The man looked at Kastiel, startled.
His grin had vanished entirely, wiped clean from his face as if it had never been there at all. In its place was something rawer. Something more honest. Confusion warred with fear behind his eyes, his pupils dilating as the reality of the situation began to sink into his bones. The dawning realization that he had miscalculated—badly. That something was wrong. That the script he had been following, the narrative he had constructed in his mind about how this moment would go, had just been ripped apart and thrown at his feet.
Why was he laughing?
What was funny?
Kastiel's laughter subsided into something softer, quieter, a sound that might have been mistaken for warmth if not for the absolute cold living in his crimson eyes. It was the laugh of a man who had already won and was simply enjoying the final moves of the game.
