( he's not wrong for expecting that kind of reaction – truth be told, he'd spent far too much time in the past doing the very same to sam when he got excited about something he didn't fully understand. ( which, if it isn't in the category of classic cars, women or alcohol? you're outta luck. ) and then his little brother would look crestfallen, poke that bottom lip out like he'd just won a puppy but couldn't have it and pretend it wasn't a big deal that something he was incredibly over the moon about had just been swept under the rug.
dean winchester has never been a very empathetic individual. that sort of thing, he leaves for sam, and sam handles it a hell of a lot better than he does. so maybe … he's learned a thing or two about that kind of crap. or, at the very least, he tries to make it seem like he's not a complete and utter douchebag.
sometimes it works. most of the time, it doesn't, and he reverts back to the casual asshole act that everyone around him has come to know and love.
castiel holds his gaze, now, for the first time since he'd wandered into the garage, and he feels … something. a twitch, or a spark, something tangible that lingers in the base of his spine for a moment before it loosens, slithers off to another part of him that can better contend with the things that are unfamiliar. conversations like this? they don't tend to happen very often. the real, semi-in-depth things that allow two strangers to really get to know each other off of simple, miniscule facts. dean won't pretend to know everything about the guy just because they've made it slightly past small-talk for longer than two seconds, but there's … still. something there that he can't quite put his finger on.
at least he isn't looking at him as a bug under a magnifying glass anymore, though. that's a nice change. )
So are you working on being a real space cadet, or do you just wanna play one on TV? ( dean … )
no subject
dean winchester has never been a very empathetic individual. that sort of thing, he leaves for sam, and sam handles it a hell of a lot better than he does. so maybe … he's learned a thing or two about that kind of crap. or, at the very least, he tries to make it seem like he's not a complete and utter douchebag.
sometimes it works. most of the time, it doesn't, and he reverts back to the casual asshole act that everyone around him has come to know and love.
castiel holds his gaze, now, for the first time since he'd wandered into the garage, and he feels … something. a twitch, or a spark, something tangible that lingers in the base of his spine for a moment before it loosens, slithers off to another part of him that can better contend with the things that are unfamiliar. conversations like this? they don't tend to happen very often. the real, semi-in-depth things that allow two strangers to really get to know each other off of simple, miniscule facts. dean won't pretend to know everything about the guy just because they've made it slightly past small-talk for longer than two seconds, but there's … still. something there that he can't quite put his finger on.
at least he isn't looking at him as a bug under a magnifying glass anymore, though. that's a nice change. )
So are you working on being a real space cadet, or do you just wanna play one on TV? ( dean … )