I am sorry if I've killed your feels with the past few uploads. I killed mine too. T-T Here's some happy.
When he first sees his room, it's a shock. It's simple and plain, but it's obviously been cleaned and straightened. Hooks have been mounted into his wall, and on two of them rests a shelf, and on that is a case that has Enochian lettering on it. Sword. It's for his sword. He can imagine Dean cursing as he chipped away at the wood, taking special care to use a wood stain marker to make it look nice.
And it does, Cas supposes. It looks nice.
The bed is neatly made, or at least as much as the Winchester boys can manage. The sheets are pale white, the pillows are abundantly fluffy, and the frame itself is solid and simple. On either side of the headboard, there are nightstands, as sturdy as the bed. One of the walls features a simple coat hanger and a photo. It's not so much one of his regrets, that photo, as an embarrassment. He'd been drunk—Dean had made absolute sure of that. He'd been singing in Enochian, loud enough to raise the dead from their graves. Sam had been the most sober, but still nearly tripped as they pulled stupid faces towards the camera.
He smiles at the photo as he turns to survey the rest of the room.
They've left the rest of it up to him. He turns around in a circle once, bright blue eyes catching a piece of paper on his night stand. The scraggly writing on it is obviously Dean's.
If you zap in or out of the bunker I'm putting wards on it so you can't get in at all. This is our home now, Cas, and you're gonna walk in the front door.
Oops. He's broken that rule already. There's no one home, so he finds his way out into the library. He can imagine the boys—his friends—sitting around the table, talking about a case or just drinking. He pulls out a chair and sits rather stiffly, glancing around the table. He relaxes when he finds John's journal, skimming through until he finds where he left off.
Maybe it's minutes later or maybe it's hours, but the door eventually opens, Sam blinking a few times in shock as he sees the angel at their table, totally immersed in the journal. What he'd been saying falls away from his lips, and as Dean steps in, he loses his words too. Cas glances up at them, without a real expression. "Hello."
It's silent for just a moment, and Dean suddenly finds himself grinning. "Well, damn, Cas. Can't you pick up a phone?"
The brothers pick back up on their conversation, Sam ruffling up the angel's hair as they pass by him to get a book out of the very back of the library. "We roll back out in fifteen. Coming?"
"Yeah," says Cas.
He's smiling.