Author's Note: Hi! *waves* My old friend inspiration is back. Hopefully it'll stick around for a while.
Flamingo Pink
They're in the Impala, doing over sixty. Dean drives, two cups of coffee into the night. Sam is in the passenger seat, silently watching lights go by—maybe because he's had no coffee. Castiel keeps quiet in the back seat, and in the absence of anything more productive to do, rummages through Dean's bag.
He has pulled out a tie, a dog-eared notebook, and a pale blue shirt before Dean notices what he's doing. "Personal space, dude," he reminds Castiel, but he's tired and it sounds flat.
"Sorry," Castiel says, starts to pack the bag again. He sees a flash of something bright pink as they pass by another light. He picks up the pen, studies it—it has fluffy feathers stuck to the barrel, and a yellow beak. He shakes it; the googly eyes wobble from side to side.
The movement catches Dean's eye in the rear-view mirror. His cheeks instantly colour. "Dude, come on," he whines.
At his tone, Sam rouses from his doze and twists round in his seat. He snorts. "Aww, I didn't think you'd keep it, Dean," he says mockingly.
"Where did it come from?" Castiel asks because such a pen looks very out of place in the Impala.
Sam jumps in before Dean can say anything. "I sneaked it into the pocket of his Fed suit when he wasn't looking. We were talking to this woman and—" he pauses to laugh loudly, and Dean thumps him on the arm, "—and she asked Dean for a pen. I made sure that was all he had!" Sam can't speak any more, he's laughing so hard. "...Isn't that great?" he manages when his laughter starts to die down.
"No," Dean grumps with a glare that could shatter the windscreen. "She was really hot."
Castiel smiles.
THE END