[Castiel made an arrangement at the Mag's Inn tavern to work as a bus boy for access to the bar, and in exchange for the board. It kept him busy while he was new and still getting acclimated. Now, months later he found he still enjoyed getting lost in the tediousness of it. Unlike most things in his life cleaning up the bar was simple, every item had a proper place and every task had its purpose. The balance it had brought him clarity in a world that had none. It was a form of meditation that became a harbor for him between hunting jobs and the ebb and flow of this place and its influences.
The afternoon had been met with its usual lull of patrons there too early to truly partake but as evening crept closer that would change and the bar would be full of people, loud bellowing laughter, music, and chanting. Much of the time Castiel preferred it to the sleepy haze of late morning, it was easier to melt into the background and go about his business.
Sam must have arrived before he'd come in to start his shift, but Castiel had been working from the opposite of the room and hadn't noticed him there until he heard his voice.
With more than twelve feet between them, it's impossible not to match that to what he remembers of his presence, his soul, and there are few that can occupy the same amount of space with the same stature and still have that warm and welcoming energy. Sam's always had that way about him.
The cutlery and glasses he'd been collecting are left abandoned in the tray he used to clean up with a metallic clang as Castiel moves from that task to something much more important.]
Sam?
[For Dean's sake more than his own he hopes that they're all within the same linear timeframe. He'd done a lot of things he's not proud of, but he'd never questioned his choice to help Dean and Sam, to align himself with them instead of the host. Not even in the midst of the civil war and the aftermath that came with it.]
i stay screwing up my tenses so it doesn't bother me any β₯ ohi
The afternoon had been met with its usual lull of patrons there too early to truly partake but as evening crept closer that would change and the bar would be full of people, loud bellowing laughter, music, and chanting. Much of the time Castiel preferred it to the sleepy haze of late morning, it was easier to melt into the background and go about his business.
Sam must have arrived before he'd come in to start his shift, but Castiel had been working from the opposite of the room and hadn't noticed him there until he heard his voice.
With more than twelve feet between them, it's impossible not to match that to what he remembers of his presence, his soul, and there are few that can occupy the same amount of space with the same stature and still have that warm and welcoming energy. Sam's always had that way about him.
The cutlery and glasses he'd been collecting are left abandoned in the tray he used to clean up with a metallic clang as Castiel moves from that task to something much more important.]
Sam?
[For Dean's sake more than his own he hopes that they're all within the same linear timeframe. He'd done a lot of things he's not proud of, but he'd never questioned his choice to help Dean and Sam, to align himself with them instead of the host. Not even in the midst of the civil war and the aftermath that came with it.]