[Dean would agree, if he knew; it's ironic that he broke in Hell, he picked up the knife and he enjoyed it and he slaughtered his way through a world unaware yet that it was dead, but none of that is what makes it hard to think or breathe or move. None of that is what made him feel like nothing at all that he does is worth the struggle, that none of it will come to any good, that none of it will make a difference.
No, that moment, that failure, is much, much more recent. That failure is in the file too, he's sure, but he's not going to highlight it. He's not going to expose any more of his weaknesses than already has done. Instead, he focuses again on the similarities to shake himself out of it - Dean has been out of his depth his entire life, too, it feels like sometimes, and for years he hadn't let that stop him or slow him down. Not until the odds were too heavily stacked for anything less than complete, utter, futile failure.
And there's... not the optimism, but the stolid, stubborn refusal to recognize defeat when he's looking at it. Dean stares back, weighs the words, and finally - finally - reaches for the bottle to pour himself a drink.]
Then I'm sorry about your deal. You might've had a chance.
Do we even need to talk about all the other rubberneckers around here? You talked about any of this with your buddy? [He doesn't consciously think about when he and Sam, then he and Cas, then he and Chuck would have talked about any challenge they were all facing; but it's still second nature, still a foregone conclusion in his mind, because that's what happens when two people are so close they don't even think twice about being involved in each others' lives.]
[ Spam ]
No, that moment, that failure, is much, much more recent. That failure is in the file too, he's sure, but he's not going to highlight it. He's not going to expose any more of his weaknesses than already has done. Instead, he focuses again on the similarities to shake himself out of it - Dean has been out of his depth his entire life, too, it feels like sometimes, and for years he hadn't let that stop him or slow him down. Not until the odds were too heavily stacked for anything less than complete, utter, futile failure.
And there's... not the optimism, but the stolid, stubborn refusal to recognize defeat when he's looking at it. Dean stares back, weighs the words, and finally - finally - reaches for the bottle to pour himself a drink.]
Then I'm sorry about your deal. You might've had a chance.
Do we even need to talk about all the other rubberneckers around here? You talked about any of this with your buddy? [He doesn't consciously think about when he and Sam, then he and Cas, then he and Chuck would have talked about any challenge they were all facing; but it's still second nature, still a foregone conclusion in his mind, because that's what happens when two people are so close they don't even think twice about being involved in each others' lives.]