A/N: Well, I haven’t written in forever and this ins’t really anything, but… baby steps right? Anyway, this ficlet is based off of true events. Though not my own, unfortunately.
“Do
you like my shoes?”
Castiel
looks down to find a girl - maybe four or five years old, eyes bright green,
and hair hanging around her shoulders in soft, strawberry curls - blinking up
at him.
The
question seems fairly trivial, but then again there isn’t much excitement to be
found waiting in line at the grocery store, so Castiel appeases her. He looks
down at her shoes, mint, plastic looking numbers with cat heads just over the
toes. “They’re very nice,” he replies.
“They’re
Mini Melissa’s.” She tells him with a proud sort of delight. “My unca
Sammy got ‘em for me.”
“That
was nice of him.”
The
girl nods. “They’re recycable.”
“Oh
my,” Castiel says. “Those are quite the shoes.”
The
girl bites at her bottom lip, hiding a pleased smile. She falls silent, but her
eyes remain on Castiel. “Do you like my dress?” She questions after a
beat.
Before
Castiel can respond the man just in front of him turns and winces a smile at
him. “Sorry.” He says. “Sometimes she’s too friendly for her own
good.”
The
man is, in a word, beautiful. Eyes just like the girls but a bit more muted,
having seen more life than she has. There are freckles speckled across the
bridge of his nose and cheekbones, and his presence is warm.
“She’s
not bothering me.” Castiel assures the man - presumably the girl’s father.
He looks back down at the girl and her dress. “It’s very nice.”
Castiel tells her.
Her
smile is bright, grateful, and the man offers Castiel a thankful nod before
turning his back again and moving his cart forward in line.
“My
dad is very nice. Do you like him?”
A
flush creeps up Castiel’s neck. The girl is staring up at him, waiting for an
answer, eyes wide and innocent. He opens his mouth to say something, but the
man turns around again, cheeks pink and brows pulled into a nervous vee.
“Oh my God, Chevy,” he hisses. His
eyes flick to Castiel’s, then away, then back again. “I’m sorry.” He
says again. “She’s just- I- Sorry.” The man reaches down and takes
the girl’s - Chevy’s - hand in his and pulls her gently away from Castiel and
towards the register where the cashier is now waiting for him.
Chevy
offers Castiel a glance over the man’s shoulder as he hefts her into the cart,
and then the man is paying, and maneuvering his cart out of the store. Castiel
watches him go, barely listening to what the cashier has to say.
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