They stopped in Joliet, Illinois and really, they probably could have made it all the way to Davenport or even Cedar Rapids, but Dean was tired of driving. It was an almost blasphemous feeling, but it had been a rough week and his right leg hurt. He could take all the pills he wanted, but it was important to keep a certain balance between stabbing leg pain and the blissful, medicated cloud. So he pulled over in front of a flickering pink neon sign that read 'Eden Roc- vacancy', and with an Angel riding shotgun, it seemed about right… also he could see a dusty bar parking lot on the corner. Dean liked bars, and bars within walking distance were even better.
He left Cas sleeping in the car and went into the front desk. If the check-in counter was any indication, this place was shady as fuck, but Dean had been in worse. "Hello?" He called to the empty little closet of a room that had stained carpets, little tilted mountains of dated magazines, and cigarette burns on the pox marred counter. A squirrely looking man emerged through a back door, balding and about two-hundred pounds overweight, his eyes the color of muddy water were magnified behind the lenses of his crooked glasses.
"What d'ya want?" He looked at Dean like he was some sort of leper instead of a possible paying customer.
"A room." He didn't bother with a smile, but he tried not to sound annoyed either. "Two queens."
"Only have kings." But he was already getting out the registry book and turning it for Dean. "Fifty bucks a night."
Dean tossed down two twenties and a ten, signing his name 'Robert Plant' and grabbing the keys from the strangely sweaty man. He tapped on the window of the Mustang, startling Castiel awake. "Come on, princess." He smiled and watched the Angel pull himself from the car, blinking sleepily into the fading sunlight. "We get our bags in the room and then more burgers in you."
"I like this plan." He confirmed softly, stretching his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough that Dean couldn't help but watch.
"Yeah…" He shook his himself and grabbed his duffle from the trunk, then turned and walked down the little line of rooms. They all looked the same, with tiny windows facing the street and brown doors that didn't look painted so much as just never cleaned. He picked the room with faded door numbers matching the little fob on his keys and let himself in. It was somehow worse than he had imagined. Still shady as fuck, dubious stains on the carpet and duvet- the duvet of the one, single bed. He made a point not to look at the Angel and he tossed his bag down, rummaging through it and pulling out a canister of salt. He laid a white line on the window sill and another against what almost passed as a window in the little cubicle of a bathroom. As far as he knew there were no demons in the area, but he had been wrong before.
Better safe than sorry.
"This place is… interesting." Cas said almost like he was trying not to offend Dean.
"I've stayed in worse." He looked sideways at the lone bed again and felt a little frown starting between his eyes. It was a problem he could face later, it would keep. The one, mocking bed wasn't going anywhere. "Come on, dinner." He checked to make sure his gun was secure at the small of his back, knife in his boot and wallet in his pocket.
"Burgers and catsup?" Castiel's eyes lit up at the prospect.
"You bet your boots."
Dean swallowed another pill while they walked to the corner. Bars didn't always serve real food, but the pervasive stink of grease was heavy in the air like an oily cloud and where there were fryers there were burgers.
It was a bit of a dive, a shoebox of a building, rough and unattractive, utilitarian in purpose. But it looked cleaner than the motel, so Dean was not going to complain about the aesthetics of it. There was a long, tall bar, a scattering of seven tables and an old pool table in the corner, its green felt all but worn away. It wasn't anything fancy, but the burgers tasted like manna from heaven. Even still, Dean spent more time watching Cas eating than actually touching his own food. The Angel was so caught up in his burger that the room could have been on fire and he would not have noticed. It meant that Dean really could stare all he wanted without repercussions.
It was voyeurism at its best.
It took almost five minutes for Dean to realize what he was doing. Watching a man slowly eating, repeatedly licking his lips and fingers. It was thick with- what would Sam call it- 'homoerotic subtext'? Yeah, Dean was eyeballs deep in subtext. He forcibly refocused on his own dinner not wanting to analyze what was wrong with him. It was probably just the pills.
Castiel sighed low, just a thick rumble that verged on a groan. It ran up Dean's spine like wildfire, leaving him feeling raw.
Yeah, he would be blaming the pills.
There was a cute little blonde at the bar, she was a little too old and a little too curvy for the sheath of a dress she had poured herself into, but her face was sweet and Dean never discriminated against chicks with soft lines. She was smiling at him over the top of some red, fruity drink. All lidded eyes and dark mascara. Dean smiled back, like a knee jerk reaction, something he didn't even get a choice in, his body acting on impulse and muscle memory. She winked, her glittery, teal eye shadow sparkling in the dim bar light.
Dean chuckled softly into his food. His face was still bruised, stitches white against his hair line, and the ladies were still sniffing around.
Castiel had perked up from the afterglow of his meal, his burger gone and his supply of fries all but depleted, his eyes slightly focused in on Dean and the lady straddling the bar.
"Do you know her?"
"Nah, never seen her before." He took the last bite of his burger, smiling around the food at the way Cas was watching him.
"She seems nice… happy."
"She's alone in a bar on a Tuesday night."
"And that means?" He tilted his head quizzically, at a loss as to the finer points of human behavior.
"Happy girls don't dress like that and sit alone." The Angel did not look as if he understood. "Desperate." Dean proclaimed wisely. "She's not happy, she's hopeful."
"Hopeful of what?"
He rolled his eyes. "Getting a ride home." He tried to steal one of Cas' fries and was rewarded with a glair so heavy that he let the little wedge of potato fall back to the plate.
The Angel's face softened and he relaxed now that his last few fries were no longer in danger. "Oh. I hope she finds one. She should not be walking in shoes like those."
"Damn right." Dean agreed, trying not to smile. He took a swig of beer and stood. "I'm gunna hit the head." He sighed. "I've got to take a piss." He clarified and saw the perplexed expression on the Angel. "Just stay here- an don't talk to strangers." He called over his shoulder, only half joking. Castiel really was a space case, in the most incorrigible, endearing sort of way, and because of that, Dean wouldn't put it past him to get taken home with strangers, buy timeshares in Florida or join a cult, if left alone for too long without supervision.
The curvaceous blonde met him in the little hallway that held a beaten old payphone and the doorway to the lone bathroom. She smiled at him, a little shy and hesitant, but bolstered by the liquid courage of alcohol.
"Hey there." Her voice was high, honey sweet and just this side of becoming annoying.
"Hey." And Dean was smiling again without his permission. It wasn't that he had anything against her, but he hadn't slipped to the back to meet up with her or anything like that either.
"Haven't seen you round here before." And she had a bit of a drawl that spoke of coming from somewhere much further south.
"Just passing through with my brother." He winced inwardly, but kept it from his face. He hadn't meant to say it- it was just the normal line he had given a million times while traveling with Sam. Cas could pass as his brother… he guessed? But she didn't seem to question the fact and took a little step closer.
"You leavin' town tonight?" She had a little pout on her cherry colored lips.
"Nope, here until morning." He smiled easily then, just falling into the familiar dance.
Apparently she took that as an invitation, because the next thing Dean knew her soft body was pressed firmly to his front, her mouth sticky against his, the taste of her drink still strong and sweet. Dean's hands found the curve of her hips, the fabric of her dress slick and pleasant. He gently detached her, licking his lips and not quite able to hold back a grin.
"Slow down there, sweetheart."
She was grinning back, her blue painted nails caught in the collar of his jacket and she walked backwards, pulling him with her, towards the bathroom. Dean marveled that she could move so gracefully in those sorts of shoes and that much booze in her. He wasn't thinking clearly, if he had been perhaps her exquisite coordination would have rung a few bells. But he was pushing her against the inside of the door, hand fumbling at the lock, mouth occupied with her hungry and eager lips. Her hands were working at his belt and it was quite alright with him. She was giggling, and ok, maybe her voice was a bit annoying, but the last time Dean had gotten any action was back in Vermont, sometime around a month ago. There was some saying about ports and storms that came to mind- and hey, Dean had needs.
It was all going fine, his libido taking the lead, adrenaline and pheromones heavy in the stale air, and she looked up at him with the darkest, most solid black eyes he had seen in quite some time.
"Oh hell no-" He hands were going for his gun and she had quite the grip on the straps of his belt, holding him uncomfortably in place, and his pants tight enough that his gun was digging a new bruise into his spine, but otherwise not budging.
"Relax. I'll be gentle." She blinked her eyes back to their previous pale blue, her coy smile somehow turning darker and more dangerous.
"You don't know who your messing with, bitch." His hand slipping to his jacket pocket to pull out the small silver flask he kept there.
"Don't I, Dean?" She said with a slow, teasing drawl.
He paused, the fingers of his left hand twisting open the cap.
"Imagine my surprise when I saw the Dean Winchester supping with a little baby angel. Wont daddy be pleased?"
Dean took the opportunity to throw the holy water from his flask into her pretty painted face. She screamed, letting go of him and pressing her hands over her eyes. Dean fumbled to fix his pants while struggling through the well rehearsed Latin of the exorcism Sam had made him memorize. The door was shoved open, the dinky lock not even putting up a fight and two burly trucker sorts darkened the little doorway, summoned by the cries of a 'lady' in distress.
"Help!" The little blonde was crying, her makeup running. She was a girl, her dress was riding high on her creamy thighs, her makeup smeared and the tears couldn't be falling faster.
Dean suddenly became very aware that he looked a lot like the bad guy. He put his hands up, getting ready to explain, but the two big neck-less men did not seem in the mood to hear his side of the story. He got a punch to the gut and it nearly toppled him, all his air rushing out in a painful gasp. It hurt like hell, but Dean was getting used to it.
He was used to brawling; it was second nature, like salting and burning corpses, or necking in the backseat of a car, or hustling pool. He recovered from the sucker punch, jamming his elbow into the face of the dude on the left, bloodying his nose. The second guy got a clean left hook to the jaw and it was enough to distract them long enough to squeeze between the two men and out into the hall.
Castiel was still sitting at the table where he had been left, holding what was most likely an appletini (or at least that is what Dean thought the toxic green drink was called) and he was no longer alone.
She was the sort of girl that the hunter always knew to stay away from. She had long dark hair that hung over the collar of her black jacket and her leather pants were tight, her boots were scuffed, heavy combat issue. She didn't have too much makeup, not needing it for the oval face that was more handsome than conventionally beautiful. She was the sort of woman who rode motorcycles, had interesting tattoos and liked to top during sex that bordered on illegal. She was hot, but she was trouble. She was a predator, and she had found the perfect sort of prey in the little Angel.
"Cas, we need to go." He was grabbing at the other man.
"Dean, this is Charlotte." He said in such a polite way it was startling. Now was not the time.
"Cas, there's trouble." He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two men he had punched coming out of the hall, murder in their eyes. "Fuck me."
"No need to rush it, we've got all night." Charlotte said with a heat in her voice that made Dean feel almost gooey, then he looked at her, and damn it all if her eyes weren't sleek demon black too.
Dean really wished that he had come prepared for demons. But he was out of holy water and his gun would do little more than annoy them and possibly get him arrested if he survived. The two big bruisers from the bathroom found him, grabbing him from behind.
At least they were human.
Small mercies.
He figured he was on his own against the men and all he could do was keep his footing and hope that the demons didn't decide to jump in. If he didn't have a couple broken ribs he would have been doing better, but the men were roughly twice his size, and two against one had never made for a fair fight. Especially not when a Winchester was involved. He fought like his dad had taught him, hit 'em fast and hit 'em hard.
They never stood a chance.
He threw the second man off, panting slightly, his shoulder aching where it felt like he pulled something.
The tussle had taken roughly half a minute and it was just enough time for other bar patrons to take up interest and come over with the intention of intervening. By the time that the first man Dean had felled was coming back to his feet he found himself surrounded by people. He came to his feet swinging and the next thing Dean knew they had a full out bar brawl on their hands.
Dean turned to Cas, wanting to drag him away from the demon Charlotte, but he was too late. Castiel had the woman on her knees beside the table, his hands on her face and she was weeping openly as the sick black cloud boiled past her lips. The bar was dim, bedlam was tearing through the small crowd and luckily no one noticed the exorcism. Cas let go of the woman, letting her gently down beneath the table. He turned to Dean, looking surprisingly fierce.
"Dean-" his lips formed the familiar syllable, but it was inaudible in the chaos.
Dean shook his head, trying to grab the Angel and get out before the little blonde demon came out of the bathroom. Castiel pulled free, pushing Dean to the side and punching the man behind him with a solid blow.
It slowed Dean down for a moment and he stood idly while he watched the seemingly delicate Angel punch out another man before turning back to him, his mouth pulled tight and his eyebrows low. "Can we order more fries before we leave?"
"Hell no." He grabbed Cas' forearm and pulled him from the bar, running round to the back of the building and dashing through the litter strewn alleys towards their motel. They slammed into the room, Dean hastily laying a line of salt at the base of the door. He dropped the canister and slumped against the wall, struggling to recover, eyes fixed and unblinking. His heart continued to try and pound its way out of his chest, pumping feverish blood around his body, his breath stuttering its way out in staccato puffs.
Castiel was pacing, but the room was not large and five steps brought him back right in front of Dean. His eyes were bright and agitated, little blossoms of red coloring his usually pale cheeks. "She was a demon."
"No shit."
"She bought me a drink!" The Angel was standing closer than Dean usually let any man stand, his little brother included. He was fuming, anger making his thin frame tremble. He was strangely cute when he was angry.
"It's cuz you're so cute." He bit his tongue. He had not intended for that to come out, but the Angel did not seem to take notice, or if he did it did not give him pause.
"She had her hands on me-"
"She what?"
"She was this close." And the Angel managed to lean in even more, his chest brushing against Dean with each sharp inhale. "Breathing on me." He felt a need to demonstrate that too, bringing their faces within an inch of each other.
"Breathing?" His mouth was dry.
"And I never noticed."
"Never?" His blood was singing through him, hammering in his ears. Cas smelt better than normal, his warm earthy smell had been enhanced by the bitter tang of booze, apples and hamburgers. Dean felt himself swaying into the warmth of the other man. There was not enough blood in his brain to not lean closer.
"She was a demon, Dean. She touched me. She made me dirty and I never even knew what she was." The anger was boiling away and his shoulders sagged. He leaned fully against Dean, pushing him into the wall and sighing like he was breathing out all the troubles of the world. "Is it acceptable for humans to touch each other when feeling distressed?"
"Yeah." They were still just a breath apart, all he had to do was tilt his head a fraction and rock forward. But then they would be kissing. Dean would be kissing a boy- er, a man- an Angel. An Angel who had already mentioned a disdain for kissing- and Dean- Dean had never had any sexual thoughts that could be construed as anything other than HETEROsexual. Except once, when he was nineteen and he had an extraordinarily erotic dream about the Impala turning into a woman- but that didn't really count, it was more auto-erotic than anything else. It didn't count against him. His sudden barrage of filthy thoughts involving an Angel did however count.
"Yeah." And his voice was wrecked, showing much more of his inner struggle than his body did… he hoped "It's fine, Cas."
And the Angel went almost limp, his head falling heavy on Dean's shoulder, all the fight gone right out of him.
Dean had no idea what to do with his hands. He wasn't good at this touchy feely shit, but at least the angel wasn't crying. Dean really would have been lost if there were tears. He carefully put his arms around the other man, awkwardly patting his lower back and just letting him stay there, warm and very solid against him.
"I feel so dirty." His voice was muffled against Dean's shoulder.
"Go get a shower." It had been long enough since running from the bar. They were probably safely hidden away in the sleazy motel. "You'll feel better."
The Angel looked up, not separating their bodies even a hair. "Will I?"
"Definitely." And Dean was at risk of leaning again, of bridging that gap and seeing if the other man tasted anything like he smelled. He let his head knock softly against the door, eyes finding the ceiling and he gently detached the Angel from around his middle. "Go ahead; I'll keep a look out."
Castiel nodded solemnly, just trusting Dean as he always had, turning away and vanishing into the little bathroom.
Leaving behind Dean Winchester, captain of his own soul, even if his pants were attempting to stage a mutiny.
There was a mirror on the ceiling he noted distantly.
A fucking mirror.
Dean pushed his hands through his hair and felt something close to a frustrated sob building in the back of his throat. He took the little pill bottle from his pocket and buried it in the bottom of his duffle. He sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning his gun and listening to the drumming of the shower.
It was sort of zenful, just cleaning and not thinking about the naked man on the other side of the wall. Because really? Now that they were no longer pressed against the wall and Dean's body had a chance to calm down, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. He had a crush on an Angel? No- no way. He was a straight as they came. So incredibly, irreversibly straight.
The shower turned off. "Dean?" Castiel's low voice carried surprisingly well through the door. Very thin walls.
"Yeah?" He set the gun on the little table beside the bed.
"My clothes smell like her. I don't want to put them back on… also the towels are very scratchy."
Dean felt himself smiling. He got off the bed and dug in his bag, looking for something for Cas to wear. The only jeans had a rip up the leg and bloodstains on the knees- he had been meaning to fix or burn them at some point. They would be stopping at a thrift store the next day before going on to Sioux Falls. He passed a handful of clothes through the cracked bathroom door and flipped on the tv, admiring the static that ran in horizontal lines over the commercial for chips. He sat back on the edge of the bed and made a point not to look at the door.
Cas came out of the steaming room in a cloud of condensation, his legs looking particularly long and pale in contrast to the boxers.
Dean's boxers.
Navy blue and luckily long enough to be seen from under the t-shirt that hung from his thin shoulders.
Dean looked hard at the tv, harder than he had ever looked at one before. "You can have the bed." He nodded slightly over his shoulder, silently reminding himself of how unspeakably straight he was. Whatever was in his pills that was playing havoc with his body would eventually wear off and he could stop freaking out.
Castiel pulled back the blankets, crawling in and sighing softly. "Where will you sleep, Dean?"
Somehow words failed him. Where would he sleep? He could just stay awake… maybe sleep out in the car- but with demons lurking around maybe that was a bad idea.
"There is enough room for you too."
Dean risked a look over his shoulder and felt something warm settle between his ribs. Cas had settled down beneath the blankets, pulling them up almost to his nose, peeking out at Dean with his intense gaze.
He was on the verge of arguing. He had so many reasons as to why that was a bad plan. But they all paled in the face of the fact that this would probably be the only night that they would have alone together. Not that Dean was planning to take advantage of that in any deviously carnal way. It was the only chance he would have to indulge himself in just being close to the other man without someone there giving him the stink eye and judging him.
It didn't have to be gay.
He kicked off his boots, leaving his jeans on. He flicked the tv off, then the yellow tinted light, fumbling with the bed covers and pulling them back in the darkness. He lay down, taking his pillow and settling it between them for safety.
"You're good at fighting." Cas' voice was extra soft in the dark.
"Thanks." He said with a questioning lit. "You're… good at casting our demons."
"They do not like being touched by Angels… even former ones." He shifted, the bed sinking slightly.
Dean could understand that. He had very mixed feeling on the subject himself.
"I used to be able to do it with a word, I did not have to touch them." He sighed again. "Now I cannot even sense when they are sitting beside me."
"I can't either." Dean offered. He lost track of how many times a demon got the drop on him.
"But you're a human." The Angel explained gently. "You're numb from the hair down."
"Hey-"
"Please don't be offended. It is simply part of being you."
"Gee, thanks, Cas. That's only mildly insulting."
"I like that part of you." He assured softly. "But I like it as part of you, not part of me."
"You handled yourself pretty well tonight, even without any Angel mojo going for you."
"Thank you." He reached across the pillow of safety, his fingers brushing along Dean's bicep. "Your skin is cold." And without being asked, he pulled the blankets up over Dean. "Sleep well."
Despite the instruction, Dean slept badly. Every little shift of the Angel reminded him of how close they were. For years of his childhood, Dean had shared a motel bed with Sam, sleeping inches apart while their dad had the other bed. It had never been a big deal, why would it?
But this was different.
Worlds different.
He passed the border between wakefulness and dreamless sleep sometime around dawn.
When he woke he was engulfed in a quiet sort of warmth, like sunlight on a spring day, settling down into his bones, masking every ache and pain that he had grown accustomed to. It was such a solidly good feeling, engulfing and peaceful and wholly unfamiliar. It took Dean a while to put a name to it.
He felt… safe.
He remained still, listening to his own steady breaths and the soft thrumming of a heat beat that may or may not have been his own. He turned his face reluctantly, opening his eyes enough that he should have been able to see if how much sunlight was filtering into the room. All he got was an eye full of blurring, liquid shadow.
He was wrapped up in Castiel's wings.
He looked the other way and there was the Angel's chest. Dean was being held against the Angel and when he realized that, he became aware of the arms around him as well as the unspeakable softness of the dark feathers.
Cas was still sleeping, Dean was sure of it. Last night had been possibly his only night to just relax around the other man and ignore those social rules that the Angel did not seem to know anyways.
Likewise, this was his only morning to do the same.
He pulled an arm around Cas, pushing his face into the softly sloping ribs and just letting himself relax. Sam never needed to know.
Maybe Sam already did. He was keeping Gabe and it was quite possible that he had found himself cocooned in the safety of a full body Angel hug.
Dean would never ask.
It wasn't his business, just as his very manly cuddle was none of Sam's business.
And damn it, if this was the only time that Dean planned to allow himself to be this relaxed and uninhibited, he would make the most of it. He slid his hands up the Angel's back, feeling the subtle ripple of his spine and the soft bow of his shoulder blades where his wings grew. He touched the arching curve of bone, feeling the short feathers bending beneath his fingers and snapping back into place. He let his fingers explore, marveling at how much the giant things had healed up in the week and a half since he had crash landed on Dean's car. They were smooth as silk, the new feathers growing back in noticeable patches of oddly short feathers. Those patches were by no means unpleasant.
A man could become addicted to a touch like this, smooth but pliant and oh so silky. He did not just feel the feathers against his skin. It was like the sensation reverberated down the nerves, sliding into his spine, slipping between his bones and joints and taking up permanent residence.
Cas made a soft, aborted sound in the back of his throat, shifting, one of his legs sliding between Dean's knees. His back arched up into Dean's hands, a plaintive whine being dragged out of him.
Dean stopped dead, his hands fluttering somewhere lower, safer and less pleasant to touch. "You awake, Cas?"
He was rewarded with another strange sound, the heavy black wings shifting and splaying wide, letting in shards of early afternoon sunlight. The Angel flopped onto his back, eyes wide and on the verge of panic. Dean could see him sprawled out in the mirror over head.
"I can see myself." Castiel whispered hoarsely, arms open wide, mimicking the dim mess of his wings.
"Yep." Dean pressed his hands to his face, smelling the residual Angel aroma as covertly as possible. "You've seen mirrors before, Cas.
"This is new and uncomfortable."
Dean lowered his hands in time to see the Angel sliding a hand between his own legs, tentatively touching himself. Dean was up, sitting on the farthest edge of the bed and fixing his gaze on the wall for all he was worth. "That- that happens sometimes."
"I don't like it."
And what do you say to something like that? Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and calmly explained the how toos and why fors of the awkward morning erection. He hadn't felt this particular classification of awkward since Sam was thirteen and came to Dean for advice. This was better and worse than that talk in many indescribable and unique ways. But someone needed to tell the man how to deal with these things and there was no one else at the ready.
The Angel listened with only the occasional question and Dean quickly ran out of practical advice and basic technique to pass on. The room got unbearably quiet and Dean risked a glance up at the ceiling and really wished that he hadn't.
"Cas, no!"
"No?" His voice was thready and distant.
"Never with anyone else in the room." Somehow he had missed that vital bit of wisdom. "Showers are your friend."
"What?"
"Take it into the other room and don't come out until you're done." He instructed firmly.
"And think about someone I like?" He whispered, the bed shifting as he staggered to his feet.
It was a little funny that that was one of the only bits of advice that he clung to. "Yup."
"Someone like you?"
"No." His voice broke in an interesting way.
"But… I like you." The Angel was lingering in the doorway to the bathroom, Dean could feel the gaze burrowing into the back of his head like a drill bit.
"Not me."
"Alright." He sounded resigned and closed the door behind him.
Dean rubbed his face roughly and the smell off the Angel was still there on his hands. He ran the pads of his thumbs over his lower lip, but all he could taste was his own skin.
Cas made a strangely delicious sound over the white noise of the shower and Dean was on his feet, grabbing his boots and fleeing the room, falling into the safety of the rental Mustang.
Dean stopped at a doughnut shop, got himself a bearclaw, a strong cup of coffee and swung by a Goodwill that he had seen from the freeway. He bought a few pairs of jeans, two flannels and a yellow windbreaker (because awkward man-crush aside, Dean was still an ass) for Castiel. By the time he got back to the motel the Angel was slack on the bed, sprawled out like a starfish, dressed in Dean's boxers and naught else, an uncharacteristically blissful expression on his face.
"That was better than hamburgers." He said with a soft sort of glow to his voice, for some strange reason wanting to let Dean know how it all went.
Dean tossed the bag at Cas, feeling satisfied at the soft 'wuh' that followed impact. "Get dressed and let's blow this popsicle stand."
"Popsicle?" He sat up, hardly this side of lucid.
"It's just a saying." He sighed, turning away so the Angel could pull himself into proper clothes. "Come on, we've got twelve hours of driving ahead of us and we slept in."
"Am I allowed to touch myself while in the car?"
"What?" he almost turned around, but thought better of it. "No, Cas. Just…No."
"You said not in rooms with other people. Is a car the same as a room?" He came around Dean's side, fully dressed and cute as an angelic button.
"It's exactly the same." He grabbed his bag and opened the door. "Come on, and keep your hands where I can see 'em."