#laundry.

Dean washes his hands in the little sink next to the washer, then he turns to the dryer and opens it. There are clothes in there, and he takes them out, piles them on top of the washer. He pulls an empty laundry basket up to the top of the dryer, and starts to fold them, mostly on reflex. He realizes that it’s Eileen’s load when he finds himself holding a bra, and he chucks it into the basket a bit awkwardly, but continues. 

The laundry room door opens, and Dean and Sam both scream. 

“Why are you naked!”

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“Why would you be naked in here!”

Dean drops his hand from where it was covering his nips and puts his hands on his hips. He’s wearing boxers and they spent over half their lives in the same motel room, so it’s not like Sammy hasn’t seen worse.

“My clothes got muddy,” Dean says. Sam doesn’t lower the hand over his eyes.

“And why didn’t you change in your bedroom?”

“I didn’t wanna track mud all over the place, jesus.”

“Okay. Whatever.” Sam drops his full basket of dirty laundry in the room. “I’ll just do this later.”

“Hey, take this,” Dean says, thrusting the basket of Eileen’s clothes at him, and Sam lowers the hand over his eyes to catch it. 

“You didn’t have to fold her clothes,” Sam says, amused. 

“Whatever, bitch,” Dean says. “Get outta here.”

He flaps his hands at him and Sam backs out. Dean kicks Sam’s laundry basket toward the little sink he’d washed his hands in. He considers hopping on top of the dryer to wait, like he’s 24 and alone, between cases and hoping nobody in the laundromat would notice the bloodstains on his clothes, but he’s not 24 and alone anymore. He lines up his muddy boots next to Jack’s sneakers, and he leans against the softly-rumbling washer and wishes he had his phone.

The door opens again. Cas steps inside, smiling softly. 

“There you are,” he says. “Sorry I took so long, Jack was very resistant to the idea of a bath.”

“There’s no way you had time to wash him in the fifteen minutes I was waiting,” Dean says. 

“Well, Eileen is helping him dry off,” Cas says, and Dean smiles at him. Cas takes the dead guy robe from where it’s slung over his shoulder. “I thought you’d want to shower before you got dressed.”

“I love you,” Dean says, taking the robe, and Cas beams at him before stepping into his space, taking the robe’s ties to make a bow across Dean’s waist. When he’s done, he looks up at Dean. 

“You’re staring at me,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t stop. 

“Yeah, I am,” he says, and he kisses him. He breaks away, though, when Cas’ hands seem to be thinking about wandering toward his hair. “Dude. Muddy hair.”

“I don’t care,” Cas says. Dean kisses him again. 

“I do, though,” he says, and when Cas pouts Dean pulls open the door. “Let me shower and then we can pick up where we left off, ‘kay?”

“Fine,” Cas says, sighing, and Dean grins at him before he saunteers off. 

After his shower, he returns to the laundry room, now in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and moves the previously-muddy load from the washer to the dryer. He puts Sam’s dirty laundry into the wash, and starts the washer and dryer at the same time for no real reason other than that he wants to. 

Little footprints give a muffled pitter-patter against the concrete, and Dean turns. Jack’s hair is sticking up and he’s wearing footie pajamas, and when he lifts his arms Dean scoops him right up. 

“Deeeeeee,” Jack says. “Daddy said it’s time for a movie and we’ve been waiting forever.”