[Connor isn’t looking at Castiel, his visual sensors focusing on the slugs — is that easier, perhaps? — but he is listening.]

I understand. [How much does he admit to? It’s not as if it would bring Hank back.

Would it make the pain a little less overwhelming if he talked about him? Connor isn’t sure. Some part of him, deep and new and confused, would rather he hold these secrets close. Him and Hank. Because once he starts sharing, it’s no longer just theirs.

He would have to admit, too, that Hank is gone. Not just someone nameless but Hank.]

There’s someone I’d like to see too. [Eyes darting across the bed: not Gavin. Although Connor wouldn’t say no to seeing him.

Gavin would be angry, of course. About how Connor knocked him out in the evidence room.

And about how he failed Hank. Because Gavin cared once, didn’t he?]

But he’s dead, and humans don’t come back.

[His voice is flat, tired: Hank-inspired, but not a genuine imitation. That would hurt too much.]