Dean had one arm leaning against the window frame, staring out of the cracked and filthy glass at the blurred figures moving about the camp.
So 2014 had happened anyway, despite their best intentions. The gates of Hell had shut, sure, and Sam had locked them tight with his life, but the Croatoan virus exploded out instead, like misery from Pandora's box. Where Heaven stood now was anybody's guess.
Hearing movement behind him, Dean lowered his gaze, closing his tired eyes and concentrating every inch of his other senses on the body moving. Long, lean fingers scraped the edge of his thigh, running along the edge of his holster.
"What is your deal, feather-boy?" he asked gruffly. Castiel's chuckle shook him to the core and he grinned to himself as he turned.
The brilliant blue eyes of the fallen angel looked back at him, a little blood shot, but remarkably unchanged despite the years and trials.
"I believe I may have what you would call a kink for you holster, Dean" he said. The hunter smiled and cupped his rough, stubbled jaw in his palms.
"Baby, you've got so many kinks I can't believe you can stand straight"
Castiel kissed him, matter-of-fact as ever.
"Take my word for it, Dean, there is not much left in me that's 'straight'" and he said it with those ridiculous air quotations and Dean laughed out loud, bumping his head on the window frame. He looped his arms around his angel's shoulders and pulled him tightly against him for a long hug. Castiel's hands slid around his waist and he breathed in the scent of him in the crook of his neck.