venatoris | open post.

[ Castiel's wings may be as distant as phantom limbs at the moment, but when Dean confirms his assertion and agrees, unbelievably, to more intimacy at some future time, Castiel feels the same weightlessness and invisible tug of his grace that he feels when flying. If only his body weren't so very heavy and his wings so very far away, he would have vanished on the spot, hoping only to reappear in Dean periphery at that later point with no time gone by for him at all. Wouldn't that be nice? It's a lovely thought that Castiel continues to entertain while he lays back against the seat.

He's expecting the car to jostle, the motor to start. He's startled instead when Dean leaves his vision from the backseat only to return a few moments later with an armful of bedding. Castiel tries to protest, but the pillow is already shoved behind his head, the blankets wrapped around him, and it reminds him that he stole that bottle of lubricant from the pharmacy days ago and never returned it, a memory that his him flushing warmer even as Dean leans over him, so he doesn't have the strength of will to complain.

It's a nice feeling, anyway, being cared for and made comfortable by Dean. The holy oil was its own reward; there's no reason for this kindness other than Dean's caring nature, and Castiel feels both unworthy and blessed by Dean's radiance. Dean pauses to look at him then, and their eyes meet, and Castiel gives in to his earlier temptation, brings his hands to Dean's jaw and pulls him down low enough to kiss his mouth sweetly and devoutly, like sipping wine from the chalice as he receives the Eucharist. ]

Thank you, Dean.

[ For millennia, Castiel has followed the orders of his superiors in the service of the Lord. He's spoken to prophets and listened to holy men preach about God's love in dozens of languages, but he's never felt God's presence so profoundly as he does in moments like these, bathed in the warmth of Dean's affection. ]

[ Dean had been going back and forth on if he should kiss Cas after everything they did together - their relationship is now, at this point, sort of an undefinable thing, and he isn't sure where they stand with one another. Dean isn't stupid enough to think any of them will survive the apocalypse, there is no happily ever after for them. He's battling decades worth of internalized homophobia with the want to simply say fuck it, I deserve this, if this is the end, why not take this one thing?

It's a hard line for Dean to smudge, and step over. He's been lying to himself for years about things he wants, and not just sexually. He's told himself since he was young that this was his life, he doesn't deserve anything else, this is what he's good at, what he does. He's told himself he doesn't want that apple-pie life, that he doesn't need a house in the suburbs or a cabin on a lake.

Dean doesn't deserve serenity or peace.

But the kiss, the way Cas' hands are so reverent on his skin, the brush of lips, the promise and meaning behind it, all the unspoken things loud and clear in his head... it makes his heart twist with longing. Dean can't help but lean in, press his palm against the seat so he doesn't crush Cas and hurt him more. He wants deeper kisses, to devour Cas and breathe him in, consume his soul. ]

[ Dean and Sam have led difficult lives. They've been manipulated by angels and demons since before they were born, and Castiel always believed that it was for a purpose, that Dean was destined to be a martyr for a holy cause, and that such a life was the noblest kind of existence a human could hope for.

He was wrong. Dean is so much more than a vessel of heavenly design. He defies expectation at every turn. He is quintessentially human; he suffers, he struggles, and he continues to live, not for himself, but for others. He's a leader of men. An inspiration to those wise enough to follow. Dean doesn't deserve peace in Heaven. He deserves peace now, on Earth.

Castiel only wishes he could give that to him. Even with his grace, all he can do is aid Dean in this war for the preservation of humankind, and hope that better days lie ahead, after it's ended. It's likely he won't survive it, but Dean and Sam will. If they don't, then humanity truly is lost, and Castiel won't allow all of humankind to be destroyed after only having just discovered the wonder of it. He lives now, not as a servant of God, but of mankind. Of Dean. If the only reward he gets for it is a painful death (again), and Dean's affection, then it will have been worth it.

Dean kisses him back with longing, and Castiel can't breathe. His chest aches. It's wonderful. He tilts his head and opens his mouth to inhale, just for a moment, before he presses his mouth to Dean's and slides his tongue against his lip, depending the kiss. It's even better than the first time. There's no distracting separation between body and grace, only the warmth of Dean's skin under his hands and the wet of Dean's mouth against his tongue. Castiel moans and leans into it, arching up towards Dean for more contact, more of Dean.

Something beneath his ribs that had knit together rips back open, and Castiel immediately regrets the action as his vision whites and he makes a startled, pained sound in the back of his throat. He falls back against the pillow, shivering, and his hands drop from Dean's cheeks to clutch at his shoulders. This painful interruption feels like karma for his abandonment of Heaven and all his misdeeds. He hates it. ]

[ Cas gives Dean more peace than he realizes - friendship, camaraderie. Someone to talk to outside of his brother, that he's working to trust again. Sam is currently...difficult for Dean to be around. He's working on it, he is, but it's tough to look at him and know that he picked a demon over his own blood.

It's a process.

Dean is not thinking about his brother right now, though. He's thinking about pink lips, Cas' sweet tongue, the taste of him on Dean's mouth, the pretty moan he makes, how he moves under Dean--

And consequently rips his wound open, sending Dean yanking himself back, horrified by what he's done. ]

Shit, I'm sorry! Sorry, Cas, fuck! Hold on, lemme go get the kit, you're oozing again--

[ Dammit, Dean! ]

[ This is not at all what Castiel was hoping for when he'd decided to kiss Dean just now. The pain is, well, painful. It sharp and intense for the lack of his grace, but worse is the guilt he feels for ruining what was meant to be a peaceful moment for Dean. Hearing Dean blame himself only twists the knife, and Castiel attempts to protest. ]

No, I... It's alright.

[ It's not actually alright. It's incredibly painful, as much as it had been when the wound was fresh, but it won't kill him, or it would have already done it. ]

I'll be alright.

[ There, that's more accurate, though it doesn't help his hands to stop shaking. He presses them both to cover the bandage, put pressure on it as he'd seen humans do for centuries, and lets his head fall back to the pillow again. "And we indeed are suffering justly, for we are receiving due requital for what we have done." ]

Are you sure? This looks bad, man.

[ He's seen Cas come back from the dead, he's seen the angel get knocked around but this...

This scares Dean. This seems serious. It's got his heart rate up, worry gnawing at his belly. ]

Just wait here. Let me go get that kit outta the trunk.

[ Without waiting for Cas to stop him, he pulls himself from hovering over the angel and goes to rummage around in the trunk. There's a few more bandages, but they'll definitely need to restock pretty soon, especially if this wound doesn't start behaving itself - and if Dean doesn't start behaving himself.

It was just a kiss. That's all he'd wanted. An indulgence, some sweetness.

But it's back to damnation and hellfire raining down, isn't it. ]

[ What Castiel would prefer is to pass out and for Dean to drive them to wherever Sam is, so that they can continue doing what they need to in order to prevent the fall of mankind. Caring for his superficial wounds is a waste of time when his grace will regenerate and his body will heal without wasting human supplies. ...Hopefully. Castiel isn't entirely sure that will happen, but he's also not sure what he would do if his grace doesn't return. He's avoiding thinking about it for now. It's much easier to focus on the very real threat of the apocalypse, and on helping Dean rather than helping himself.

Dean is gone too quickly for him to argue, though. With a sigh that hurts more than it helps, Castiel closes his eyes while Dean is gone and tries to feel for his residual grace. He concentrates on that essence of himself, at the familiar electric crackle of it, however dim, and he thinks of building it back up like fanning a flame. It's impossible for him to say if it's truly working or not, but it distracts from the pain while he waits for Dean to arrive with a fresh bandage for the leaking wound in his side, still throbbing beneath the hard press of his hands. ]

[ No arguing with Dean on a mission. He's terrified, the worry deep in his bones. He hurries, popping the trunk and snatching the kit out of his still open duffle.

He takes a moment to breathe, in and out, calm himself down. The terror and fear of the last few days had ebbed when Cas appeared, only to double down with the injury. It gnaws on him; worry, fear and guilt, hurts his soul. ]

Okay. [ Dean announces himself as he returns, holding it up and giving it a little shake. ] We're in business. Move your hands.

[ Let Dean do this, regardless if it's needed or not. He can't...he can't be useless. Let him help. ]

[ Castiel's eyes open again at the sound of Dean's voice, and he cranes his head forward, though he stays lying down this time. Moving is the enemy. Stillness helps. When Dean asks him to move his hands, Castiel frowns, and hesitates, but reluctantly lifts them away. There's blood on one of his hands again, having leaked through the bandage. A pink line has dripped slowly down his side, adding to the blood stains on his shirt. His grace had better heal soon. This is the only shirt he owns, and he doesn't know any other way to clean and mend it. ]

My grace will heal me. This is a waste of your supplies.

[ Though he argues, there's no bite to it with as helplessly breathless as the words are. Aside from the few hours of rest he had in Dean's bed, Castiel has been fighting for a long time. Days. He's very tired. Too tired to fight Dean with any effort, especially when Dean is only offering him a wealth of kindness. ]

Cas. [ Dean says, gently, firmly, exasperatedly; ]

Shut up.

[ Because grace isn't cutting it, and they're on their third bandage.

Dean carefully, gently, cleans it again, alcohol wipes, disinfectant, antibiotic cream. He works quietly, taping Cas back up, wadding up the old bandage to throw out. ]

You keep saying your grace is gonna heal you, but this isn't getting any better, Cas. You shouldn't still be bleedin' like this.

[ Being told to shut up doesn't bother Castiel as Dean is often needlessly abrasive. Being told he's wrong about his own grace does bother him, though, and Castiel glares at Dean while Dean cleans the wound in his side again. Castiel's expression must be somewhere between anger and a pout, but he isn't thinking at all about what his face must look like. Why should he? This isn't his true form, he is his grace, and his grace will revitalize itself and this body. To believe otherwise is to accept that he's lost his identity as an angel, and he's already lost so much. His home, his ties to Heaven, his belief in God, the brethren he's killed... ]

It will heal me.

[ Castiel's hands fist petulantly at his sides, and he stares up at the Impala's ceiling as he feels in its full intensity the throb of pain in his side, the coolness of the alcohol on his skin, and the warmth of Dean's hands. He wants Dean to lie with him in this nest of motel blanket that smells like the gently floral shampoo in Dean's hair, encased in metal and leather of the place Dean calls home. He wants to forget that he's injured, forget that he's lost most of his grace, and forget that there is a war between angels and the end of the world to prevent. But he can't forget any of it, any more than he can forget the taste of Dean's mouth on his lips. Once Dean's taped the clean bandage to his skin, Castiel pulls Dean's hands away, careful to make his grip firm in order to mask any remaining shaking of them. ]

I only need to rest. And you need to drive.

Okay, okay.

[ Sassy, sassy. He holds a hand up in defeat, shaking his head. He won't press the issue, but there's physical evidence there's something wrong, that Cas isn't healing like he should be. All Dean knows to do is patch him up like he would his brother.

With a little more care, though.

Dean's used to slapping Sam back together and running right back into a fight - or vice versa. With Cas, he's more careful, gentle. Soft and sweet, the hands of a lover as opposed to a soldier.

He's struck with the fantastic notion to just run, take those hands Cas has wrapped around his, pulling them away from the bandages, and run.

As far away as they can get. Cancun. Alaska. Another planet. Anywhere but here, any place but this.

He wets his lips, presses them together as he watches Cas, gripping his hands just as tightly. ]

Ever wanna just...not do what you need to?

[ Dean may be right, but the potential loss of his grace is a sensitive issue to Castiel, and he's grateful when Dean backs down. His hands covering Dean's relax slightly, and he's surprised to find Dean still holding on tightly. He lifts his eyes to look at Dean as he considers his answer to the question, and more importantly, why Dean is asking it. ]

Often. And until recently, I've done what I was ordered to do, anyway. Usually to your detriment.

[ Of course Castiel feels the need for rebellion. Even before he'd sided with Dean and humanity, he'd questioned the orders he was given. To release Sam into Lilith's clutches and break the final seal on Lucifer's cage. To recruit Dean to torture information out of Alistair. To threaten the leveling of a city as a test of Dean's convictions.

Dean knows all of that (or most of it). That's not why he's asking. It's easy enough to read Dean's doubt there in his beautifully expressive eyes. Castiel looks down at their joined hands again as he considers their options. He slides his fingers over Dean's, links them together. ]

You said Sam that had a partner, Rufus. He's in contact with Bobby as well. If you believe they're not in immediate need of your help, it may be more conducive to the recovery of my grace if I were to rest somewhere... peaceful. A cabin in a forest, for example. Somewhere near a lake.

[ He almost laughs, because yes - Cas has occasionally been a pain in his ass. Cas comes through, though. He comes through when Dean needs him to. ]

Yeah, well. You make up for it.

[ He doesn't know Cas let Sam out - not yet. Admittedly it will piss Dean off, but what's done is done and in the end, there's nothing that Dean can do about it now except try to fix what got fucked up best he can, somehow.

And maybe...sneak a reward for himself in the process, in the form of whatever this...thing is developing between them. ]

Yeah, Rufus is with him. It's a standard monster hunt. No Lucifer, no demon, just a baddie that needs to be iced. [ Sam is more than capable, and since it isn't a demon, Dean isn't overly worried about the blood thing. ]

I'm sure I can find a place like that.

[ Because holy shit that sounds...really nice. He'll squeeze Cas' hands before letting go, pulling back and out of the car so he can shut the door and call his brother, explain a little more about what's going on - Cas isn't healing like he should, he needs to go somewhere and recover and Dean feels like he should watch over him, cause you know him, Sammy, he's as bad as us, thinks he's invincible or something when right now, he isn't.

Sam will just laugh, and Dean can practically hear him shake his head and he feels good, better about this, because Sam laughs and he's safe and it's okay. They're talking. They're good. It's fine.

Sam updates Dean about the case, too - it's just a vengeful spirit, it turns out. Nothing world ending, for once. Just the stuff they used to hunt, ages ago. He tells Dean to be careful, to stay under the angel radar as much as he can - the brands on their ribs protect them but he isn't sure about Cas, if Zachariah can track him or what.

We'll be fine, I'm gonna take him somewhere quiet. When you're done with that, get your ass back to Bobby's and you call me, you understand?

I hear you, Dean.

He hangs up, because the Winchesters really just don't have any phone etiquette, and slides into the drivers seat, resting his hands on the impala. He has an idea about where to go, a secluded place he's sort of half assed researched before in his free time, if just because he liked the idea of it. It isn't all that far from here, a few hours drive at most. A quick survey of a map puts the route in his head, and he folds it up before glancing over his shoulder. ]

You okay back there, Cas? Hangin' in?

[ There won't ever be enough "making up" for the things Castiel's done in his life, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth trying. The holy oil was what he thought would benefit Dean and his cause most dramatically, but perhaps he was overlooking a more important, more human, thing Dean needs. Some rest and time away from his responsibilities may rejuvenate Dean in ways Castiel has seen before.

Castiel can only just barely make out Dean's voice through the door as he talks on his phone, but the conversation sounds lighthearted. That's good. As long as Dean and Sam remain on good terms, maybe it doesn't matter that there's distance between them. Castiel isn't entirely sure how that works. The relationship with his brothers and sisters is nothing like Dean and Sam's and never was.

The bleeding seems to have stopped, so Castiel chances careful slow movements. He pulls the blanket back up over his chest and curls his head under his arm so that he can see Dean's profile in the rearview mirror. The pain isn't gone, but it's dulled back to a quiet throbbing warmth. ]

Yes, the bedding is very comfortable. Thank you.

[ His eyelids threaten to fall shut, heavy with exhaustion, but he keeps them opened, watching Dean's reflection with interest and quiet concern. ]

How is Sam?

[ He smiles a little to himself, wrapping his fingers around the wheel with one hand as he cranks the car with the other, engine roaring to life. ]

Glad to hear it. [ A quick glance in the rearview has him meeting Cas' eyes, and this time he does smile, reassuring. ]

Sam's fine. It's just a pissed off spirit. Rufus is good backup - they'll be fine. Once they're finished, he'll go back to Bobby's and lay low for a while.

[ It's the best scenario Dean can come up with right now - especially with Cas being hurt like he is, and between the brothers and their dueling savior complexes, it's the only compromise he can think of. ]

You should get some rest, Cas. I'll wake you when we get there.

[ Most of Castiel's decisions, he questions. He was created to follow orders, and though that came with its own sense of guilt, ultimately, the responsibility lay elsewhere. Even following Dean's example gives him comfort in that the decisions aren't wholly his own. When he's forced into a situation where he needs to think for himself, then things become more difficult, and when things end badly, as they had on his last excursion, the regret is cavernous. This decision, though, already has Dean smiling at him, and no matter what comes of it, whether his grace recovers or not, or whether Sam overpowers Bobby as he's done before in pursuit of Lucifer, he won't regret the decision to take Dean somewhere he'll enjoy and see him happy, however fleeting. Dean deserves that much.

Castiel nods and lets his heavy eyelids fall closed, even before he answers. ]

That's good to hear. Wake me sooner if the need arises.

[ He's very tired, exhausted enough that as soon as his eyes are closed, his breathing begins to even out and his thoughts start to wander. Still, if Dean needs him before the trip is over, he wants to be awake for it. He may not be of any use in a fight or similar distress, but if Dean is lonely and needs company on the drive, at least that's something he could provide. Castiel realized at some point that as much as he takes pride in being a resource at Dean's (and humanity's) disposal, he doesn't just want to be that. He takes pride in being Dean's friend just as much, and he'd considered that something of a selfish desire before now. Now, he thinks that Dean might need a friend even more than an angel, at least until the dissonance with his brother is resolved. ]

[ As much as Dean does get bored in the car alone, he doesn't wake Cas. He checks on him from time to time in the rearview, watching him sleep, making sure he's breathing, but beyond that Dean won't wake him. Cas needs the rest to heal, cause...well.

That's what humans do, isn't it.

Jeez, that's a terrifying thought. Cas actually asleep, like the rest of humanity...

It worries Dean. A lot.

He exhales long and slow through his nose, checks his phone every so often. Sam's keeping him updated, but he's still...stressed. He's stressed about everything. About his brother, about his Back to the Future trip, about confrontations with Zachariah, about the wounded angel in his backseat...

Fucks sake. It's far too much for someone to handle, but he is doing the best he can with the cards he's been dealt. And right now, he's driving them to an isolated cabin he knows of, somewhere a few hours out. The silence is boring, but it gives him time to take a few breaths and calm down.

He only stops once for gas and more bandages, a few snacks and a quick pee, but Cas doesn't budge, which concerns Dean until he sees the angels chest rising and falling.

Eventually, he'll pull up the drive into the cabin; it's pretty out there, no neighbors in sight. It's all solar, off grid. No wifi, but there's a tower just close enough to provide cell reception. Situated on a serene lake, it's a little mountain oasis - precisely the kind of thing he's always craved.

Gently, when he's parked, he'll shake Cas awake. ]

Cas. We're here.

[ Sleeping is a strange sort of practice, but it's not all that different from meditation, a practice with which Castiel is very familiar. Dreaming, however, is an entirely new experience, and Castiel doesn't like it. The dream of Dean's which he'd entered was peaceful, serene, but he understands not all dreams are like that. He's not sure what the difference is, though. What decides whether one has a good dream or a bad one? He'll have to ask Dean at some point. He'd like to dream less of Heaven in the future and more of the lakes and forest cabins of Earth.

The memory of his dreams of Heaven and all their terror fades almost instantly once Dean's hand is on his shoulder, rousing him. Castiel's eyes blink open, and he lifts his head. The wound in his stomach is barely an itch, and so he sits up almost immediately without thinking about it. Luckily, it only tugs and doesn't tear. Castiel barely grimaces, his attention divided instead between Dean there in front of him and the view of forest through the Impala's windows. ]

How was the drive?

[ He should've asked how long they'd be in the car before they'd left, out of concern for Dean, but he was exhausted. It's not a very good excuse, but now that he's feeling recovered somewhat, he searches Dean's face for signs of wear. ]

Move slow, Cas, you're still hurt.

[ Angels. Always thinking they're invincible. Tsk. ]

Not bad. Quiet. You snore, though.

[ He leans in, offers a hand. Dean is smiling at his little joke (but Cas does snore, just a little bit), but he looks weary - physically and mentally. There are circles under red rimmed eyes, lids a little puffy.

He's fine, though. Just needs an hour nap at some point and he'll be good as new. ]

[ The advice to move with caution doesn't stop Castiel from sitting up quickly, but the comment about snoring has him going completely still. His head tilts and he squints are Dean, trying to discern meaning from the tone of Dean's voice and what little Castiel knows about human anatomy. Does snoring mean he's unhealthy? Should he be embarrassed about the behavior? It's the interruption to Dean's quiet that has him mentioning it, Castiel finally decides. He has no idea if Dean is joking, but better to err on the side of caution. ]

My apologies.

[ Dean looks as if he could use rest himself, so Castiel makes a note to mention it once they're inside. He unravels himself from the blanket, leaving it abandoned in the car as he takes Dean's hand, grateful for the assistance up out of the seat. Before he's even completely standing, he's looking around. It's not the view he'd pictured, likely because the lake is on the other side of the cabin and trees. Already, though, the view is peaceful. The road they must've driven down is empty now. There are insect noises and birdsong, and other than Dean himself and the cabin in front of them, no sign of human life anywhere. This is perfect, Castiel decides instantly. If Dean is going to get the rest he needs anywhere, it will be here. ]

This is lovely. Where are we?

Nah, don't apologize. It was so...angelic. [ He grins, flashing Cas a little wink as he helps him out of the car, muscling up under his shoulder, arm around his waist. ]

Somewhere in Indiana. [ He thinks. ] I saw this place in a picture once, when I was a kid. I cut it out of a magazine, and later, when the internet came around, I finally found out where it was. The owners used to go away a lot, it was just some old retired couple. Their kids own it now, they never come here, so they just rent it out. They live somewhere in the suburbs of Indianapolis. This is too 'rustic'.

[ But Dean likes it. It has charm. He could never afford this on his own, but...

A splurge. Or maybe an illegal stay, who's to say. ]

[ The first joke might have gone over Castiel's head, but this one is much more transparent. Not a health issue, then. He levies Dean an unimpressed stare, though it likely loses some of its bite by the flush of his cheeks, as Castiel is almost as embarrassed by the joke as he is made warm by that smile and that wink. Dean is absolutely incorrigible, and Castiel is deeply in love.

The story paints a vivid picture, and Castiel is far more interested in Dean reminiscing about his childhood and his dreams of this place than of its physical location. He watches Dean as Dean explains his relation to this place and where the owners are, and then Castiel gives his attention back to the forest and the cabin in front of them. ]

Isn't it strange that an angel could feel more connection to nature than some humans, when we're so much further apart from it.

[ Castiel's true form doesn't even exist in the same dimension as the physical forms the Earth has birthed. It's a shame to think that some people might not appreciate the beauty they're connected to when it's right here at their fingertips. Without waiting for Dean, he wanders towards the cabin and begins taking the stairs. He'd like to see the lake on the other side. More urgently, he'd like to see the bathroom. Being nearly human is incredibly inconvenient. ]

[ He still has that picture somewhere, stashed in the impala. It's a pipe dream of an old mans life. A fishing pier, a quiet lake. A small canoe, maybe. Things Dean know he will never have for himself, experiencing them only fleetingly or in dreams. ]

Uh huh. [ He watches Cas wander off, brow raised because Cas is definitely making a beeline towards something, and when Dean realizes what he's doing he chuckles to himself. ]

Oh, now he understands the need to be a little human.

[ The memory of that night spent with Dean more intimately than he's ever been with anyone else, fleeting though it was, is precious enough to him that he will be grateful for it forever, even if he never experiences another private night like that one with Dean again. Sometimes, experiencing things fleetingly is experience enough.

Except urinating. Castiel could have gone his entire existence without experiencing the pressure of a full bladder, however fleeting this experience is. ]

I'm not human. And I'm far from "little."

[ Castiel reminds Dean tersely, the idyllic picture of private time spent with Dean at a lakeside cabin ruined by the embarrassingly human requirements of his grace-deprived body. He tries the doorknob at the top of the steps, and miraculously it opens. Castiel doesn't waste time in taking in the furnishings. He finds the nearest bathroom, and manages to relieve himself, wash his hands, and drink from the sink all with relative ease. The mirror proves a distraction, though. Most of the blood had been cleaned away by Dean the day prior, but his knuckles and cheek remain bruised. His side aches slightly, but the bandage is clean, and even though his shirt is ripped and bloodstained, Castiel gives in to the urge to button it back up, anyway. With the tie, his blazer and jacket in place, it almost disguises the terrible condition his shirt is in. He doesn't want to worry about his clothing right now, or the hollow pain of his stomach. There will be time for that later, once Dean is settled.

Castiel leaves the bathroom and wanders the cabin at a more leisurely pace as he takes in the "rustic" decor, the clean-smelling furniture, and the many appliances during his search for Dean. It's much cleaner and larger than the motels Dean and Sam usually stay in. It feels like someone's home. He can imagine Dean living here. If he allows his imagination to wander dangerously far, he can imagine living here himself, with Dean. ]

Dean?

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okay but that's a nice cabin???? now i want a vacay there

lmfao right??? dean has taste

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