"Yeah, yeah," he says, noncommittally, yanking open the door to his rental car and flopping down in the front seat. He rolls down his window a crack when he pulls it shut again so he can tap the ashes from his ciggy outside while he waits for Castiel to climb into the passenger side.
When he turns the key, the music picks up where it left off, which is, predictably, horribly grating 80's british punk. Cas is just lucky it's a real band and not one of John's old Mucous Membrane albums. Nobody deserves to be unwittingly trapped in an enclosed space with that.
He turns the volume down enough that they'll be able to hold conversation without hollering over the screeching vocals, and glances out of the corner of his eye, cigarette balanced between his lips, as he backs out of the parking lot onto the street and starts them headed out of town.
"You're not the messenger type, are you?" Manny once explained that angels were compartmentalized. That he was called to do one specific sort of thing. He was all about ministering, so far as John could tell. Watching over and ushering in certain directions with the sort of uselessly cryptic mumbo-jumbothat drives John mad. John knows what that energy feels like, washed over him, and Cas had been something. Different. "You pack a bit've wallop in there, old son."
yes that is more acceptable tbh
When he turns the key, the music picks up where it left off, which is, predictably, horribly grating 80's british punk. Cas is just lucky it's a real band and not one of John's old Mucous Membrane albums. Nobody deserves to be unwittingly trapped in an enclosed space with that.
He turns the volume down enough that they'll be able to hold conversation without hollering over the screeching vocals, and glances out of the corner of his eye, cigarette balanced between his lips, as he backs out of the parking lot onto the street and starts them headed out of town.
"You're not the messenger type, are you?" Manny once explained that angels were compartmentalized. That he was called to do one specific sort of thing. He was all about ministering, so far as John could tell. Watching over and ushering in certain directions with the sort of uselessly cryptic mumbo-jumbothat drives John mad. John knows what that energy feels like, washed over him, and Cas had been something. Different. "You pack a bit've wallop in there, old son."