[ well, that's unexpected. the man flusters even more, though thankfully keeps his socket wrench to himself, and cas watches his fit with furrowed brows. what a strange, excitable creature he is. without any paper to make the notes dean's asking him for, cas commits it to memory - what memory he has, anyway. ]
Oh. [ short, but distant. castiel stills a few inches from Dean's face for another few contemplative moments, fixated on his eyes, some secret there he's missing. the simple interaction feels like walking backwards through a blurred scene, familiar but obscured. he blinks, clearing his throat, and glances to the side almost sheepishly, before taking a moderate step back with a mumble. ] My apologies.
[ castiel assumes 'wear my skin as a bathrobe' is another figure of speech and holds off on the much greater alarm surrounding that one, though it is quite the extreme. apparently Dean's healthy, just prone to colorful exaggeration. at least, one hopes no one's attempted taking his flesh for tailoring before. ]
I don't know. I'd hoped someone else might. [ no one's answered that question for him yet, and dean's clearly not going to be the first. he'll offer what he does know instead. ] My name is Castiel.
[ his eyes follow the hand scratching at the man's shoulder, curious, but only so long as dean's fussing at it. after that, he's turning to the scenery instead, skimming over it from the height it was meant to be appreciated at. There's the house in the distance, 'Singer Auto' (perhaps that's his name), and the row after row of stalled and partially disassembled vehicles. ]
Is there something about broken machinery that brings you comfort? [ since, you know, there's a lot of it around here. what's up with that, bud? ] Or is it more the fixing?
no subject
Oh. [ short, but distant. castiel stills a few inches from Dean's face for another few contemplative moments, fixated on his eyes, some secret there he's missing. the simple interaction feels like walking backwards through a blurred scene, familiar but obscured. he blinks, clearing his throat, and glances to the side almost sheepishly, before taking a moderate step back with a mumble. ] My apologies.
[ castiel assumes 'wear my skin as a bathrobe' is another figure of speech and holds off on the much greater alarm surrounding that one, though it is quite the extreme. apparently Dean's healthy, just prone to colorful exaggeration. at least, one hopes no one's attempted taking his flesh for tailoring before. ]
I don't know. I'd hoped someone else might. [ no one's answered that question for him yet, and dean's clearly not going to be the first. he'll offer what he does know instead. ] My name is Castiel.
[ his eyes follow the hand scratching at the man's shoulder, curious, but only so long as dean's fussing at it. after that, he's turning to the scenery instead, skimming over it from the height it was meant to be appreciated at. There's the house in the distance, 'Singer Auto' (perhaps that's his name), and the row after row of stalled and partially disassembled vehicles. ]
Is there something about broken machinery that brings you comfort? [ since, you know, there's a lot of it around here. what's up with that, bud? ] Or is it more the fixing?