Cas is standing in the doorway, somehow framed like every creepy doorway shot from every horror movie Dean’s ever seen, the baseball cap still pulled low over his brow.
Dean is suddenly, acutely aware of the figure he cuts: sprawled across red silk sheets, petting the bed like he’s filming an ad for designer cologne. He drags himself up onto one elbow, props his chin in one hand, and tries to salvage what little dignity he has left.
“What,” he says. “You gonna fight me for it?”Cas steps farther into the room, enough into the light for Dean to catch the faint curve of his smile.“You know I don’t sleep,” Cas says. “But I remember what it was like to need it, and that does look… appealing.”
Dean snorts. He’s suddenly, stupidly glad Cas has terrible taste in almost everything—television, junk food, people. The room is one step removed from a romance novel cover, complete with silk sheets and emergency rose petals, and Cas doesn’t seem remotely put off by any of it.
Wahhhhh
Going going gone - by shallowseeker
