It certainly wasn't a hill covered in wildflowers on a warm summer morning.
The sun was not shining upon them in soft adoration.
It was night. Not even a pretty night. Low, dreary clouds were grumbling in the atmosphere, dismissing any hope of stargazing.
Although, Castiel believed he could just make out the glow of Sirius from where he was sitting, held securely against Sam's chest.
The hill was covered in mud. It painted Sam's jeans and Castiel's coat in spontaneous splotches - company for the grass stains that were already there.
Castiel had wondered for a moment if the ground below them was even solid enough to be considered ground, and he was pretty sure they were sliding a few inches down the hill every so often.
There was no sweet perfume of flowers, only the muted scent of blood in the air.
It had been a successful hunt; the monster was dead, and they were alive and filthy and sweaty, relaxing on a muddy hill, no stars to keep them company, listening and watching for the impending storm that was about to soak them through to their bones.
It wasn't a hill covered in wildflowers on a warm summer morning.
But with Sam's soul shining upon him in soft adoration, it made no difference to Castiel.
