heavenonearth | (no subject)

(no subject)

[ getting to know sam winchester has been a pleasure.

he's young, but he's smart, and more than that he is engaging, and that is something that too many full-time, serious students sorely lack. castiel doesn't consider himself particularly entertaining, blames his lack of friends on it rather than his own introverted tendencies, but the point remains that his peers can be so terribly boring that it's all but mind numbing to spend time around them. research labs are enough to make him want to suck his own brains out with a straw, sometimes, and that's saying something, considering his threshold for entertainment is really rather low. and there are some of them who aren't so bad, really, but it isn't like the movies make it seem, that's for sure.

still, castiel is a graduate student. he's quiet and serious, so climbing the social ladder isn't terribly important to him, but even still, sam winchester is a breath of fresh air, smart and clever and funny, with a winning smile and an incredibly active mind. interacting with him is a privilege.

it had started as a tutoring job. sam had asked for a little help understanding his physics course, and someone had directed him to castiel, who had graciously, if uncertainly, agreed to do it. he doesn't fancy himself a teacher, and he certainly didn't think he'd be very good at it, though after a stiff and uncomfortable start, sam had begun to warm to him, and castiel found that he was glad of it. he'd worried that the gap in age might have been a deterrent, but sam is friendly and more mature than any undergrad he's ever known, and they get along well, swimmingly even now that castiel has begun to open to him more, unfolding himself bit by bit as their friendship develops into something more comfortable, something less about classes and more about simply spending time with one another.

they study together twice a week, on fridays and tuesdays. sam doesn't need much help with physics anymore, so castiel brings his own books and notes, works on whatever it is that he's writing or researching while sam buries himself in biology or organic chemistry. it's nice.

it's friday today, when castiel arrives at the little house sam rents off campus, and he tightens his overcoat against the brisk spring breeze as he moves quickly down the block; it's not far from the campus, so castiel always walks. he's rounding the corner when he feels his ~~shitty ancient~~ phone buzz in his pocket, and finds on it a quick message from sam: Picking up pizza, hope you like extra cheese. The garage door is unlocked, go ahead in, I'll be back soon. once castiel arrives, he finds the tiny one-car garage not only unlocked, but flung open wide, filled up by a broad but sleek black classic car that castiel doesn't recognize, loud music blaring from an old, dented radio resting on the workbench. the hood is up, but castiel can't see anything past it, can't see anyone until he's stepping inside the garage itself, dark brows drawn tight, his mouth a moue of disapproval. someone is bent over the engine, obscured by the raised hood of the car, and castiel is bewildered, confused - sam hadn't mentioned company. he certainly hadn't mentioned noisy company. he clears his throat. ]

Excuse me.

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( ah, sam used to be like that, too. more as a teenager than when he'd finally stopped tripping over his own feet, but he still has a penchant for getting tongue-tied when he's nervous, and damned if it isn't one of the cutest things he's ever seen. castiel reminds him a lot of those earlier years, looking a bit too much like a deer in the headlights to be a member of the graduate program, but hey – not everyone can be as smooth as one dean winchester, can they?

well. they can hope, aspire to be, but there can be only one. dean is the highlander of smooth operators.

( yes, that just happened. and no, there is no coming back from it. what's done is done, and you're just going to have to deal with it. )

he plays well at being all those things castiel is currently noticing about him; all that smoothness, the ease with which he interacts with anyone around him, quick with a smile or a laugh or a stupid joke. really, it all comes from being more of an extrovert than his brother, which isn't all that difficult, truth be told – but he's always picked up where sammy has left off, making it easier on the kid without him really knowing it, and maybe he's picked up a thing or two from their dad along the way, because if anything can be said about john winchester, it's that he's the man that dean is always going to aspire to be.

whether he willingly acknowledges it or not.

he's looking forward to seeing what kind of reaction his wink merits him – and, truthfully, he isn't all that disappointed. petulance is kind of cute on the guy, all things considered, and with the way he tilts his chin up like that, it gives him a nice view of that long, pale throat, something that he finds himself gazing at for a bit longer than he cares to admit, more than he thinks he can get away with, and he breaks contact long enough to saunter over to the mini-fridge up against the far wall, bending low to reach the bottom shelf and extract a bottle.

never mind that such an action nearly bends him double, and his grungy t-shirt rides up the slightest bit in the back. never mind that at all, because it's there and gone just as quickly as it takes to right himself as he twists off the cap and tosses it into the nearby trash. ) Your loss – it's the good stuff. Never skimp on the beer. ( he raises the bottle to his lips and takes a long pull, a satisfied sort of rumble sifting up from the back of his throat as he swallows. )

Ah, good boy, Sammy … he's always had this weird sixth sense thing when it comes to knowing when I'm hungry. ( and here, there's a cheeky sort of grin, because he knows this has to be one of their study dates, and who in the world even invited you, greaser!? the nerve! ) What's he bringing back?

Edited (christ i'm done words are hard tonight apparently.) 2015-12-30 04:41 (UTC)

[ truth be told, castiel isn't necessarily always quite this bad, though of course, dean can't be expected to know that. his high school years were pretty terrible; he had no friends outside of his siblings, hardly bothered to speak with anyone, spent most of his time reading, or walking, or staring thoughtfully at the sky. interacting with anyone who wasn't his family was difficult, and he rarely went out of his way to stir up conversation with anyone. most people took him for a snob; after all, his family is rich and influential, but really castiel was nothing but an awkward boy who had little enough interest in his peers to ever make the effort at being social. books were his friends, and the stars, the night sky. carl sagan and stephen hawking and bill nye were his confidantes, and he was content enough with that.

college was a little easier. he grew a little, found his independence, cast off some of his shyness, but the desire to interact with human beings still wasn't very strong, and while he did it when necessary - in study groups or for group presentations - he still never felt the need to seek it out. it felt a little lonely, sure, but castiel always accepted that he was different, always knew that he was strange, had known it from the first moment he could remember. that he couldn't fit in well with other people was fine when he was happy enough to simply watch them, to participate by observing.

and now? well, now he's more or less found his comfort zone, inasmuch as he ever could. he keeps people at a comfortable distance, doesn't allow himself to be treated like a doormat while still maintaining a polite veneer and cool, composed disposition. he knows himself better, and feels about as comfortable in his own skin as he ever will, because he knows that it will never quite fit but he's made it work, found an equilibrium within himself that serves as best as it can.

dean winchester's dumping it all onto its ear. ]

Pizza.

[ he says, stiffly, and it makes sense now, knowing that dean is here, why sam would bring something like pizza for lunch. castiel's not nearly so fastidious about his eating habits as sam is, but he knows him well enough to know he'd generally prefer something green and leafy to something greasy and cheesy, but dean - dean certainly looks like a pizza sort of guy. and castiel likes it well enough, too.

slowly, he's pulling himself back together, even if it's difficult to keep his eyes off of dean winchester, even if he's having a hard time staying focused, has to force his eyes to dean's face and keep them there. thankfully he's never been shy about direct eye contact. still, castiel clears his throat, shifts his weight. ]

I should.. wait inside.

( where castiel has failed in the ways of social interaction, dean has passed with flying colors; it's one of the only things he's managed without right out cheating, truth be told, because books have never been his thing, and he's always been more interested in hands-on experience. it's just how he tends to learn things when it all comes down to it, sammy had inherited the brains of the operation and dean had gotten everything else, if you ask him. the looks, the social convention … he can do it all without much of even batting an eye, and while it might be anyone's guess how he managed to be able to talk to people with such ease and finesse, here he is, all smiles and wide open demeanor.

maybe he's still unconsciously picking up where sam had left off, but he doesn't like to think in terms like that, because his little brother has come a long way as far as his social compass is concerned. leave him be, let him find his own way, that sort of thing. dean knows he'll find his way sooner rather than later –

especially if this little nerd has anything to do with it.

dean takes another purposeful, long pull from his beer and comes back around to the front of the impala, studying his work thus far. he's been working on updating things a little bit, putting some better-looking valve covers in, but forgive him for the smallest second if he's more concerned with the body that's currently taking up space in his garage. a body that –

… seems hell-bent on putting distance between them. hm. that just won't do. ) Pizza … hope he remembered the extra pepperoni. ( like it was meant for him. honestly, dean, you're too privileged for your own good.

he keeps eye contact, because he's never been all that adverse to such a thing – even if, sometimes, depending on the person keep the contact with him, it ends up feeling a little … skeevy – but he ends up looking away for a tiny moment, making a small, contemplative sound in the back of his throat. ) Actually, before you go, could you hand me that? ( he makes a vague motion to the box of tools he's left on the workbench just to castiel's left, just to see if he picks up on what he wants him to toss him, every little bit the little shit he's been accused of being before. )

I could use your help, if you don't mind …

[ castiel, of course, simply takes it at face value, because he has no reason not to. why wouldn't sam order the pizza with his brother in mind, if he knows dean's here? that's just simple consideration. that's not to say that castiel has a lot of experience; he's not.. particularly close with his brothers, they certainly wouldn't think to consider him when figuring out food for themselves, but castiel's self-aware enough to know that his situation isn't the standard model. that there are plenty of people who love their siblings very much, wouldn't think twice about grabbing a pizza for their brother.

and all right, he doesn't really know much about sam and dean's relationship beyond what sam's mentioned, and he's certainly done a lot of bitching about dean, but it's always been innocent enough. normal enough. castiel hasn't really pressed for more.

at any rate, he's making ready his escape, more than prepared to jump on it now that he's clumsily excused himself. ]

What?

[ he asks, bluntly, because he hadn't expected to be opposed. most people follow the general flow of conversation, pick up what he's putting down when he's trying to escape, and more often than not they're happy enough to see him gone. but dean's engaging him further, and that's.. confusing, really, because this guy has all the social ease of a politician, castiel can't imagine that he didn't get the hint. he's just choosing to ignore it. ]

I don't..

[ bewildered, castiel glances toward the box of tools, each and every one of them as alien to him as a rabbit might be to a fish. ask him to chart the night sky in either hemisphere and he can do it, ask him to solve a complicated calculus equation and he's your man, or to rattle off the escape velocity of the earth's gravitational pull - but ask him to tell you the difference between a socket wrench and a screwdriver, and he's lost. but god damn dean winchester for his easy, winning smile that has castiel politely offering his assistance, anyway. ]

Which do you need?

( they're about as normal as a set of brothers that spent too much time with each other can be; they know too much about one another, their habits, idiosyncrasies and bad habits, enough that they could probably finish each other's sentences if they ever thought to do it. ( and if it weren't, you know, dumb. ) they're considerate of themselves and each other, especially where food is concerned, because dean is nothing if the furthest thing from a picky eater when it comes to the unhealthy stuff, and now that he knows there's going to be pizza involved, he's wondering if the kid had the foresight to remember he's out of pie and is going to bring some more back …

eh. he'll see. push comes to shove he'll go out and get some himself, a whole one that is meant for him and no one else. because whoever coined the phrase 'sharing is caring' deserves to be tossed into a ditch and left for the worms. sharing is not caring. sharing is the devil.

he knows good and well that castiel is trying to make his great escape, and wouldn't you know it, he's just not ready to relinquish his hold on what could potentially be his new toy just yet. ( yeah, he's already thinking this is going to be interesting, and he can't help but to keep going with it. ) and castiel is right not to believe that he just hadn't gotten the hint, though he tries to remain impassive when the bewilderment flickers across his expression.

man … if he would stop being so ridiculously cute, it wouldn't be so much fun to mess with him a little. ( and then a little becomes a lot, and then … ) ) Three-eighths socket wrench. Right there. ( he keeps pointing, making vague gestures on purpose – because he's nothing if not a bit of a twerp when he's being cute about it – and ducks back under the hood for a small moment to needlessly tighten a hose. )

Find it?

[ it only takes him a few more moments to realize he's being jerked around, here.

dean knows exactly what he's doing, leading castiel around deliberately, knowing full well that he has no idea what a goddamned three-eights socket wrench even looks like; bitch does he look like an experimental physicist to you? he knows what a hammer looks like, a normal hammer, knows the difference between a flathead and phillips head screwdriver, and those little allen wrenches that come with ikea furniture, and that's about the limit of his knowledge of tools. a socket wrench could be any one of these dingle dongles that isn't the hammer.

considering he'd been tormented and bullied for most of his young life, castiel doesn't take particularly well to being teased, even by handsome, well-built, greased up mechanics. his expression flattens out into something far more dry, sharp with defiance, and castiel wraps both hands around the toolbox itself and hefts it up, carrying it over to where dean's standing, and dropping it from an inch or two above the workbench so that it lands with a crisp, exclamatory bang. ]

Here.

( ah, damn. he caught on.

it's just that people like castiel have a tendency to react beautifully to having their feathers ruffles, and really, there's no malice or ill intent behind his teasing. he's quite literally just being himself, and there's not much he can do in the way of stopping himself when the ball gets rolling, so … hey, it's all in good fun, right?

still, sammy had been one of those awkward nerdlets that had been picked on a fair bit when he was younger, before he'd grown a good two feet and filled out more than dean had ever thought he would, learned how to take care of himself when it came to … well, jerks like him that rarely had anything better to do with their time than to raise a little hell.

ducking back under the hood leaves him entirely open to being startled by the sound of his toolbox being dropped unceremoniously onto the workbench, and if he jumps a bit in surprise, er. you didn't see anything. his eyes do go a bit wider, though, and he looks over at castiel with a bit of a knowing look, like damn, this ain't your first rodeo, is it?

still, it doesn't catch him off-guard for too long – and with the other in such close proximity, it's all he can do to lean in close as he reaches for the wrench he "needs," lips quirking upward in that tell-tale smirk and, oh, have another wink for your trouble, huh? )

Thanks.

( turning back around and making it look like he's really using what he'd asked for? mhm. master of bullshittery, this one.

but at least castiel will get a nice view of his back from where he's standing, if he chooses to remain standing there long enough. )

[ malice or no, castiel's feathers are still certainly ruffled, that's for sure; congratulations dean, you've succeeded in getting under his skin. thankfully, castiel is a grown man now, he's not afraid of people anymore, not afraid to stand up for himself and kick the sass right back in equal measure.

so you can find your own damned socket wrench, dean winchester.

still, for as irritated as he is, castiel bounces back quickly enough; he isn't actually angry, only driving a point home, and he's already forgetting about it once he glances back toward dean, and the car, again. he certainly knows what he's doing, doesn't he? castiel doesn't know the first thing about cars, but he knows how things work - that's what physics is all about, after all. the car is an atom, or a chemical compound, made up of different parts that make it what it is, little blocks that fit together to create a bigger, better thing. it's all the same, when it comes down to it. the fabric of the universe, and this car. it's all made of the same stuff. and this stuff, that this car is made out of? it's very nice. well kept. well loved.

pointedly ignoring dean's entirely too distracting smirk and wink, castiel leans toward the impala, his blue eyes squinting thoughtfully, a deep crease appearing in his brow. for what it's worth, he makes no attempt to widen the distance between them, but then again castiel has never been particularly mindful of personal space. ]

This is your car?

( hey, he's so good at that sort of thing that he might as well have a degree in it – and sometimes, it's anyone's guess of whether or not he actually is working on getting that under his belt rather than mechanics. granted, he's always pleasantly surprised when someone can throw his own brand of sass right back at him, and given that tends to be his little brother and rarely anyone else?

you'd better believe this is going to get interesting.

now, dean will never pretend to know how physics works, but he knows the impala like the back of his hand – better than that, if he really thinks about it, because there just happens to be a scar skating across the back of his knuckles on the left side that he swears, for the life of him, he can't remember where it came from. but everything to do with his baby? he can't not know everything about her. not when he'd spent so much of his younger years helping their dad keep her looking sharp, clean, in the best shape a lady could possibly be in.

besides, john would never forgive him if he started slipping. he has to take care of her.

now, dean has a deep and profound respect for personal space, but the way castiel leans in and peers at the inner workings of the impala, the crease of his brow that he catches in his periphery, he doesn't bother moving away or widening what gap there is between them. more to the point, he shifts after a moment of faux-fiddling with the wrench and turns back to toss it in the box, picking up another tool that he can actually do something with. the tweak of a wire here, and then he rests both hands against the front end, smiling about as fondly as any man can about a car that is more a part of the family than any inanimate object should be.

dean winchester, you are embarrassing. )

Mhm. My baby. Grew up working on her.

[ dean winchester is attractive, sure. he has a good face and long eyelashes, splashes of charming freckles and a grin too sleek and alluring for his own good, a strong body and rough hands that any girl would be lucky to find skating over her body.

but plenty of guys have that, have all of those things. well, maybe not plenty, but enough of them certainly do.

all of that pales in comparison to a good mind, however, to strong ideals and fascinated dedication. that dean loves this car is clearly apparent. the grease up his arms and the oil beneath his blunt fingernails tells the tale enough, but looking beneath the hood only furthers the story, really, it drives home that what dean does isn't only a talent, but a passion, something that means very much to him, something he's proud to show off as if it were his own child. castiel has seen the same passion in sam, when they talk about physics or medicine, how the ratio of human anatomy is seen everywhere on earth and in the cosmos alike, like the fingerprint of god marking all of creation.

that is what's truly appealing about a person. so many people he has known have been empty, shiftless minds behind a pretty face, but dean is more than he might have expected. ]

You're very good at what you do.

[ he says, a little more quietly, a little more genuinely, his gaze cutting sidelong toward dean and holding there. ]

I don't know the first thing about cars.

( his looks are what have gotten him far enough in life that it's been a bit easier than it would for someone that … wasn't as attractive as he is. he knows that, at least, and doesn't tend to be too much of a douchebag when it comes to letting his ego shine through – but there are times when he can't quite get a handle on it, when he lets his confidence and his mouth get away from him and it ends up starting a fight. one that he doesn't always start, but he most certainly finishes, every single time.

he'd thought sam was a bit touched in the head when he'd first shown such a passion for biology. anatomy and physiology. anything involving science. but they've never been so much alike that they can see beyond the spark that lights their eyes when they get inspired, only that their respective hobbies and interests bring life to what could otherwise be a dull day-to-day, and dean doesn't really remember when he'd decided to get a damned degree in his hobby, but he can't say he regrets it. not a single bit.

besides – sammy is happy, doing his little nerd thing in his little nerd corner. and apparently with another attractive nerd.

this is still something that he has yet to fully wrap his brain around. give it time to catch up with the rest of him, and maybe it won't be such a novelty, because who says nerds can't be hot?

he pauses again, drumming his fingers against the frame, turns a small, easy smile over his shoulder that, for once since he'd first opened his mouth, isn't anything but entirely genuine. no sarcasm, no teasing, just a simple, easy thing that shows his amusement, and maybe a bit of humbleness. ( and, okay, sure – there's a tinge of smugness to the curve of his mouth, but it's harmless. really. ) )

You? Never would've guessed it. ( he chuckles, reaches for one immaculately clean hand with one of his own grease-stained ones, rough fingers probably feeling more like sand paper against his skin more than anything else. ) Have these hands ever seen anything outside of a Petri dish?

( are you surprised that he even knows what that is.

because you should be. )

[ castiel's hackles rise again at the offhand comment, because really, dean might be surprised at just how tough he is beneath the polite awkwardness. with absentee parents and a throng of terrorizing, nasty elder brothers he'd had to learn to defend himself early; woe betide the bullies that stuffed him in lockers and cornered him in alleyways too, during his highschool years - these knuckles have split more lips and cracked more jaws than dean would probably ever believe.

but he doesn't say that, because he doesn't need to, and he's too distracted by the sudden, uninvited touch of dean's hands, warm and rough and dirty. the slide of a thumb against his palm feels more intimate than it should, and dean's touch is like an electric pulse. castiel tenses, flushing warm. ]

I.. don't work with Petri dishes very often.

[ he says, flatly, almost breathlessly, his eyes averted. not that he hasn't taken his fair share of biology courses, but those were mostly when he was an undergrad, years ago. castiel clears his throat, and his fingers twitch but he makes no attempt to pull away. it's been a long time since anyone bothered to touch him even casually like this, and while he's sure that dean doesn't mean anything by it, it's a foreign feeling, lighting a warmth in him that's been long dormant, sparking old memory. ]

I'm an Astronomer.

( he really, really should get out of the habit of saying things just to see how others react to them; it's something he's done as far back as he can remember, always ready not only to start a fight but to finish it, though that hadn't been his intention when the words had slipped out of his mouth this time around. mostly, he's testing the waters, feeling castiel out for the sake of knowing what he might be getting himself into in the future – if he chooses to keep ruffling his feathers like this.

it's harmless. it really is. and if he thinks he doesn't notice the way he flushes at the touch of his rough hand, he has another thing coming. dean might not let anything show outwardly, but there are tiny little receptors picking up on every little detail, every subtle shift, and anyone that has ever accused him of being unobservant deserves a punch right to the mouth. even if he's never made it abundantly clear that he's even capable of surveying his surroundings for anything less than a classic car or a nice pair of legs.

he doesn't keep up the contact for long, but he does make a point of all but dragging the tips of his oil-stained fingers over the inside of castiel's palm, just to be sure to leave the slightest bit of a smudge behind. dark, gritty, just like the rest of him, and the grin he gives is genuine when – ) Well, you should get 'em dirty every once in a while. You'd be surprised how good it feels.

( and then he's letting go, reaching again for the rag to – presumably – take at least a single layer of grime off of the surface of his hands, when realistically, at this point it only adds to it. a brow goes up, and he makes a thoughtful sound. ) Stars, then, huh … I can see it, I guess. About as much as I can see science in anybody. ( a beat. ) Sammy, he's been fascinated with all living things ( and yes, he's waving his hands around a bit in that all-encompassing motion that … well, encompasses the whole of everything ) since he was old enough to wander off and poke at tadpoles.

[ dean's touch leaves sparks jumping over his skin, and even once he's pulled away, castiel can still feel the warmth of it lingering. normally he wouldn't care, normally it would mean nothing, but something about this man is making him.. foolish, like a smitten schoolboy. it's been a long time since he felt this way, since he ever felt immediately enamored with a single individual right off the bat, and it's.. a nice feeling, he supposes, but he thought he'd outgrown it, thought he'd never feel anything remotely like it again after..

well. he's getting ahead of himself. dean is good looking, and castiel has been lonely for awhile, and that's all there is to it. it's not going anywhere, it doesn't mean anything, he'll enjoy this while it lasts and it will burn off soon enough, and that's that.

he clears his throat. ]

Yes.. Sam is very passionate about it.

[ he says, dropping his hands to his sides again, and casting his gaze over the impala's engine for lack of anything better to look at that isn't dean winchester. ]

It's enjoyable. Most people aren't nearly so ardent about their work.

( dean has found, over the years, that it's a hell of a lot easier to live in the moment than to try to make plans for the future. nothing ever seems to last, even if he wants it to, and it's better to not get attached to any one person, any one thing on the off-chance that it gets taken away. so far, it's just been him and sam, and his one-night-stands peppered here and there and everywhere – it's always easier with a lack of emotion tied to anything, or at the very least, that's what he's managed to convince himself, and that's what he's trying to stick to.

no promises made means no promises broken, and even if he's always considered himself a man of his word, things happen and words fall short, leave behind broken hearts and stunted futures.

still, this nerd his little brother has been hanging out with – there's something about him that has caught and held his attention, something that has him wanting to push just a bit further, feel him out, figure him out. maybe he'll get lucky and he'll stick around long enough for that to happen –

or maybe just long enough for him to have a bit of fun with it. you never know until you try, right?

he sets the grungy rag off to the side, hands moving to close the hood of the impala and dump his tools back in their places. ( albeit a bit haphazardly, just by dint of not really wanting to move his gaze from castiel, and how he looks like a damned deer in the headlights. ) ) And most people don't use words like ardent in normal conversation. ( he grins, and it's nothing but teeth, and then he's sliding ( very closely ) past castiel toward the door that leads in from the garage to the house proper. )

C'mon, you can wait for Sammy inside. If you don't want a beer, the kid's got some, uh … tea, or something in the kitchen, I think. ( dean do you even know how to brew tea? )

Or tap water.

[ castiel frowns in deep disapproval at dean's blatant jab at his vocabulary, but to his credit he doesn't rise to the bait. rude, though. don't be jealous, dean. read more. the articles in hustler don't count.

at any rate, he relents, because there's really no reason to hang about in this garage anyway, unless he's watching dean work, but apparently dean has other plans - an agenda on pizza, most likely - and that's just as well.

still castiel can't help but feel a little.. torn, between wanting sam to hurry back now to break this strange, warm tension, and wanting him to stay out a little longer, just so he can prolong it. it's difficult, bouncing between the two, unable to decide if this feeling is comfortable or not when it is most certainly nothing worth pursuing. unlike dean, castiel doesn't bury himself in one night stands - on the contrary, after losing meg, and the terrible, tumultuous storm of his life thereafter, castiel has abstained. stood back. after he'd picked himself up off the ground, gotten himself clean and straightened out his head, he hasn't bothered with anyone. and that's just as well, really. no one has captivated him like she has, before or since. no one has ever tempted him to rethink it, or been worth the passing thought.

that is..

well. stirrings of his long-dormant libido aside, dean is off limits. so he decides to hope that sam will arrive sooner rather than later, because the distraction will be more than welcome. he follows dean inside, nonetheless, and moves to drop his bag into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, where he and sam generally sit. ]

I'll find something, thank you.

[ it's not as if he hasn't been here plenty of times before. just.. not while dean has, somehow. ]

( the articles in hustler totally count. don't you judge him for his choice of reading material. not all of us can be potential nobel laureates. or. whatever.

he leaves the door leading into the kitchen open for castiel to follow him and, making a beeline for the sink and reaching beneath it to retrieve the lava soap he keeps underneath it – mostly because, if he doesn't wash his hands the second he comes in from the garage, he ends up leaving grimy fingerprints on everything he touches and sam bitches at him for having to clean up his messes – he makes an elaborate effort to scrub the grease and grit from his hands, forearms, almost up past his elbows until the surface of his skin is almost rubbed raw from it. he's still going to have to take a shower, but that can come later, once he's not all that intent on keeping the company of the second nerd to come into his life without so much as a preamble.

( he maintains that his little brother hadn't always been as much of a nerd as he is now, because he swears they used to roll around in the dirt together, or maybe he'd just blocked out all the times when sam would abandon him to study some organic thing while dean himself was busy making mud pies. )

he tries not to think about how … intrigued he finds himself by the other's presence. that he's kind of hoping sam stays out longer rather than coming back as quickly as possible just to get a better feel for castiel himself. on one hand, he's pretty sure he's going to starve to death if he doesn't get some food in him soon – but on the other, his little brother's friend in nerdery is proving to be far more entertaining than he thought the guy would be, and if pressed, couldn't deny that he's not that bad to look at.

not that he's thinking that. right this moment. ahem.

he grabs a dish towel from its place next to the sink, dries his hands and turns to pull open the refrigerator door, grabs a beer and promptly twists off the cap. )

So. ( sip. ) Anything new with the universe lately? ( dean … )

[ castiel is at home enough to pour himself a nice cool glass of icewater without needing anyone's permission - truly it had taken several weeks worth of sessions before he'd been comfortable enough to do it because somehow, despite his sorely lacking social skills castiel was raised to be polite about people's belongings, and sam had had to goad him more than once before he'd allowed himself the license.

nevertheless, he takes a deep drink to chase away the thirst and warmth in his body, and to give his hands and mouth and eyes and mind something to do that doesn't involve dean winchester. with half the glass drained, he refills before he sits at last, in the chair next to the one his bag rests on.

and.. dean is still here. lingering. at first he's just washing his hands, which, all right, makes sense; best not to leave grease stains all over the house. castiel watches him with idle interest, studying the way his forearms tense, the way the light catches on his rough, wet knuckles, and all the strength in his broad hands while he scrubs. but after that? after he's washed up, and grabbed his beer, dean is still lingering, and castiel feels the discomfort settling in all over again, resting like a heavy stone at the bottom of his belly. making idle conversation, smalltalk, is not among his talents, not by any stretch of the imagination, and while castiel can go off on wild tangents about the stars, nuclear fusion, infinity, gravity.. he's piss poor at anything else, much more a listener than a talker.

dean, apparently, sucks at it too. castiel lifts his eyes to dean's face again with a withering glance, because really? that was bad, even by his standards. still, castiel's mind drifts anyway, and he glances aside, thoughtfully. ]

Nothing is new with the universe. All the new things are simply things we haven't yet learned about.

[ obvious answer, clearly. ]

( well, that's one thing he and sam have in common; sam has always been one of the most polite people he's ever known, and while dean himself isn't exactly the rudest human being on the planet, his little brother definitely got all the manners. growing up saying things like 'please' and 'thank you' without having to be reminded that it was proper etiquette? that's his sammy.

but it's obvious that castiel has been here often enough that he's comfortable with the layout of things. comfortable enough with himself to help himself without having to ask permission, and that's all right with him. it's easier than playing host which, again, is something his brother is better at, has the attentive nature for it that this one sorely lacks.

and it's not that he feels obligated to keep him company until sam gets back – moreover, he wants to stick around, see how things pan out, and even though he doesn't feel any of that discomfort settling in for himself, he can sense the smallest bit of tension in the air, wonders what it might be. really, he's asking about the universe not out of any real lack of something to say, but more because he's interested in the answer he gets. whether it's a joke, or –

… exactly what he'd been expecting, the deadpan truthful sort of thing that has no whimsy to it at all, and he has to keep himself from rolling his eyes. come on, man … you can do better than that, can't you?

dean huffs out a laugh and takes another pull from his beer. ) You don't say. So no new planets, meteor showers, anything cool like that? ( now he's just being an ass, and he knows it, and castiel should be able to sense it in the way his grin spreads across the line of his mouth. ) Pluto still kicked out of the planet club?

[ sorry dean, castiel doesn't yet know you well enough to be playful with you; all he's given is the deadpan honestly, mostly because he doesn't have a read on dean yet, is keeping him at arms' length, where he keeps, well, pretty much everyone. it certainly doesn't help that he's feeling a little pandered to here, isn't accustomed to people like dean having any real interest in what it is that he does. ]

New exoplanets are discovered all the time, you know; we know of thousands of them. And Pluto has been classified as a dwarf planet, so take that as you will.

[ yes, dean certainly is being an ass, and castiel isn't sure how to read that grin that's cutting across his face, but he can't think to parse it as anything positive. he's a cautious creature by nature, and he's had time enough to adjust to the wicked distraction of dean winchester's - well, everything. so there's a suspicious slant to his eyes. ]

I wouldn't have thought you would have an interest in the heavens, Dean. "Cool" things are happening all around us, every day. Supernovas and stars collapsing, planets formed of burning ice, or diamonds, gamma ray bursts, clouds of dust that taste like raspberries.. take your pick.

[ one thing's for sure, though - asking about space is apparently a surefire way to get castiel to respond in any way that isn't clipped and monosyllabic. ]

( acting guarded is something that he does without thinking – even if it doesn't come around as something outwardly so. it's not that he has trust issues enough to interfere with things like making friends, but until he gets to know someone, it's all friendly smiles and off-hand jokes, the sort of thing that can be kept light and airy and easy to get himself out of if things suddenly go south.

which. he doesn't think that is going to be what happens here, but given that this is the first time he's ever met his little brother's nerdfriend, and the only thing he's been able to figure out about him so far is that he really could talk about the stars until he's blue in the face – there are still so many paths this could take, so taking it slow and easy is going to do both of them a favor.

still, he sees the way the other's blue eyes glaze over the slightest bit when he gets to talking, and it's more than clear that if there were more in-depth questions to ask on dean's own part, he might get an actual, honest-to-god conversation out of him that doesn't involve shots in the dark as far as smalltalk goes.

he sets his beer on the counter behind him, loosens his stance and leans lazily against it, grease-stained hands shoved into the pockets of his equally dirty jeans. ) Clouds of dust that taste like raspberries. ( are you serious. ) You're not pulling my leg 'cause you think I don't know what I'm asking about, are you? ( there's a glimmer in his eyes, still more teasing than anything, but then he gives a shrug. )

I might not be a science guy, but stars are cool. Sam dragged me out in the middle of the night for a meteor shower once when he was … hell, I think he was barely six. It was all right.

[ there's certainly no denying that he could definitely talk about the stars until he's blue in the face, considering the eyeroll he offers dean has more life in it than nearly their entire conversation up 'til this point. it was all right he says, like every moment spent looking up into the skies isn't a spectacular, astonishing, breathtaking event.

but castiel's learned that most people don't share his passions, even if he can't for the life of him understand why. ]

Meteor showers are beautiful, but they're nothing compared with what's really out there, all the colors and lights of the cosmos.

[ leaning back in his seat, castiel folds his hands loosely in his lap and lifts his eyes to dean's face, his brow drawn tightly as he tilts his head. ]

But no, I'm not pulling your leg. Studies have confirmed that many dust clouds in space are composed of molecules of alcohol or alcoholic compounds, including ethyl formate, which is a primary chemical responsible for a raspberry's flavor. And the smell of rum.

[ so yes, dean, there are giant clouds of booze floating in space and you didn't even know it. you learn something new every day, right? ]

( wow, slow that eyeroll, space cadet. it's true that not everyone understands the way of the stars like you do, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't hold a certain level of appreciation for them. sometimes, he still looks up after the sun has gone down and he's kicked back with a beer and thinks that there's some sort of novelty to all those tiny little dots, millions of miles away, marking their territory in the sky.

but he's never been one to lose his head in the clouds. he leaves that to sam, the inevitable dreamer, while he keeps both feet planted firmly on the ground, one hand on the bottle and the other clenched tight in an oil rag, cleaning the stains off both himself and his baby while his little brother reads about the kind of research that could change the future.

it's not that he really disbelieves the raspberry comment, more maybe that it sounds so ridiculous that not even he is thick enough to believe it right from the get-go. but then he gets that explanation, and there's way too much science jargon in there for it to be anything but true – so he chuckles, low and rumbling in the back of his throat, shakes his head.

you really do learn something new everyday. ) Well ain't that somethin'. ( it's gonna take a second for that to make a circuit in his head, to even remotely begin to make sense. just give it a second. ) I kinda get why you're so fascinated.

[ castiel expects a shrug, or to be dismissed, the sort of reaction he'd expect from most guys like dean when he gets a little too involved and starts off on a wild scientific tangent - he doesn't expect a concession.

you do?, he wants to ask, because it's not what he had thought he would hear, and he needs to take a moment to backpedal over it to make sure that he heard what he'd thought, but there's no mistake. castiel feels the ever-present knot in his belly loosen a little bit, and when he glances toward dean again there's something like curiosity in his eyes, a softness without the cold edge he's borne up until this moment. he lingers there for awhile, staring into dean's face, his hazel eyes that look a warm, honey-brown in the yellow, slanting afternoon sunlight, but soon enough he looks away again, towards his hands in his lap. ]

There's so much out there. It's impossible not to be.

[ he can hardly remember a time in his life when he didn't look up and feel a profound connection with the sky and the stars, when they didn't hold him endlessly in their thrall. that dean can possibly understand even a little of that is a warm and pleasant surprise. ]

( 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 … )

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