The says the word flatly, but one look at his face betrays the nonchalant, unimpressed tone. Castiel's eyes now take in the flowers in an entirely different kind of light, as if they've gained a beauty most wouldn't even see.
As a child, Castiel had a bee plushie, and blue PJs with small bees buzzing around on it. He remembers the flowery fragrance hidden in the crook of his mother's neck, and how she'd call him her little bee, humming to him as if she was one herself. He'd followed the bees around the gardens, endlessly fascinated by the patterns of their flight, and never once scared of their sting.
"Thank you, Sam. You have a talent for choosing gifts..."
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The says the word flatly, but one look at his face betrays the nonchalant, unimpressed tone. Castiel's eyes now take in the flowers in an entirely different kind of light, as if they've gained a beauty most wouldn't even see.
As a child, Castiel had a bee plushie, and blue PJs with small bees buzzing around on it. He remembers the flowery fragrance hidden in the crook of his mother's neck, and how she'd call him her little bee, humming to him as if she was one herself. He'd followed the bees around the gardens, endlessly fascinated by the patterns of their flight, and never once scared of their sting.
"Thank you, Sam. You have a talent for choosing gifts..."