Dean loved sunshine.
Not in a wimpy way, he thought as he and Sammy clambered free from the latest rickety house they had battled in. Sunrise had dawned just a bit earlier, and although it shone weakly, Dean loved it.
He had a manly appreciation of sunlight. He wasn't going to go spin around in a sun-drenched field of flowers, singing while his jacket full of guns and rock salt flew out around him. This image made him snort a little, and Sam looked up at him.
"What are you laughing at?"
Dean grinned. "Nothing." He could appreciate sunshine quietly.
Even as he helps Sam stem the gouge across his forehead and then tries to bind his own possibly sprained, probably ("Son-of-a-bitch!") broken wrist, the sunlight keeps him from scowling too fiercely. They were alive, and Dean couldn't help thinking like he was four again, that anything evil wouldn't dare touch them in the light of day. Of course, he knew better than that, but as they set out cruising in the Impala to their next destination, he couldn't help but believe in it.
The sunlight was weak across their faces, but to Dean it felt better than holy water.
A/N: This has been stuck in my head for a while now, ever since I started getting back into the world of Supernatural. Thanks for reading! :)