today is the birthday of my dear, wonderful friend Maggie. known to many as dreamedofwings, I know her best as a constant source of kindness, support and fun in my life. Magson, you are one of a kind. happy birthday!! <3
Dean was standing in front of the mirror, rubbing at his jaw with an expression of dissatisfaction. He peered closer, touching the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the rough, scarred skin under his right ear where some monster or other – Dean forgot which, there had been so many – had got a little too friendly. He looked like his oldest pair of jeans: a little wrinkled, patched up and worn thin in too many places. Slightly-sad looking, even on the brightest of days, and with some dirt ground in so deep that no amount of washing would ever get it out.
He sighed and shrugged at his reflection before turning away, heading for the door – where Cas was standing, awkwardly upright with his hands hanging by his sides. He must’ve seen the whole thing.
Dean cleared his throat and made to push past him, but Cas didn’t move.
“Why do you look so disappointed in yourself?” he asked, frowning. His head was tilted on one side, at the angle that Dean thought of as acute confusion.
“What?” he said, bluff and slightly aggressive. “I’m tired, Cas, I gotta hit the hay.”
Cas didn’t move, nor did his expression change.
“I saw you looking at yourself,” he said stubbornly. “Your expression was… displeased. Are you upset?”
“Cas,” Dean said, smiling a little coldly and clapping him on the shoulder. “Come back to me when you’ve got a psychology degree, OK, buddy? I’m tired.”
This time, Cas allowed Dean to pass, although his frown didn’t lift. Dean sighed again, and kept walking. Cas only wanted to help, but there were some things that you just couldn’t solve with a few kind words and an intensely solemn expression… some dirt that was ground in too deep, Dean found himself thinking again. It was as though he had dirt in the marrow of his bones.
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