“I don’t think we have.” Castiel studied the man’s features in turn, but nothing about them rang familiar to him. “Ah— I am not strictly the only one with this face, admittedly,” he added, something of gentle humor. Though he wouldn’t volunteer who else had it; not Jimmy nor the Leviathan.
He shook his head and dropped it, studying his hands, rubbing one over the other. “I have— I know what you mean. About possibly being worse for her. Those I love often tell me that I am not— too much trouble, to have in their lives, and I am trying very hard to believe it. In that case,” he asked, eyebrows up a little, looking over again at the man, “why not allow her to decide if you are worth it to her or not? I think it would probably hurt her to lose you, especially if she has no say at all in it.”
The warlock nodded, merely assuming that maybe this form was one that all guardians took when dwindling into a tiny human form–and perhaps he had seen a guardian before. Be it in passing or elsewhere…Part of him was unconvinced.
Hearing the seraph speak of love was alien and unexpected. Times have changed, surely, but it surprised him all the same. He was more like a wise old man who had seen the world than an angel with all their innocence–as depicted by his mother at least. “You’re right, but I am beginning to think it would not matter a year, even a month, after my passing. We…we have not been together long.” He rubbed his eyes and stared ahead at the greenery of the park. “How many semi-immortals do ye reckon wish they were never gifted with such a life?"
