[ the connection with Dean is like a warm hearth, a fire gently crackling as embers smolder and fade out, the memory of them left in smoke that dissipates into the air around him. He’s forever burning, a light that never goes out, won’t ever go out, if cas can help it, and it feeds that pull to be closer to him. Soak up the heat, the energy and life in him. More than that, it’s a belonging warmth. Cas likes to think this is what home feels like, what family does.
The concern ebbs away, eroded into good humor, a tenderness that comes from familiar company and a lightness in whatever constitutes his soul (maybe he actually has one of those, now). Cas settles into the pleasant buzz of drunkenness and lets himself embrace the comfortable peace of dean’s emotions filtering in alongside his.
Despair, woven into fatigue - Dean’s tired. Dean’s so often tired, and an old urge to help him find healing and rest bubbles up, a protectiveness.
Cas finishes off the last of his drink, setting the glass down and leaning his head back against the wall behind them, protective caretaking giving way to mirth, as a grin breaks across his face, low chuckle sounding like a rumble in his chest. ]
I may have heard something similar before.
[ from dean, usually. He picks up on the nerves rising in dean, and cas isn’t ready to let go of this bond yet. If dean is, so be it, but the easy tranquility and feeling of comfortable belonging is addictive. He doesn’t usually let himself dwell on it, how good he feels in dean’s company, but the alcohol’s gone to his head and cas is all easy cheer and soothed relaxation.
Body gone loose, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, cas basks in it, soaking up the comfort with a peaceful contentedness humming through him, something he’s openly sharing through the connection. Inviting dean into, and it just feels right. he's familiar in ways cas can't entirely describe. He's known so many sides of dean, seen him through so many lenses, but rarely this close, this… intimate.
Eyes blinking open, cas examines the ceiling while wearing a dopey, lopsided smile, head a nice kind of intoxicated fuzzy. ]
You know, I’ve never actually been to a party.
[ not in any formal sense. Angels don’t do parties, and he didn’t exactly get invited to any while human and homeless. Seen them in movies, in fiction, sure, but never been to one. Not that he particularly wants to, but he can imagine dean at one - drunk, silly, engaged, flirtatious. He wouldn’t mind witnessing that. ]
no subject
The concern ebbs away, eroded into good humor, a tenderness that comes from familiar company and a lightness in whatever constitutes his soul (maybe he actually has one of those, now). Cas settles into the pleasant buzz of drunkenness and lets himself embrace the comfortable peace of dean’s emotions filtering in alongside his.
Despair, woven into fatigue - Dean’s tired. Dean’s so often tired, and an old urge to help him find healing and rest bubbles up, a protectiveness.
Cas finishes off the last of his drink, setting the glass down and leaning his head back against the wall behind them, protective caretaking giving way to mirth, as a grin breaks across his face, low chuckle sounding like a rumble in his chest. ]
I may have heard something similar before.
[ from dean, usually. He picks up on the nerves rising in dean, and cas isn’t ready to let go of this bond yet. If dean is, so be it, but the easy tranquility and feeling of comfortable belonging is addictive. He doesn’t usually let himself dwell on it, how good he feels in dean’s company, but the alcohol’s gone to his head and cas is all easy cheer and soothed relaxation.
Body gone loose, tension bleeding out of his shoulders, cas basks in it, soaking up the comfort with a peaceful contentedness humming through him, something he’s openly sharing through the connection. Inviting dean into, and it just feels right. he's familiar in ways cas can't entirely describe. He's known so many sides of dean, seen him through so many lenses, but rarely this close, this… intimate.
Eyes blinking open, cas examines the ceiling while wearing a dopey, lopsided smile, head a nice kind of intoxicated fuzzy. ]
You know, I’ve never actually been to a party.
[ not in any formal sense. Angels don’t do parties, and he didn’t exactly get invited to any while human and homeless. Seen them in movies, in fiction, sure, but never been to one. Not that he particularly wants to, but he can imagine dean at one - drunk, silly, engaged, flirtatious. He wouldn’t mind witnessing that. ]