[ neighbor, huh? such a domestic, simple sounding term, but it somehow feels foreign and new to him. maybe it's just the sense of a stationary settlement, a place one belongs, a home that fits strangely in his head. cas senses a pit inside himself, a yearning for community. it would make sense with the arcana he's been assigned.
As he considers it, Cas tugs at the handle of the car's passenger door, swinging it open to peer inside the back seat. Roomy, seems comfortable. He's not sure where the impulse to climb inside comes from, but Cas doesn't question it, slipping onto the bench there. The leather's well-worn and soft under his palms, and the creak that sounds when he tugs the car door shut pings something distant in the back of his mind that sets of a chain of sparks through his brain. odd, but interesting. idly, he tests the suspension, giving a slight bounce, and raises his gaze back to the mechanic.
yes, he thinks. the idea of having this man, who takes comfort in fixing things and speaks in half-incomprehensible mock-poetics, as his neighbor sits right with him. the magnetism to him, to his domain, feels compelling, and cas wants to learn more. ]
Yes, I think I am.
[ a wayward weariness that's been weighing on him since leaving Sam Wilson's home alleviates, settling an anxiety he didn't realize he'd been carrying. The hurry to get away, or seek out, something he can't form a solid idea of dissipates. maybe this is where he belongs. At least until the man's loyal friends return. It's a wide and empty place for a man to be so alone. if nothing else, cas can watch the edges of his homestead, and ensure the shadows from the smoldering forest or fires from the volcano don't encroach.
cas beams at him through the rolled down window of the impala's back seat, unguarded sincerity there. ]
no subject
[ neighbor, huh? such a domestic, simple sounding term, but it somehow feels foreign and new to him. maybe it's just the sense of a stationary settlement, a place one belongs, a home that fits strangely in his head. cas senses a pit inside himself, a yearning for community. it would make sense with the arcana he's been assigned.
As he considers it, Cas tugs at the handle of the car's passenger door, swinging it open to peer inside the back seat. Roomy, seems comfortable. He's not sure where the impulse to climb inside comes from, but Cas doesn't question it, slipping onto the bench there. The leather's well-worn and soft under his palms, and the creak that sounds when he tugs the car door shut pings something distant in the back of his mind that sets of a chain of sparks through his brain. odd, but interesting. idly, he tests the suspension, giving a slight bounce, and raises his gaze back to the mechanic.
yes, he thinks. the idea of having this man, who takes comfort in fixing things and speaks in half-incomprehensible mock-poetics, as his neighbor sits right with him. the magnetism to him, to his domain, feels compelling, and cas wants to learn more. ]
Yes, I think I am.
[ a wayward weariness that's been weighing on him since leaving Sam Wilson's home alleviates, settling an anxiety he didn't realize he'd been carrying. The hurry to get away, or seek out, something he can't form a solid idea of dissipates. maybe this is where he belongs. At least until the man's loyal friends return. It's a wide and empty place for a man to be so alone. if nothing else, cas can watch the edges of his homestead, and ensure the shadows from the smoldering forest or fires from the volcano don't encroach.
cas beams at him through the rolled down window of the impala's back seat, unguarded sincerity there. ]
What do I call you, neighbor?
[ meaning, name. he's asking for a name. ]