heavenonearth | (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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[ 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 … )