Yeah, I guess. When I got here. I mean, I was hurt before I got here too, but that was just...the face thing. [ He gestures to the not-so-subtle bruise over his cheekbone, his eye swollen half-shut. ] Ribs are new. Woke up with one of those MedBots patching me up.
[ Jesse explains with a shrug, then watches Castiel descend the ditch to the van. His eyes narrow as he sees him press both hands against the rear of it and his mouth falls open when the van actually starts to move. Not slide. Not tip. Move. Inch by slow, grinding inch, like it’s being convinced against its better judgment. And all trench coat guy’s doing is pushing. No winch, no hydraulic lift, no dramatic grunt of effort. Just steady pressure and impossible strength from someone who looks more like a librarian than a bodybuilder. Jesse stares for a second too long. Blinks once. Then lets out a short, incredulous breath that barely qualifies as a laugh. ]
What the hell?
[ It’s not hostile. It's more stunned than anything. Jesse’s shoes sink into the gravel as he steps toward the edge of the ditch, watching the van crawl up through the mud like it’s being coaxed back to life. He doesn’t know how the hell this guy’s doing it, and honestly, at this point, he’s not sure he cares. It’s working, and that’s what matters. Still, there’s a lingering tension in his shoulders, the kind that never really leaves. The kind that says he’s used to people having an angle. People don't do nice shit for him for free, not where he's from. He crosses his arms, one hand rubbing absently over his ribs where the bandage tightens with every breath. ]
Okay, man, I’ll bite. What’s your deal? You some kind of roadside superhero or just freakishly strong for fun?
no subject
[ Jesse explains with a shrug, then watches Castiel descend the ditch to the van. His eyes narrow as he sees him press both hands against the rear of it and his mouth falls open when the van actually starts to move. Not slide. Not tip. Move. Inch by slow, grinding inch, like it’s being convinced against its better judgment. And all trench coat guy’s doing is pushing. No winch, no hydraulic lift, no dramatic grunt of effort. Just steady pressure and impossible strength from someone who looks more like a librarian than a bodybuilder. Jesse stares for a second too long. Blinks once. Then lets out a short, incredulous breath that barely qualifies as a laugh. ]
What the hell?
[ It’s not hostile. It's more stunned than anything. Jesse’s shoes sink into the gravel as he steps toward the edge of the ditch, watching the van crawl up through the mud like it’s being coaxed back to life. He doesn’t know how the hell this guy’s doing it, and honestly, at this point, he’s not sure he cares. It’s working, and that’s what matters. Still, there’s a lingering tension in his shoulders, the kind that never really leaves. The kind that says he’s used to people having an angle. People don't do nice shit for him for free, not where he's from. He crosses his arms, one hand rubbing absently over his ribs where the bandage tightens with every breath. ]
Okay, man, I’ll bite. What’s your deal? You some kind of roadside superhero or just freakishly strong for fun?