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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[ 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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