Dean isn't, exactly, sure what's happening across from him - whatever it is, he hasn't seen it before, not really, not in Felix. Oh, he recognizes the surface signs, he can see reminiscence - loss - easily enough; he knows what it's like to look back for the first time in a long time and let himself remember something he loved, something that doesn't exist anymore. He doesn't, now, let himself do the same.
It's something that practice never makes easier, but there's one thing Dean can say for his life: he's had a lot of practice. Oh, sure, there's happiness scattered throughout, too, good memories he wouldn't trade for anything; he's seen more of the country in twenty years than most people will in their entire lives, he's met a wide array of people in all their quirky, odd, wonderful, terrible, mundane humanness, he's gotten to make a real, tangible, dramatic difference in a lot of people's lives, and he got to share almost all of it with the family he has left. Now, he sips his water, and listens like he rarely has patience for doing, and tries to figure out what it means. If it's good, if it'll be bad, if it...
Dean laughs. "Not the sun," he confirms, because he may not mind the cold, not as much as he claims to, but it doesn't mean he's looking to buy a set of snow chains for his car. Dean is shaking his head as Felix progresses down the list, until he's grinning, crooked and mild but sincere, at the last. "I like fall best. Beer festivals." He leers for a moment, but then wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.
"No, but like - don't laugh. But everything starts turning colors, and it's not kill-you-hot outside, and it's not fuck-me-cold yet, and there's Thanksgiving, and a little bit later yeah, Christmas." Here, now, it's easy to be excited about those holidays. He has someone to talk to about them, someone he wouldn't mind spending them with; he's in the shade and he doesn't like the beach as much as Felix clearly does, but the heat is still comforting in its way, the familiar surroundings, people and life and sun and food. It's easy to be excited, in a way that would surprise most people, but which Felix has probably seen a time or two by now. Never about big things, not science or ideas or miracles; small things. Every day things. Things he loves. "I mean c'mon: all the food you can eat, presents, and people you actually like."
Family, he doesn't say, nor does he try to put into words all the sense memories it brings up, not in something as flimsy and vulnerable as words, but he's still grinning.
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It's something that practice never makes easier, but there's one thing Dean can say for his life: he's had a lot of practice. Oh, sure, there's happiness scattered throughout, too, good memories he wouldn't trade for anything; he's seen more of the country in twenty years than most people will in their entire lives, he's met a wide array of people in all their quirky, odd, wonderful, terrible, mundane humanness, he's gotten to make a real, tangible, dramatic difference in a lot of people's lives, and he got to share almost all of it with the family he has left. Now, he sips his water, and listens like he rarely has patience for doing, and tries to figure out what it means. If it's good, if it'll be bad, if it...
Dean laughs. "Not the sun," he confirms, because he may not mind the cold, not as much as he claims to, but it doesn't mean he's looking to buy a set of snow chains for his car. Dean is shaking his head as Felix progresses down the list, until he's grinning, crooked and mild but sincere, at the last. "I like fall best. Beer festivals." He leers for a moment, but then wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.
"No, but like - don't laugh. But everything starts turning colors, and it's not kill-you-hot outside, and it's not fuck-me-cold yet, and there's Thanksgiving, and a little bit later yeah, Christmas." Here, now, it's easy to be excited about those holidays. He has someone to talk to about them, someone he wouldn't mind spending them with; he's in the shade and he doesn't like the beach as much as Felix clearly does, but the heat is still comforting in its way, the familiar surroundings, people and life and sun and food. It's easy to be excited, in a way that would surprise most people, but which Felix has probably seen a time or two by now. Never about big things, not science or ideas or miracles; small things. Every day things. Things he loves. "I mean c'mon: all the food you can eat, presents, and people you actually like."
Family, he doesn't say, nor does he try to put into words all the sense memories it brings up, not in something as flimsy and vulnerable as words, but he's still grinning.