He turned his gaze to the pond and ignored me. A silent reprimand.
I stretched out my legs, using my power to remove my own shoes. I caught his glance as they disappeared and managed to hide my smile.
Dean had always been intrigued by my powers. As soon as they began truly showing themselves when I was a teenager, we’d used them to get in all kinds of trouble.
“You come here to stare at a dying man?”
I glanced at him. His gaze was still fixed on a group of ducks that were slowly swimming across the pond.
“I came here to talk to my friend.”
He finally met my eyes, and some of the annoyance had disappeared. “You went to war.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
So, I told him. I told him about the pocket realm, and the way we’d used the light fae king’s betrayal against both him and Lucifer, tricking him with the fake artifact. Dean laughed at that, then descended into a coughing fit that he took a few minutes to recover from.
“You’re different,” he said. “What happened?”
I turned my gaze back to the pond. “I got my uncle killed.”
“Ag’s dead?”
His wrinkled, sun-spotted hand reached out and clasped mine, and my eyes burned.
I took a deep breath and told him, describing each second.
A tear dripped down his face. Dean had known Ag since shortly after he’d met me. “Not your fault,” he said.
I shook my head, glancing away, and his hand squeezed mine. “Look at me.”
I turned and looked at my childhood friend. We’d played together in human playgrounds, flown through the skies together when I was finally strong enough to carry a human. We’d both had our first kisses on the same night, with a couple of human girls from his high school.
I’d been there for the birth of his first child. And the loss of his wife. He knew me better than anyone, except perhaps my uncle.
“You always took on too much, even when we were kids. If we were dumb enough to get caught, you always took the blame. You’re still doing it today.”
I shook my head, and he scowled at me. The scowl was so familiar, so incensed, even after all these years, that I had to smile.
“I should have come earlier,” I said.
“I expect you have a good excuse.”
“I’m hunting Daimonion.”
He stared at me. “You’re going to kill the son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Oh, I wish I could see that.”
That lump was forming in my throat once more. “I wish you could too.”
“Stop feeling so guilty, idiot. You think I want that?”
“It shouldn’t have to be this way.”
