<333333 you instigator of commentfic and crack, you! (OMG REMIX WHEEEE!)
"It's not like you, to get Feds on your tail," Anna says when Cas turns the lights out. "What made you so careless?"
"Dad's missing," Cas says. "He's just gone. I can't find him anywhere. I backtracked everywhere he had been for the past year, and there were demonic omens like crazy whenever he was there."
"And you didn't think to call me?" Anna says. Cas is quiet. "Cas, you should have called me."
"You wanted out," he says. "I didn't want... I didn't think it was important enough, not yet."
"You got Feds on you, Cas. That says you think it's important."
"I don't have any leads. I burned the last one in Oregon." He probably means that literally, she thinks, and almost laughs because her mind immediately wandered off to what creature would require burning.
"You call me next time," she says.
"You say that like there will be a next time," Cas says. She doesn't have an answer.
+
It's strange how many things you remember, and how many you forget. Cas still has the same single-minded drive, but he drinks more than she remembers. He's still obsessively neat, his bag never unpacked more than a layer deep, the car shining. After a hunt, Anna wrinkles her nose at her blood-crusted shirt. The jeans she can save, she decides, but she burns her shirt as Cas scrubs his clothes in the sink.
She'd forgotten, most of all, how much she'd missed his precise and occasionally bizarre diction, how she could never predict where he'd drop a contraction, how he murmurs information to himself while researching. She'd missed his stillness, his unblinking stare.
She hadn't forgotten how much he hated her wrappers in his car or cluttering the room, though. Maybe she should feel bad about that, but halfway through his sputtering denunciation of her messiness she grins at him and he smiles back reluctantly.
"I pick the music, though," he says. "Payback's a bitch." And she remembers this too, Cas singing along to his supremely cheesy music as they drive down a highway doing eighty.
no subject
"It's not like you, to get Feds on your tail," Anna says when Cas turns the lights out. "What made you so careless?"
"Dad's missing," Cas says. "He's just gone. I can't find him anywhere. I backtracked everywhere he had been for the past year, and there were demonic omens like crazy whenever he was there."
"And you didn't think to call me?" Anna says. Cas is quiet. "Cas, you should have called me."
"You wanted out," he says. "I didn't want... I didn't think it was important enough, not yet."
"You got Feds on you, Cas. That says you think it's important."
"I don't have any leads. I burned the last one in Oregon." He probably means that literally, she thinks, and almost laughs because her mind immediately wandered off to what creature would require burning.
"You call me next time," she says.
"You say that like there will be a next time," Cas says. She doesn't have an answer.
+
It's strange how many things you remember, and how many you forget. Cas still has the same single-minded drive, but he drinks more than she remembers. He's still obsessively neat, his bag never unpacked more than a layer deep, the car shining. After a hunt, Anna wrinkles her nose at her blood-crusted shirt. The jeans she can save, she decides, but she burns her shirt as Cas scrubs his clothes in the sink.
She'd forgotten, most of all, how much she'd missed his precise and occasionally bizarre diction, how she could never predict where he'd drop a contraction, how he murmurs information to himself while researching. She'd missed his stillness, his unblinking stare.
She hadn't forgotten how much he hated her wrappers in his car or cluttering the room, though. Maybe she should feel bad about that, but halfway through his sputtering denunciation of her messiness she grins at him and he smiles back reluctantly.
"I pick the music, though," he says. "Payback's a bitch." And she remembers this too, Cas singing along to his supremely cheesy music as they drive down a highway doing eighty.