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The shitty motel tea has burned your tongue in places you didn’t realise could be burned, but your hands are pleasantly warm as you fumble with the key to your room. You needed to clear your head and while the walk in the biting 1am air certainly did that, it also flushed the warmth from your bones. And that was no good. Given you were actually planning on sleeping, the result of this discomfort was a cardboard cup of tea from the machine at reception.
At last, the key clicks and you slip inside. The lamp and TV light up the room and you’re startled but not incredibly so to se Castiel sat on the end of the bed, hands clasped infront of him as he rests his elbows on his legs to brace himself in his lean towards the TV. He’s squinting, nose wrinkled.
You breathe out the surprise as you shut the door behind you.
“Hey Cas, what’re you doing?” you ask, tossing the motel key onto the dresser.
His eyes stay glued to the screen. “Practicing being a hunter.”
Your eyebrows twitch in confusion. “In… what way? Exactly?”
It’s only now that he looks up at you. “Dean says I’m not very… personable.”
You tilt you head slightly to prompt him to continue.
He sighs. “I don’t blend in when talking to people. I’m copying off the people on the TV.”
A small smile of amusement tugs at your lips. “Ah.”
He looks back to the TV. You hesitate for a second.
“Do you want some tips?”
His piercing blue eyes flick to yours once again. “Yes.”
You nudge him to shuffle along and he obliges, allowing room for you to sit next to him with one foot tucked under yourself and one on the floor so you can better face him. It feels good to take the weight off your feet. It’s been a long few days.
Cas pauses the TV - some cop show - and shifts to face you slightly too.
“Ok. You make a lot of… intense eye contact.”
“I’m listening.”
“Yes. I know. But people - some people - might find it uncomfortable. Or intimidating. So, you know, if you don’t want to seem intimidating you want to-”
That language is unclear. You can hear him say it before he gets a chance to, that he never expressed a want to do so, and you correct yourself.
“You could look away more. Not a lot, but if you don’t want to be intimidating, sometimes it’s good to look away and scan the room a bit during a conversation.”
He glances over your shoulder, gaze falling to what you believe to be the corner of the room before coming back. You smile.
“Yeah, like that.”
He nods.
“And people don’t like being corrected. It puts them on edge.”
His eyebrows straight. “But they’re often wrong.”
A laugh escapes you. “Yes, they are. But,” you pause to smile endearingly at his expression, “we don’t always need to tell them. Because they’re gonna be happier to talk if they’re comfortable.”
The cogs are turning behind his eyes.
“What I do, right? You gotta wait until it’s just you and your friend and the person is gone, then you can whisper to them. That gets it out of your system.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
He examines the wallpaper. Nausea hits you like a freight train. It’s gone as quick as it rose but there are bitter pebbles in its place. Are you fucking him up?
“You- this is only for hunting though, ok? When it’s necessary, right? You don’t have to try and do those things around friends.”
He nods again.
“Do you understand?”
Eye contact. “I understand.”
You smile. “Ok. Good. It’ll be tiring.”
Cringe races through your bones immediately after the words leave your mouth. You stand up to portray that you weren’t trying to manipulate him into questioning you and set your tea on the small table so that you can dip into your rucksack for your pyjamas.
Nevertheless, he asks. “Do you find it tiring?”
You pause with a hand on the zip. “Sometimes.”
He hums in acknowledgment.
You hesitate a second longer, then pull the zip, bundling your pyjamas into your arms. “I’m gonna shower. I assume you’re staying?”
He thinks for a second. “Yes.”
You grin. “Ok. See you in a min.”
You slip into the bathroom.