But isn’t memory like a second, different type of wall? Death had said it himself, trauma, reverting inward, the mind’s way of protecting itself. You ask yourself why Cas should need to protect himself from the memory of you, of team free will, of himself. The answer comes easy, of course, you both know the magnitude of what he’s done, the war, and the sting of betrayal, but weren’t there good times in there too? Weren’t there the things worth remembering, family and beer and shit? A night spent ducking out of a motel, or just the exhilarating taste of finally choosing freedom?
You want so much to grab this guy and knock him back to his old life, the one that included you, but wasn’t that just like tearing down the wall? What if Cas considered you his personal brand of hell, his very own hundred or so years of perdition? Fine then. Grab him and go. Take him to help Sam and take him back to Daphne. Shut up. Don’t tell him anything about angels or Carthage or the time he took you looking for God in the Himalayas, the miles of blinding white under a Tibetan sun, how he was a different angel back then, or how you kept his trenchcoat, because you always believed he had to come back. Shut up until you couldn’t.
