You do realize that before coming here, my idea of "party" was me, Sam, and a six-pack, right? Unless I was crashing someone else's. [It sounds pathetic but it has the benefit of being true, and Dean is too distracted to bother with anything other than candid honesty. He glances at their hands now but it still doesn't quite register, because Felix is still talking.]
Okay. I mean yeah, sure. I meant it: there's not much going on, now everyone's pretty much back on their feet, and Anya does what she wants anyway. [He should probably feel worse about this. He does not. He is, in fact, in the process of deciding if they should stick with beer from the fridge or get something better from the pub - Felix doesn't know what there is to celebrate, but Dean does, and he can show him how to pick and choose the good from the bad - when Felix looks up at him at the same time as Dean finally realizes he hasn't let go of him yet.
The combination, as well as Dean's fully acknowledged inability to hide the fact that he's been thinking about that exact thing, is enough to make him hesitate with a flash of honest guilt through his eyes. Some of the cheer drains off his face as he considers trying to deny it, but then something else occurs to him and he switches gears abruptly, that roughness back in his voice from wherever he'd had it stowed.]
Sometimes people think that's better. To just go, without warning. [Dean's thought it himself, of course, and he's done it in the past; to Lisa, he'd thought for years that he should've done with Cassie, with Buffy. But he remembers John, remembers Sam springing his bullshit on them out of nowhere, that he'd intended to just slip off, already had the bus ticket and everything. His fingers only tighten where they are, though it's not conscious.] It's not. It's not easier, at least not on the people left behind. It's not easier and it's not better.
Spam
Okay. I mean yeah, sure. I meant it: there's not much going on, now everyone's pretty much back on their feet, and Anya does what she wants anyway. [He should probably feel worse about this. He does not. He is, in fact, in the process of deciding if they should stick with beer from the fridge or get something better from the pub - Felix doesn't know what there is to celebrate, but Dean does, and he can show him how to pick and choose the good from the bad - when Felix looks up at him at the same time as Dean finally realizes he hasn't let go of him yet.
The combination, as well as Dean's fully acknowledged inability to hide the fact that he's been thinking about that exact thing, is enough to make him hesitate with a flash of honest guilt through his eyes. Some of the cheer drains off his face as he considers trying to deny it, but then something else occurs to him and he switches gears abruptly, that roughness back in his voice from wherever he'd had it stowed.]
Sometimes people think that's better. To just go, without warning. [Dean's thought it himself, of course, and he's done it in the past; to Lisa, he'd thought for years that he should've done with Cassie, with Buffy. But he remembers John, remembers Sam springing his bullshit on them out of nowhere, that he'd intended to just slip off, already had the bus ticket and everything. His fingers only tighten where they are, though it's not conscious.] It's not. It's not easier, at least not on the people left behind. It's not easier and it's not better.