Singer Salvage Yard, Christmas Eve
So, as it turned out, running Heaven was't easy. There was paperwork and tediousness and people questioning his judgement on every single issue.
And there was Raphael. He didn't take kindly to Castiel taking over, not in the least. And he had followers. A lot of followers. A whole lot of followers, who resented an angel from the garrison making his way up the ranks when there was still at least one archangel hanging about.
Add that to the items going missing from the holy dangerous artifacts storage and . . . well. Castiel needed a break.
Dean was off in his own little reward, making time with Lisa and her son. Sam was -- well, Castiel was never certain what to think of the Sam of this world, and he was even less so, now. Castiel heard Sam's prayers for answers, but he didn't have them, and he didn't want to face Sam going all . . . mooshy faced at him when he said so, so visiting Sam was right out.
When it came down to it, there were only a handful of living beings on Earth Castiel wanted to visit, and he wasn't certain how to reach the ones he'd met in Fandom. So he came to Bobby Singer's, appearing in the middle of the junkyard, and stood still, watching the way the light played off the battered hulks of old cars, until a bounding herd of cats came scurrying out and clustered around his legs.
He smiled down at them. "Hello, Angelbane. Your kittens are looking well." And not particularly kitteny. They, like everything else in this realm, had grown and changed in the time Castiel had been in Heaven. They were now adult cats in their own right, though the way they tumbled over each other and playfully swatted at his wings hinted to the tiny things they once were. He crouched down amongst them and offered his hand.
When Bobby Singer himself came out, shotgun cocked and ready, to see who had invaded his home on Christmas Eve, he found the angel rolling around in the dirt, hands out to catch the darting and bouncing cats.
"You know," he said. "There're times that I don't rightly believe you're supposed to be holy."
Castiel blinked up at him. Bobby sighed.
"Well, come in when you wanna. Wasn't too keen on spending the holiday alone, anyway."
Castiel nodded, then scooped up the gray cat currently trying to eat his shoelace. "This one is named after you."
And if that didn't just make Bobby wanna grin and roll around like an idiot, too.
[ooc: killing time till family festivities begin, but open for calls should someone not mind a bit of slowplay.]
And there was Raphael. He didn't take kindly to Castiel taking over, not in the least. And he had followers. A lot of followers. A whole lot of followers, who resented an angel from the garrison making his way up the ranks when there was still at least one archangel hanging about.
Add that to the items going missing from the holy dangerous artifacts storage and . . . well. Castiel needed a break.
Dean was off in his own little reward, making time with Lisa and her son. Sam was -- well, Castiel was never certain what to think of the Sam of this world, and he was even less so, now. Castiel heard Sam's prayers for answers, but he didn't have them, and he didn't want to face Sam going all . . . mooshy faced at him when he said so, so visiting Sam was right out.
When it came down to it, there were only a handful of living beings on Earth Castiel wanted to visit, and he wasn't certain how to reach the ones he'd met in Fandom. So he came to Bobby Singer's, appearing in the middle of the junkyard, and stood still, watching the way the light played off the battered hulks of old cars, until a bounding herd of cats came scurrying out and clustered around his legs.
He smiled down at them. "Hello, Angelbane. Your kittens are looking well." And not particularly kitteny. They, like everything else in this realm, had grown and changed in the time Castiel had been in Heaven. They were now adult cats in their own right, though the way they tumbled over each other and playfully swatted at his wings hinted to the tiny things they once were. He crouched down amongst them and offered his hand.
When Bobby Singer himself came out, shotgun cocked and ready, to see who had invaded his home on Christmas Eve, he found the angel rolling around in the dirt, hands out to catch the darting and bouncing cats.
"You know," he said. "There're times that I don't rightly believe you're supposed to be holy."
Castiel blinked up at him. Bobby sighed.
"Well, come in when you wanna. Wasn't too keen on spending the holiday alone, anyway."
Castiel nodded, then scooped up the gray cat currently trying to eat his shoelace. "This one is named after you."
And if that didn't just make Bobby wanna grin and roll around like an idiot, too.
[ooc: killing time till family festivities begin, but open for calls should someone not mind a bit of slowplay.]