[ He's written a version of this message every single day since his arrival. Never sent it. Good practice for the device, though. Cas has had precious little exposure to technology and convenience - by the time it would have become relevant the world had already, as he likes to echo Dean, gone to shit.
It's not quite clicked for him yet, the window to the outside world this device can be here, while Dean refuses to tell him anything at all about the world he's been washed into - tripped up on sending Cas to his death, missing the point that Cas chose to follow that order, and as a result unwilling to give Cas anything to work with, lest he be a fool and step outside will still healing from the remnants of the wounds that killed him, and that weren't quite gone upon arrival here.
And then finally, one day, the restless boredom of a soldier without purpose and without point wins over the part of him that is trying to spare himself the pain of connecting to a version of himself that holds the grace gone from the hollow carcass of his own form, in which his ribcage feels like a prison and the spaces where his trueform and his wings should rest feel like a festering, rotten wound.
He sends the message. ]
this is riding on the assumption that dean informed you of the inconvenient fact of my existence in this place, but i wonder about the metaphysical implications of our parallel existence here.
text; un: winchester
It's not quite clicked for him yet, the window to the outside world this device can be here, while Dean refuses to tell him anything at all about the world he's been washed into - tripped up on sending Cas to his death, missing the point that Cas chose to follow that order, and as a result unwilling to give Cas anything to work with, lest he be a fool and step outside will still healing from the remnants of the wounds that killed him, and that weren't quite gone upon arrival here.
And then finally, one day, the restless boredom of a soldier without purpose and without point wins over the part of him that is trying to spare himself the pain of connecting to a version of himself that holds the grace gone from the hollow carcass of his own form, in which his ribcage feels like a prison and the spaces where his trueform and his wings should rest feel like a festering, rotten wound.
He sends the message. ]
this is riding on the assumption that dean informed you of the inconvenient fact of my existence in this place, but i wonder about the metaphysical implications of our parallel existence here.
signed: yourself