“Look, I don’t need to feel like hell for failing you, okay? For failing you like I fail every other godforsaken thing that I care about—I don’t need it.”
Cas said he knew how to fix it, knew what to do. Ice cold and thick as molasses the realization stuck in Dean’s throat and found passage through his veins, right down to his toes, freezing him in place. It wasn’t surprise, though, or shock, just a final decisive crack in a pattern of splinters that wound around his heart, all affixed with the grief of losing him.