#lookit.

@fallenangelwings || casual yet intimate interactions || accepting!

[ TUCK ] sender finds receiver asleep somewhere and puts a blanket or their own coat over them | @fallenangelwings

2:53 a.m.

dean's rarely asleep when the clock's nearing 3:00am. these are prime time hunting hours. spooks and crawlies? tend to have a serious liking for the shittiest hours when you're trying to keep a normal schedule. plus side, he figures? he hasn't known a normal day since he was a kid. before kindergarten. makes it convenient for both hunter and hunted. well. less convenient for the hunted. seeing as how the one that kept him up well after this current, UNGODLY time for the past three days? is now a dull smolder lost in the dark and lonely forest miles away from where he pulled down the long, winding length of an abandoned (judging by all the weeds, lack of care and animals that stared at the impala as it drove by like it was the most mind-boggling thing they'd ever seen) service road for the night to catch some sleep.

daytime warmth through the windshield turned into nighttime chill that crept in through every vent, against every pane of glass. dean only seemed to notice in his sleep. curled up the way he was on a leather seat that's long since memorized the shape of him--memory foam can only wish--and welcomes the nights where they can spent the whole evening. safe. together. protected from the world by steel doors and a gun.

exhaustion must've put him deep. the hunter barely doesn't move when the trenchcoat's draped over his form. no jerking up with a gun locked and loaded and ready to fire. no howls from being started out of a nightmare. no sudden feeling like he just fell back into his body from the surface of the sun. only shift he makes is to pull it tighter around him, curl up inside it and bury his nose against the seat.

dean sleeps like that for another two hours before instinct wakes him up. time to check his surroundings. make sure he's safe. make sure no cops've found him. silhouette illuminated by the silver-blue moonlight cas sits in the front passenger seat. seems to know he's awake before dean's fully there. tired eyes blink then stare straight ahead til he notices. there's a coat hugging him tight and he's warm when he should be cold. how long's he been out? how long's castiel been here? guy has a serious thing for watching people sleep, eh?? dean keeps those questions in. presses the inside of his wrist to the hollow of his eye instead.

Bex was utterly confused after the succubus stomped out like an angry child, muttering to herself. She shrugged, and returned to finishing up a red velvet cake she had finally finished baking.

Garnet, on he other hand, snickered to herself, using her discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from her face as she barked orders to the soldiers standing in neat rows in the sunlight. The general, because of the heat, had discarded nearly everything she wore, aside from the thinner linen and bandages used to bind her chest and the loose dark pants she so often wore. Her tattoos and dark skin was exposed, much like her soldiers, and she watched with a keen eye as she lit a cigarette and took a healthy drag.