The dreamscape around them is blurring and melting even as Raphael answers, the porch steps dissolving into dust, Aaron Birch a wisp of wind that floats rapidly away. Balthazar's brow creases, a glassy, bright sheen in his own eyes now.
Strangely, he can sense the lack of accusation in the archangel's voice. He can feel the futility of arguing further, too. It's been done, hasn't it? This is a memory, some construct of his mind, or Raphael's or the Cape's.
"Like I couldn't let Castiel go," he says quietly.
What else is there to say? Probably a lot, in fact, but he seems to have lost the strength to say it now.
;_;
Strangely, he can sense the lack of accusation in the archangel's voice. He can feel the futility of arguing further, too. It's been done, hasn't it? This is a memory, some construct of his mind, or Raphael's or the Cape's.
"Like I couldn't let Castiel go," he says quietly.
What else is there to say? Probably a lot, in fact, but he seems to have lost the strength to say it now.