I don't own Supernatural. Wish I did. Enjoy!
Dean walked into the bathroom and threw off his shirt, gazing into the mirror at the handprint shape on his shoulder. He wondered when it would disappear, shuddering at the angel's words.
Did Castiel seriously have to say "gripped you tight" when they met? Couldn't he just have been like, "I'm the one who raised you from perdition." But no, he also gripped him tight. Dean remembered some name-forgotten-women who certainly liked to do just that, but with that male angel, it wasn't nice to think about at all.
The Winchester also wondered why there was only one handprint. When taking somebody out of hell, you'd think they'd use two hands. Dean shrugged, kicking off his shoes, socks, and jeans. He turned the knob in the shower, letting the water run so it would heat up. When it was sufficient, he pulled up on the lever, turning the steady stream into a shower. He hastily took off his boxers and hopped in, pulling the shower curtain across.
It was after Dean washed his hair and scrubbed his face and arms and chest before looking down further...
"SONUVABITCH!"
Dean confronted the angel several days later, finally having the nerve to ask just what happened exactly. He couldn't look at those intense blue eyes directly, instead looking at the floor. "Dude, did you know there's a handprint on my...?"
The deep-throated reply was: "My hand slipped."
