he hadn’t expected the reaction to bee anything but irritated, half-expecting the man to make an attempt to strangle him as he previously attempted during the rare moments of atlas displaying anything other than blind obedience.
amused expression shifts to one of guilt.
…
in its place, the hand which had grown intimately acquainted with the console darts outward to make good friends with the dash board to prevent his forehead from crashing into that very same spot.
his ribs ached ——— his wrist likely sprained from the action alone, ﹠ now his
“ a moment. please. ” a murmur as eyes fell shut, true to his word as a moment later the sprain has been healed. removing his touch, the angel refocused his attention to the road, taking the truck out of neutral and proceeding to drive at a normal speed for the area.
a few moments later and the truck comes to a sudden halt, atlas biting back laughter as angelic as the rest of him. he shifts slightly in order to face the man in the passenger seat, the smile remaining.
“ sorry. red light. ”
the angel found himself unable
to suppress a smile as he sped down
the road, sparing another sideways
glance john’s way. likely deemed uncharacteristic if john hadn’t experienced atlas’ sudden bouts of
impulsivity before.
…
for the grab bar on the ceiling, the motion forces his back to collide unceremoniously with his car seat whilst the one not haphazardly secured around the handle splays upon the council in an effort to brace himself.
“ what the 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 is wrong with you .ᐣ ”
so, technically, it was john’s fault for teaching him how to drive as he suddenly shifted from first to third, speeding down the road once out of parking.
this earns a scoff from the angel, expression one resembling
amusement, as if he didn’t believe the bullshit spewed from john’s mouth for a second.
he didn’t, which is why he gave little attention to the offended look upon the poor bastard’s face as he slammed the door.
…
the patriarch’s gait is a mite too purposeful on feet that feel too light to gain any purchase on ground dampened by afternoon drizzle.
an expression befitting of a disgruntled, old mutt forming on scruffy features at the insinuation.
“ i wouldn’t pray to you on my death bed. ”
he rounded the vehicle and stepped up into it, closing the door much gentler than the owner had. sticking the key into the ignition, atlas turned the engine on and buckled in, glancing sideways at john as he shifted gears — just as the man taught him to.
…
/ don’t think anyone realizes how significant it is for atlas to feel comfortable enough to be a little snarky and to be able to tease someone a little in conversation. he’s usually so… detached or coming across that way. adding some personality to him as time goes on… augh
“ that’s why i’m here. ” he replied, reaching out to open the passager door for john before the man could do so himself. a raise of his brow followed.
“ get in. or do you need my assistance
with that too.ᐣ ”
he’s seen john with it many a time now,
but as it were, it never failed to take atlas
a moment to register the scene in his head. something that warmed and pained him all at the same time.
…
his breath, controlled as though its intent were to soothe, belies not irritation but the will he lacks to carry it upon his broad shoulders in the first place.
it isn’t an unusual possession for him to have, but to see him sat with it near reminiscent is a conflict of nature.
he shows little emotion as the keys are shoved against his chest, hand just barely brushing against the winchester’s own as it took them, following him outside of the bar and to the familar black truck he has driven numerous times, now.
…