[The thing about Graces? They're kind of personal. And maybe it says everything about Gabriel that he's tried to hide behind that bony-faced, high-smiling mask of his - that he loves his family more than any freaking thing that exists, and somehow only the Winchesters have ever wrangled that out of him - because he doesn't try to pull away from his brother's insubstantial touch. It moves past the facade he has which is just flesh and bone, brushing the core that, for all intents and purposes, acts like a soul.
He does hesitate, though, and that hesitation grounds him more firmly in his death, his little nook of nothingness. Not for himself, and not because he doesn't want to leave.]
The hell are you doing, Castiel? You're going to rip yourself apart.
[And he means that literally. Grunts don't do this - and even now, he can't help but look down on his baby brother, even as he's crawled out from the rough and shown them all up. Grunts can't carry the weight of a dead archangel on wings that are like a fly's in comparison.]
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He does hesitate, though, and that hesitation grounds him more firmly in his death, his little nook of nothingness. Not for himself, and not because he doesn't want to leave.]
The hell are you doing, Castiel? You're going to rip yourself apart.
[And he means that literally. Grunts don't do this - and even now, he can't help but look down on his baby brother, even as he's crawled out from the rough and shown them all up. Grunts can't carry the weight of a dead archangel on wings that are like a fly's in comparison.]