From The Very Beginning

Part of Your World

"A... Spaghetti Western?" Cas held a questioning expression, piercing eyes staring straight through the windshield from his placement in the back seat. "Italy is a part of the Western world, but I do not understand how Spaghetti would apply to human media," Media being the apt word. Cas had been using it lately for its umbrella effect over all types. Dean often spoke of references that the angel did not quite understand and it seemed at times that asking questions could either go positively or negatively, all dependent on how the trio handled their emotions on the particular day.

Dean sighed, absentmindedly rubbing a few fingers over the stubble that had collected on his chin. Although he had been speaking only seconds prior his focus was now lost, sauntered onto the thought of how he hadn't shaved that morning. Soon the stubble would grow itchy and he'd be scratching at it like a madman with rabies. The awkward in-between of clean-shaven, true stubble, and a beard.

"It's a type of movie or genre, Cas. I don't know. I just like them," Not that he had any idea what he was talking about. He just knew a few of them and that they were classified with the signifier. "Cowboys, horses, guns..." He prompted as if the angel should know what he was talking about without extrapolating further. Sometimes he didn't mind teaching, other times he found the describing too much of a hassle considering the purpose of the conversation - which was just to keep them from falling into an uncomfortable silence.

Alice sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed and chin resting on her propped-up palm as the fields and trees wisped past them. The drive had been long and nearly unnecessarily conversational. All the boring stuff that filled their extra time when there was nothing else to talk about. Cas had come along for the ride while Sam hung back at Bobby's to give them intel and research. The separation had come as a surprise to her considering his eagerness to get back on the roar priorly, but she assumed that he simply needed a bit of time to himself. The Leviathans hadn't exactly been easy foes and therefore, the five of them were worn down.

Dick Roman loomed, though not present - his darkness fell over them, dragging them below the surface of the water that they were constantly wading through.

Scarred fingertips flipped a page, eyes taking in the familiar text of 'The Little Mermaid'. Hans Christian Andersen's eloquence and darkened themes never ceased to disappoint. These days lounging with a best friend of literature had faded. There was never the time, never the ability to focus on such mundane things. They had so much to do and little time to perform and truly, it was a performance, wasn't it?

But a mermaid has no tears,

and therefore she suffers so much more.

She laughed and danced with the thought of death in her heart.

Never had she danced so beautifully; the sharp knives cut her feet, but she did not feel it,

for the pain in her heart was far greater.

Inwardly the passage tugged at distant heartstrings. Those simple beautiful feelings of when she had been young, dumb, and broke with her found family had faded. Sure they still had moments of lighthearted clarity but they had become few and far between. The Western discussion could have been one but Allie was far away, reading every word as if her soul had been placed on a notepad and ingested, consumed and then regurgitated in a way that sounded much more beautiful than it really was.

Love stories typically held a formula. Maybe a meet-cute, or some sort of magic to unite people. The protagonists pined for a while, then those big grand gestures of romance. All of the happy ones hit specific marks to alleviate common pain associated with love. Providing hope, and instilling a feeling of acceptance from another could be possible. Didn't everyone want that? She wanted that.