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Oooh! Chicken—wait, what was that? He pokes his head up above the trash, looking up at the hole of the top of the bin where he had heard a rustle; a pair of hands and a shadowed face can be seen but it's too dark to make them out clearly.
“Hello!” Like a jack-in-a-box, Cas popped up out into the open, scaring the living daylights out of whoever it was that was standing there. His ears flattened as the stranger stumbled back into the shadows and gave a hiss, “I'm sorry! Sorry.”
Cas scrambled out of the bin, chicken still in hand, to sit beside it and watch the new face quietly, seeing what he'd do.
The figure came back into the light, ears first—another catboy!—blond fur dirty and clumped, oh...a stray? “Are you a stray?” Cas could see the spots of dirt on his face now, along with a few scratches.
A silent nod of the head was all that was given as an answer but his tail told his mood, the equally blond and dirty appendage stuck straight out behind him at an angle, almost completely still; he was nervous, but he wasn't going to attack.
Cas held out his piece of chicken, “Were you looking for food?” The stray's curiosity is peaked at the presence of the poultry, little pink tongue flicking out to lick his lips, “You can have it.”
A couple of ginger steps forward, eyes darting from the food to Castiel's face, the light-haired cat slowly approached and revealed the rest of his body in the process; tattered, grimy clothes and scarred skin.
His flesh was milky white but littered with little red scratches visible under the bottom of his tan cargo shorts, arms shown off by his red tank top the very same, was he abused? Did he get into fights? Cas' questions would have to wait, though, until they got to know each other better, to trust each other.
In a flash the chicken was gone from Cas' hand, the other now sitting on his haunches across from him and nibbling on what was left of the bird, not saying a word.
Cas tilted his head, shaggy black hair tickling his ears and making them twitch, “Can you talk?” If he was a stray, maybe, but if he was born on the streets, though, probably not.
Blondy— that's what I'll call him, Blondy —never looked away from Cas, even as he ate. He didn't answer the question, either, not until he was all done, the bones back in the bin. Grease was smeared across the back of his hand and around his lips after his attempt at cleaning up, “Lil' bit.”
The deepness of Blondy's voice hit Cas like a truck, making his ears stand straight and tail prickle, blue eyes wide. “That's...that's good,” Cas swallowed and took a deep breath, readjusting his sitting position a tad, “...do you have a name?”
“Dean,” his tail flicked, shoulders shifting as he seemed to relax some more. “You?”
“Castiel. Cas for short.”
“Cas. Cas Cas Cas,” a nod, “Cas.”
The repetition of his name made Cas smile and chuckle, “Mhm. Cas.”
“Smell?”
It took him a moment to figure out what Dean was asking, “Oh, you want to smell me? Go ahead.” The nervous stray took a step forward hesitantly, but soon he was just half a foot away, sticking his neck out to sniff the air around Cas, who was completely still so he didn't startle him.
“Smell good,” a little closer, nose hovering down Cas' neck and along his shoulder, “Flowers.” A thump as Dean sat straight down on his ass, a wide grin on his face, “Friends.”