"'Ay, Cas!"
There came a delayed response from the angel, his vessel's hands having splayed a large, weathered map across the hood of the beloved Impala, his thought process conjunctive with the soft blue of his eyes as they scanned the expanse of the map. A glance up was issued, expression stoic; the older Winchester, Dean. He tossed the machetes he'd been in possession of to him of which Castiel reciprocated to easily, hands snatching a hold of them.
"Throw these in the back, will you?" He asked, voice gruff as always; it was a sound that the angel had become accustomed to, perhaps even reliant of.
"Of course." Came his response, accompanied by a nod. With the weapons in tow, he made his way to the trunk of the Impala, his gaze cast across to the younger Winchester who'd been flicking through the assorted tapes. Castiel watched in a curious manner at the way Sam's brows came to knit together before gently setting the machetes in the trunk.
"Hey, Dean? Were you aware that we had a camera amongst all these tapes?" He inquired, a large hand holding up the device; it was aged, a little scratched and decorated with several nicks, but still operable by any standards. A smile was elicited from Dean, a hand extended.
"Throw it here, I'll hang onto it; toss all those tapes on the backseat." He told his little brother, digits flexing towards himself in a gesture that he was to hand it over. He complied easily, chucking it across to the other as though it held no sentimental value; thankfully, he caught it expertly, no damage done to the camera itself. Castiel could never appear to understand the lack of care humans took, particularly the Winchester brothers; weapons were handled as though they were their pride and joy, but mundane objects such as the one found? Not quite.
"You got the route sorted out for us, Cas?" Called Dean, thoughtfully appraising the camera; it had seen better days, he came to conclude. It was worth holding onto regardless. The angel gave a nod that went unseen by the older Winchester, the trunk gripped and shut; there was no exerted force to the action unlike most would do to the trunk of a car, particularly as Castiel understood the value of the Impala to the Winchesters; he was unwilling to be responsible for any form of damage.
"I have." He confirmed. "Dean, there's- somewhere I'd like us to stop off, seeing as we're passing through California for this job."
"Oh?" An arch of a brow, curiosity lacing the green of Dean's eyes. "Show me on the map, Cas, lemme see." He requested, to which the angel returned to the map upon the hood of the Impala, Dean strolling across to it. The older Winchester watched as Castiel scanned the map once more before directing an index finger; not far from Highway 12, north of Corolla.
"Carova beach." Castiel declared, punctuating his confirmation with the slight inclination of his head. He understood the sense of puzzlement, the glances exchanged between Dean and Sam; what was so special about a beach?
"Uh," A hesitation from the older Winchester. "Care to explain, buddy?"
"Yeah, we're uh… we're a little lost on this one, Cas." Sam supplied, scratching the back of his head.
The angel glanced between them, the briefest of amusement in ocean eyes; seldom did such expression appear within Castiel, such a moment rare indeed. Eyes wandered back down to the map, digits stretching along the coordinates thoughtfully.
"It is secluded, very few properly know of its existence; I thought it would perhaps be pleasant to stop there a while. It has… been a long time since I have been there." He mused softly, his expression becoming distant, vacant. The silence between them was a warring faction of sovereignty as to whether or not it would be comfortable or uncomfortable. It was Dean that broke the silence.
"Sure,"
The angel immediately cast his gaze to Dean, quietly surprised that he had agreed. He blinked, his head slightly cocked to the right, expectant of a further response. A smile came from Dean, one of which gradually broke into a grin.
"Sure, we could do with a little break, what the hell." Shoulders were shrugged, a nod came from Sam; the two appeared to agree on the matter. A slight smile upturned Castiel's lips in his satisfaction, offering the two one final, wayward glance before heading to the back door of the Impala.
"I call shotgun! Sam, that means you're driving." Dean commented briefly, a hand tugging at the shotgun door's handle; his little brother rolled his eyes at this but chose against any complaints. Instead he took to the driver's seat as told; each door was shut one after another once everyone was in. With the keys in the ignition, Sam's gaze flicked to his brother as he gripped the back of the seat to twist himself around.
"'Ay, Cas, see if you can find any Black Sabbath amongst that lot." He told him, gesturing with an index and middle finger in a slight circular motion as he spoke. The angel nodded, his vessel's hands gently scattering the various tapes about the backseat; it took a minute or so of brief concentration until he was successful, a hand extended to Dean with the tape. The older Winchester smiled appreciatively, reaching out to grasp it. It was a gentle motion, Dean's fingers brushing against Castiel's unintentionally as he took it from him, Castiel's form evidently tensing with uncertainty, a feeling of warmth; the same happened in the other male.
Ignoring it, Dean shook his head and slipped the tape into the port, curious hands returning to the camera he'd set aside on the dashboard to keep the map flat. His head nodded lightly in tune to Black Sabbath; how pleasant it was again to hear them.
"Uh, I thought the driver picks the music?" Sam interrupted, albeit awkwardly. His big brother glanced across, brow slightly furrowed at his little brother's questioning.
"Well in this instance, shotgun picks the music, driver shuts his cakehole." He retorted, however childishly it may have seemed. The younger Winchester simply rolled his eyes yet again with an exasperated sigh, hands gripping the wheel.
"Whatever, Dean." He huffed, though it was hardly in a nonchalant manner.
"What, you gonna sulk about it?" Dean teased playfully, to which his little brother responded with a glare. He said nothing, refusing to be provoked any further by the older brother and chose to focus on driving. He glanced over the dashboard to check the route on the map, confirming his understanding with a nod.
"Carova beach it is." He commented, putting his foot down on the peddle, the Impala screeching off to a start down the road.
All the while, Castiel remained quiet in the backseat; a small smile refused to leave his rugged features. To simply watch the two interact was a genuine pleasure to him, as it was to travel with them.
To him, they were family.