Blue Eyed Stranger [COMPLETE]

Chapter 6: Call me Cas

Dean stutters as he looks at the stranger. For once in his life he doesn't know what to say. Earlier the stranger had made it seem like he didn't want to converse with him, and so he hesitates.

He doesn't want to yell anymore. Instead, he holds the laminated sheet of paper to the man as he stands up.

The blue eyed stranger looks back at him. Instead of looking teary-eyed like he did this morning, his sadness looks deeply rooted and not just on the exterior anymore.

Dean fights the urge to ask him if he's okay again, but the fear of being ignored and rejected again wins the battle.

To dean's surprise, the stranger outreaches at him, making an "Ah—" sound. Dean frowns.

The stranger hesitates himself with his odd noise. "Ah... thank you for getting that." He recovers his words, gripping the edge of the laminate paper.

Dean listens to his voice, taking in everything he can to answer his questions that run through his mind every morning. The stranger's voice is deep and soft with a husky spin on it. He's never heard such a nice voice.

It hits him that he looks stupid and that the stranger is trying to take the flyer back that Dean still has wedged between his fingers.

"It's um," He releases the poster. "It's no problem." He blinks a couple of times trying to reform back to his usual state.

The stranger stares back at him bemused, his eyes scanning Dean's face, making Dean shift uncomfortably.

"This morning," Dean says, feeling as if he should talk to disturb the silence. "I'm sorry if I offended you, or invaded your privacy." He apologises in his all-too-formal work manner.

The stranger exhales a long breath. He runs his hand through his wet hair and Dean just remembers that it is raining, and has to look up to the dark, damp sky for a moment.

"No, no." Is all the stranger says at first. "This morning I, I had a bunch of stuff going on, it's a very long story." The raspiness in his voice tells Dean that he's being honest.

"It sounds like it." Dean responds neutrally, instantly thinking he sounds daft, wondering why he said it. Then, wondering why he cares so much.

Patters of rain hit the flyers in the stranger's hand, and Dean takes the moment of silence to peer at the laminated paper.

"You've lost your cat?" He asks the obvious question, wanting to continue their conversation.

"Mittens... yeah." The man outstretches his hand to Dean, showing him the poster. "You haven't happened to of seen a Norwegian forest cat, have you?"

The question is empty, like the stranger knows Dean will say no.

Dean shakes his head, he hasn't. Not that he knows what a Norwegian forest cat would look like regardless. "No." He answers, taking the flyer back out the stranger's hand.

Dean's eyes scan the page quickly and then looks back up, meeting the man's blue eyes. "Your name's Castiel?" He asks.

He gets a smile in return. "Call me Cas." He pauses. "I mean, it's Castiel, but everybody likes to call me that."

"Cas," Dean almost smiles. "It's odd to finally pinpoint a name to you." He continues, physically rolling his eyes at his response knowing how stupid he sounds.

"You recognise me?" Castiel says. His blue eyes glisten subtly.

Dean feels his face burn. "I, yes. We uh... we ride the same-"

"We get the same bus." Cas interrupts. "The number seven, every morning, every night." Timely, he points at the bold '7' on the post beside them.

"Yeah." Dean murmurs quietly, taken aback at the fact newly-named Cas can recall their everyday encounter. Not that it had to mean anything, of course, it was just... nice.

"Was that too much?" Castiel rubs his neck, as if he was talking to himself. "Sorry, I talk too much."

Castiel visibly becomes awkward and Dean takes the time to look at him. It's not an attempt to read him, because hell, Dean isn't that deep.

Castiel is wet and damp looking. His hair is in ringlets where it's been drenched from the rain, and overdue a haircut.

Dean looks to his features. Let alone a haircut, he's probably due a shave too. Speckles of hair cover the whole of his chin and have grown a week or so's length too long. Castiel's eyes are his most distinguishing feature, being a prominent blue, framed by webbed eyelashes that are from either rain or tears.

Sadness seems to radiate from him.

Again, he gets the urge to ask him if he's okay and hear him speak, noting how unlike himself that is.

"No, no." Dean says, picking up the conversation again. "Perhaps I don't talk enough."

— — —

"...Perhaps I don't talk enough." The stranger says.

Castiel takes it as his turn to fall silent for once, giving him a moment in time to look at the other man.

He's not how Cas imagined him; he's not as scary. Whenever Castiel sees him on the bus, he looks grumpy and miserable, fed up even. But through conversing, he's actually a slightly awkward individual — just like himself.

Just like him — the stranger messes up on words, stutters, turns red in a bashful manner.

Perhaps the sulky, intimidating act is just a charade. A hard exterior that just needs little nudge to be cracked.

Cas tilts his head.

Perhaps, the only difference between him and the stranger is that he gets to wear expensive suits and Cas gets to wear an apron. Or, used to.

Distracting the other man is the sound of their bus upcoming from behind Castiel. Castiel looks at him, taking the opportunity to admire him up close.

Cas has always known he's handsome, but it's evident now more than ever that he's actually an extremely attractive man. Even the rain hasn't affected his good looks.

This morning was a turning point for him, contemplating the idea that perhaps "love at first sight" could be real. This morning was the first time he heard his voice, and it's been ringing in his mind all day.

And right now, despite everything that's happened to him within the last 24 hours, he feels oddly and unexplainably warm.

"After you." He says, letting the man mount the bus first, following behind him on queue.