…I will follow you into the dark.
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“Go on,” Cas said, motioning forward. “I will follow you into the dark.”
“Oh sure. Follow the tasty, unarmed human.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Great plan.”
“Do not be afraid.” Cas laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the fingers gripping tight, pressing new shapes into the old scars, and the angel looked so earnest that Dean was sure he was about to say something they’d both regret. Dean shifted uncomfortably in advance. “They will smell your fear on you.”
Dean let out a puff of relief. “Reassuring, as always,” he grunted.
But it was reassuring, in a way. Cas’s eyes were always so cold, except when they weren’t; his smile non-existent, except when it was. He didn’t coddle. He didn’t push. He just said what he needed to and let his blade speak the rest – something Dean had always appreciated.
Sometimes, Dean let himself wonder if John would have appreciated it too.
“Well,” he said, without looking back. “Are you coming?”
Behind him Dean heard the familiar rustle of Cas’s trenchcoat. “Of course.”
And suddenly it didn’t matter that a dozen red eyes peered back at him from the shadows, or that on one nearby tree crawled a spider that looked suspiciously like a hand. Dean squared his shoulders and stepped into the underbrush, and was unafraid.