[ Burdened by his humanity and unable to verify that statement with his usual methods, he's forced to interpret it by the way he looks. The way he holds himself and counters it with his usual stance. There's notable differences, mainly in the way he conducts himself. There's no sharp look, loose shoulders. Slack. It's unusual for him, at least compared to what he's seen before. Mudding up the waters is the pulsing pain that still grips him with cold invisible hands. ]
You don't look... like you. Well.
[ He adds. It's all he can really say without a proper assessment which he can't make in his current state. He holds back, blue eyes roaming over him searching for signs he can no longer see. Still, he tries while his grace sputters inside him, closed off in self-preservation which he stops trying to pry open when Dean speaks up again.
Quietly, he turns away from his grace to let it regenerate undisturbed, and looks at him. Dean's never asked him for anything before. Not even when he lay dying. No prayers for help. Only a silence that echoed endlessly during his absence. His jaw tightens, biting down on his molars as he reigns back that feeling. It's stronger now, in his presence, than he anticipated and he pushes it down beneath the waves of his conscience, drowning it before it stirs into another torrent. ]
Of course. What do you need?
[ Militant in his stance, he nods at him. Awaiting orders. This he can do. It's easier than dealing with the latter. Gave him something to focus on other than the puzzle of the key he threw himself into just to keep himself from drowning. ]
Nightmares? [ His head tilts, bringing up the list of symptoms he's been able to piece together from the recently revived. ] What nightmares?
no subject
You don't look... like you. Well.
[ He adds. It's all he can really say without a proper assessment which he can't make in his current state. He holds back, blue eyes roaming over him searching for signs he can no longer see. Still, he tries while his grace sputters inside him, closed off in self-preservation which he stops trying to pry open when Dean speaks up again.
Quietly, he turns away from his grace to let it regenerate undisturbed, and looks at him. Dean's never asked him for anything before. Not even when he lay dying. No prayers for help. Only a silence that echoed endlessly during his absence. His jaw tightens, biting down on his molars as he reigns back that feeling. It's stronger now, in his presence, than he anticipated and he pushes it down beneath the waves of his conscience, drowning it before it stirs into another torrent. ]
Of course. What do you need?
[ Militant in his stance, he nods at him. Awaiting orders. This he can do. It's easier than dealing with the latter. Gave him something to focus on other than the puzzle of the key he threw himself into just to keep himself from drowning. ]
Nightmares? [ His head tilts, bringing up the list of symptoms he's been able to piece together from the recently revived. ] What nightmares?