This is my first Supernatural attempt and I don't know if I was able to do these two fabulous characters due justice because I've just discovered this marvelous show. I did have a blast given it a go though.
I own nothing and make no money.
Dean turned his head and met the steady gaze of the angel sitting next to him. Sometimes it really freaked him just how empty that stare could be, but right now it held an even more disturbing look. Cas' brow was scrunched up in that weird parody of concern he sometimes took on. Yeah, Dean was pretty certain that was an even weirder look; it gave him the royal heebie jeebies.
Shrugging his shoulders in a careless manner, Dean answered, "Some, but nuthen' I can't handle."
"Perhaps you should turn the heat on in this vehicle," Castiel suggested, noting the subtle shivers that continued to rack the human's broad frame.
Patting the dash of the Impala affectionately, Dean chuckled, "My baby girl here needs a speck of rest. We've been burnen up the miles and she's starten to complain, and when mamma ain't happy… ain't nobody happy."
Castiel tilted his head to the side, and murmured slowly, "Still, it would behoove you to gather warmth. Clearly, you are in need of it."
Dean's eyebrow rose. "Behoove? Behoove?" Sighing, Dean continued as if to himself, "You gotta be kidden me." At Cas's confused demeanor, Dean added, "I mean seriously, Cas who the hell talks like that?"
"I do," Castiel stated simply. "As do all the Heavenly host, but proper vernacular is not the issue at hand. You will surely catch a terrible cold, if not worse, unless something is done."
"Well, can't you… you know," waving his hand in the air, Dean asked, "Maybe use your angel mojo to create some heat?"
"Why would I use my Grace on such a mundane task?"
"Because I'm freezen my ass off here," Dean spat out, creating a spray of white mist as proof of just how cold it had gotten while they'd sat in the car having their little convo. "Sooo… can you or what," Dean demanded, with another gesture of his hand.
"No, Dean… I cannot," Castiel answered, sounding every bit as exasperated as Dean felt.
"Y'know, Cas you can be a real dick sometimes." When Dean saw no reaction from the perpetually stoic angel, he slapped his palm on the steering wheel in frustration and declared angrily, "I'm not asken' for a bonfire here or for the flames of Hell to heat up my frozen – though spectacular – ass-ets. I just want…"
"In direct contrast to what is most often believed by you humans," Castiel interrupted, "very little heat is generated there." He went on to say in that annoyen' know-it-all type manner of his, "The flames of Hell are, in fact, cold beyond measure."
Snorting, Dean snapped back, "Dude, like I don't already know that." Flicking his thumb back at his chest he winked and with a half-smirk remarked, "Been to Hell and back. Remember?"
"Dean," Castiel spoke slowly, as if fearing the hunter might be slow-witted, "I am the one who pulled you out, so of course I remember."
"Man," Dean grumbled under his breath, while staring at the roof of the Impala "why couldn't I have gotten an angel with a sense of humor?"
Clicking his tongue, Cas replied, "We angels are not known to possess such a useless quality."
"Hey, ass-wipe," Dean leaned in Cas' direction and growled, "Don't be haten' on the humor."
A solemn silence descended and then with a frown Cas spoke again. "You're angry. Why?"
"Because Cas," Dean exclaimed harshly, "a good dose of humor has seen me through some serious shit." Leaning forward, his hazel eyes filled with angry steel, Dean pushed his point home by jabbing a finger into the angel's astonished face. "Without a good chuckle or two I'd probably be sitten next to Jack Nicholson in some padded room haven' to deal with the likes of Nurse Rachette. So, yeah… Don't be haten' on the humor!"
"Dean," Castiel asked with an earnest expression, "Are you aware that you are infringing upon my personal space?" With a slight questioning tilt to his head, he called Dean out by asking, "Is that not frowned upon?"
Realizing that Cas was right, Dean sat back abruptly. They'd been practically nose to nose and he hadn't even noticed; that's how angry he'd gotten.
Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably and muttered, "Whatever," while beginning to rub his hands together briskly to try and work up some heat. "It really sucks ass that you're not able to enjoy this fine brisk evening as much as me," Dean grumbled nastily.
And when Cas stated in that wondrous dead-pan way of his, "You don't appear to be enjoying it, Dean."
The hunter was flat-out tempted to gank the douche-bag right here and now. I mean really, who was gonna miss one weird-ass angel? Friggen dick couldn't – nah, scratch that… not couldn't… Wouldn't – even manage to work up a bit of heat to help out one rapidly developing Deansicle.
But instead of ganken' Cas on the spot, Dean settled for saying snidely, "It was a joke, dumb-ass." Pulling his jacket tighter around his half frozen torso, he muttered acidly, "This might be the one and only time I envy one of you effen mofo's." Turning his head to Cas once more, he queried with genuine curiosity, "Is it like you dudes are immune to the weather or something?"
"I am able to regulate the temperature of my vessel," Cas informed him, sounding as if it were the most normal thing possible.
But, hey… probably was normal if you were a friggen' angel and as another sharp shudder shook him, Dean was forcibly reminded that he definitely didn't fall into that 'exalted' category. Grinning, he thought to himself that he wouldn't have it any other way.
"When the weather is warm I merely lower my vessel's internal temperature," Cas droned on, even though Dean was beyond given a rat's ass. "The same applies when it is cold, but in reverse of course."
"Of course," Dean rasped out sarcastically, thinking maybe ganken' this angel idiot wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
"I could give you my coat," Castiel generously offered and then promptly took that generous offer back by stating calmly, "However; I do not think that it will be sufficient for your needs." Then, he totally threw Dean by saying nonchalantly, "It would be better if I were to share my heat with you."
Dean's entire body stiffened and it had absolutely nothing to do with the bitterly frigid weather. "Um, yeah… so not gonna happen, dude. Not a chance in ever lasten' hell," Dean exclaimed forcefully, eyes wide with apprehension. Then, realizing just how petrified he'd sounded and how utterly unmanly, he tried to save face by jokingly saying, "I mean, you're attractive and all, in a dorky, nerdish kinda way, but I'll pass."
Although is what pretty dark within the confines of his baby, Dean could clearly make out the massive confusion in Cas' startling blue eyes.
"I fail to see how my vessel's features have anything to do with keeping you warm," he exclaimed, sounding not only highly perplexed but also mighty put out.
Put out with him, no doubt, Dean thought almost gleefully. It was a right royal blast getten any sorta reaction from Cas, but it was out and out awesome when he got this sorta reaction outta him. Dean's humor died a quick death at Cas' next words putting him right back into Awkwardville and wishen he was anywhere… anywhere, (and we're talken Hell even) but here.
"Unless I were to press my face against you."
Dean let out choked cough, but the agony turned out to be far from over.
"Still, that would not heat up enough of your body to make much of a difference," Cas tacked on sounding both serious and reflective. "It would be much wiser if you were to slide over and allow me to press your body next to my own. That would allow for…"
"Stop! Stop, right now," Dean ordered gruffly, wincing slightly at the near hysteria in his voice. Taking a few deep breaths in order to calm himself, he then added with a more unruffled finesse than he actually felt, "Just quit with the whole sharen heat and pressen bodies cause it's really weirden' me out here." Slumping back against his seat as if overcome by exhaustion, (which he was, emotionally) Dean bit out, "Christ on a stick."
"You are uncomfortable with this topic of conversation," Cas ventured to ask.
Dean snorted derisively. "Chalk one up for Captain Obvious. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. So drop it, will ya?"
But, it seemed as if Cas didn't know the meaning of 'drop it' because instead of dropping it, he declared with no small amount of frustration, "I do not understand your apprehension, Dean. I am offering you assistance and yet you persist in refusing my help and to your own detriment, I might add."
And didn't that dickwad have the actual balls to sound smug about the possible outcome of refusen' his help. So maybe it'd gotten to the point where he couldn't feel his toes, or his fingers, or his nose. Did that make it okay for Cas to sound so all fired up self-righteously smug?
Dean had to remind himself that if he showed up at the motel without his passenger that Sammy'd go all girlie on him and throw a hissy-fit bound to rival that of that skank Lohan, and he was way too tired to be dealen with that crap.
"Well tough macaroons on you not understanden' cause I don't have time to explain myself to a moronic stooge."
Sighing, Cas pointed out quietly, "Dean, time is all we have at the moment."
"No, douche we don't," Dean argued. "We gotta keep our eyes peeled for any kinda, y'know… outta the ordinary shit."
From the corner of his eye, Dean watched as Cas crossed his arms over his chest and damned if he didn't look as if he was pouting. Pouting! Did angels even know how to pout? Clearly, this one did. Dean's chapped, frozen lips pulled into an elated smirk. He – Dean Winchester – had gotten an angel of the Lord to pout! How friggen' cool was that?! Then, Cas had to go and ruin his good mood by saying something both stupid and unnecessary; pretty much the standard for this particular dick of an angel.
"We've been here for over an hour, twenty three minutes and two seconds and have yet to see something out of the ordinary. That being the case, I see no reason why we can't explore the subject of your absurd aversion of accepting my assistance."
"You're not gonna let this go, are ya," Dean demanded, now totally frustrated by Cas' inability to catch a clue. "Fine… fine, but listen up, Cas cause I'm only gonna tell you this once; got it?" Staring into that expectant face was a more than a little unnerving and after a brief hesitation Dean blurted out, "Dudes don't share body heat, it just ain't done. There, I told ya. Now, let's drop it, 'kay?"
"Dean… that is an erroneous statement." Castiel paused briefly when he noted the roll of the hunter's annoyance-filled eyes. Undeterred by this, he pressed his case. "There have been many instances where men have shared body heat in order to survive perilous situations."
"That may be," Dean agreed grudgingly before pressing home his point. "Difference be'en, my survival isn't in question." Rubbing a nearly frost-bitten hand along the back of his chilled neck, he grumbled, "Though this conversation is pretty much killen me, and Jesus what I wouldn't give for a cold one right now."
Ignoring Dean's reference to alcohol, Cas asked with a frown, "What exactly is it that you object to?"
Pointedly disregarding Dean's death glare, Cas leaned closer, his face scrunched up in such a way that it would've been hilarious if wasn't so friggen intense. "I am trying to understand, Dean. Won't you help me to understand?"
There was a moment of thick, tense stillness before Dean threw his hands up in the air and bellowed, "Cause I don't wanna be mistaken for a friggen homo! There, I said it. Ya happy now?"
Dean could've just about cracked Cas in the skull when he said, with no intonation in his voice, "No, I am far from happy because obviously you are distressed." Followed by, "What's a homo?"
"Jesus," Dean rasped out, "don't you know anything?" He was well and truly fed up.
"I know a great many things," Castiel informed him with a slight air of condescension. "However, the term 'homo' is not one of them. Elaborate, please."
"Homo is when two dudes like each other," Dean explained in a rush of words.
Castiel lowered his gaze freeing Dean from those all-seeing, soul-wrenching electric blue orbs.
"So," Cas whispered slowly, "you do not wish to be homo with me?"
"Hell no," Dean agreed whole-heartedly, and then letting out a loud bark of laughter, he sputtered, "Abso-fucken-lutely not!"
Staring fixedly at the upholstery, Cas mumbled quietly, "I see." Lifting his lashes, Cas said with a trace of hurt in his voice, "But you would be homo with Sam and Bobby."
Stunned into silence, Dean just stared back at Cas in shock (jaw hanging open, eyes widened, brows so high on his forehead that they'd give Joan River's a run for their money… so, yeah basically the whole enchilada).
"Uh, wait uh… what?" Stuttering crazily, Dean shook his head until he saw stars. "No…no man, Cas you got it all wrong, dude!"
"I do," Cas questioned, the downward droop of his mouth lifting a fraction.
"Yeah, man definitely! Um… listen, homo is when two guys like each other in an um, uh… different way." Crap! He really hated doen' this, it was so not his scene. "They um, wanna be together y'know… sexually as in haven' actual sex or intercourse or whatever the hell it is you dudes u there in Heaven call it."
Dean squirmed uncomfortably on his seat cause Cas was just like sitten there… staren' at him, sayen nuthen (for a change).
"So, y'know, it's about way more than just liken someone as a friend. It's different… completely different. Me, Sammy and Bobby are – what you could call, I suppose – non-homo pals."
Cas' face cleared. "I see," he said and then asked with child-like innocence, "Is that what we are, Dean? Non-homo pals?"
Dean chuckled, relieved that this conversation was, at long last (way too long), coming to an end. Giving the angel a manly pat on the shoulder, he nodded and said with a laugh, "Sure, Cas, sure. I mean, why the hell not."
"Good," Castiel declared with a satisfied smile. "We are now non-homo pals."
"Yeah, well, listen, Cas… no need to go round broadcasten' the non-homo part; 'kay? Some people might find it offensive and the last thing we need is to be maken us anymore enemies." Quirking an eyebrow, Dean asked, "Got it?"
Cas flashed a thumbs up (clearly they were gonna have to cut him off from all those Happy Days reruns) and answered with an almost over the top cheesy grin, "Got it."
Dean was more relieved than he could possibly ever say that they were done with this generally – for normal folks anyways – 'don't ask, don't go there' topic.
Pinching the bridge of his nose Dean was wishen' like hell he could just call it a night and haul ass back to the motel and crash. Yep, sleep sounded pretty damn good right about now. But even if he did decide to leave Cas to his own devices for a bit he doubted he'd be able to catch a few Z's it be'en so damned cold and all.
Wrapping his arms around his waist and tucking his hands securely under his armpits ('kay, it sounded gross but he'd heard lots of body heat was generated there. There and the crotch and no way in hell was he gonna stick his hands there, 'specially with Cas in the car) and settled his head back into a more comfortable position. He'd give it a go anyway. Who knew? Maybe he'd get lucky and drop off and slip into a dream where he was on some nice warm beach with a couple of scantily clad chicks runnen' along the shoreline all Baywatch-style. Dean grinned. That'd be beyond awesome!
"Oh, yeah," he muttered, with a feral smile, "come to papa." As in his minds' eye he imagined Yasmine Bleeth (not Pamela Anderson; chick was way too plastic looking for his taste) was a runnen' toward him all slo-mo like. Her long, dark hair was flyen behind her as she jogged ever closer. He groaned when her wide, plump, perfectly pink lips parted in a seductive smile. And holy friggen Jesus… how hot was that red lifeguard swimsuit? Totally, awesomely, friggen hot when it came wrapped around some seriously bangen hot 'T' and 'A'!
Sighing contentedly, he let himself slide further down in his seat and licked his lips in anticipation of Yasmine's imminent and much needed and seriously anticipated mouth-to-mouth. He was happily rolling around in the sand (haven' his own personal From Here To Eternity moment) with his bo-day-licious beach babe. They were getten all hot and sweaty while grinden' sand into places that might have been uncomfortable if it hadn't been feelen' so rip-roaring, fired-up fine!
"Mmmm… you moanen' m'name baby is maken me hot."
"Dean." Shake, shake. "Dean." Shake, shake.
"Mmmm… leave m'be, Sammy… bout to get me some…"
Dean shot up swiftly simultaneously striking out with one tightly balled fist while reaching into his waistband with his other hand. Whipping out his gun he pulled back the hammer and took careful aim at whoever wasn't Sammy. He sagged in relief when he realized who had been trying to wake him. As far from Dean as the limited space would allow, sat Cas rubbing his forehead and glaring at him in a way that Dean seldom saw the angel do. Would've been crazy hysterical if he wasn't so completely and utterly and royally pissed!
"Damn you, Cas," Dean bellowed. Lowering his weapon, he continued on with his waspish tirade, "There I was haven like the best dream ever and you gotta go and butt your sorry ass in just as it was getten good!" Reaching passed a still glaring Cas – who continued to nurse a killer bruise - Dean opened the glove compartment and carefully placed the gun inside.
Holding up his index and forefinger, keeping them spread apart by mere centimeters, Dean groused, "This close, jack-off… I was this close to doen' the dirty deed with one of the hottest chicks to have ever graced the boob-tube."
"My apologies," Cas remarked, his remorse appearing to be bonafide.
Running an agitated hand through his hair, Dean replied thoroughly disgusted, "Forget it. What's the problem? We got some action across the street." Glancing out the window, Dean entreated wistfully, "Please… puh leeze, tell me we're gonna go do some major ass whoopen'."
Cas disappointed him by saying, "No, that is not the case. I was merely concerned for your welfare."
"Concerned for my welfare," Dean echoed hollowly. When Cas nodded in agreement, the hunter rasped out irately, "You're tellen' me, fer real, that you woke me up from the best, most sizzlen' wet dream in the maken that I have had in ages, just cause you were 'concerned for my welfare'?"
Not comprehending why Dean was annoyed, Cas stated, "I feared that hypothermia may be setting in as your lips were turning a slight shade of blue." Dean blinked. "Not a dark blue as of yet," Cas elaborated carelessly. "It had more of a grayish slate blue quality to it, but I did notice that the blue hue deepened mainly in the flesh at the center of your mouth... the bottom lip especially; caused, no doubt, by the fact that your bottom lip is much fuller than the upper."
Dean blinked several more times before asking mildly, "You've been staren' at my mouth?"
"While I was sleepen?"
"So," Dean drawled, "you were staren' at my mouth… while I was sleepen."
"Have I not already said so," Cas mused with a deeply furrowed brow.
"Damn, Cas," Dean exclaimed with a sickened twist to his apparently much watched mouth, "That's fucken' creepy, even for you! For how long?"
Cas' answer was immediate. "Fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds."
"No more of that, Cas," Dean declared wrathfully. "And I ain't kidden on this, not by a long shot. I'm warnen' your angel ass as of right now that I better never catch you staren' at my mouth again or I'm gonna bust yours wide open."
Cas' eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline at Dean's vehement threat.
"As you wish," was his signature simple, low-key rejoinder.
"Kay, fine… good," Dean answered, feeling much better now that his message had been delivered, received and understood. Then, noticing that Cas had something in his hand, he asked, "What the hells that?"
Holding it aloft, Cas murmured, "It is a thermos of coffee."
Dean had been pretty damn sure that having seen and experienced as much crazy shit as he had, that he was kinda beyond being shocked or taken by surprise. He had just discovered that he was way wrong on that one.
"Why the friggen hell are you just pullen' that outta your ass now," Dean roared. "I've been sufferen' for like… I don't know… hours (it seemed like it anyways) and you pull this bullshit move now?!"
"I didn't mean…"
"Shut your pie-hole," Dean all but screamed (a manly scream, not girly at all.). "Gimme that," he snapped venomously, while making a grab for the thermos.
"Careful," Cas warned, "the lid…"
Unfortunately, due to circumstances being what they were Dean wasn't paying a lick of attention to what Cas was trying to warn him of. That, coupled with the fact that the freezing cold had made Dean's fingers more than a little clumsy, the end result was kind of inevitable.
"Holy ever luven' mother fucken shit," Dean screamed (this time more like a girl, but not quite completely like one) as hot coffee poured down his front in a stream of black wetting his T-shirt clean through; cascading further south to create a steaming mini-pool between his jean clad thighs.
Cas flew across the seat as if propelled by wings, which was probably the case, and yanked Dean's jacket aside. Taking in the drenched shirt and Dean's agonized expression and garbled cries of pain, Cas grabbed two handfuls of fabric a ripped the cloth from neck to hem.
Dean shivered as the cold air hit him; his skin breaking out into a rash of goose bumps, but damn if it didn't ease the hurt a bit, not much, but a bit.
"Dean," Cas gasped, taking in the red and slightly swollen skin of his chest and abdomen. "This is bad."
Dean let out an agonized chuckle. "Gotta thank the powers that be for the gift of denim." Choking hoarsely, he forced a grin. "Otherwise the family jewels would've been roasted."
"You are referring to your genitalia," Cas inquired, as his hands gently explored the damaged areas.
Dean, who was hurten far too much to object to all the touchy-feely goen' on, simply nodded.
"I can take care of that," Cas assured him as he straddled Dean's lap disregarding the fact that he was now soaking his own trousers in the process.
Dean might have been in too much misery to object to a bit of skin-on-skin first aid, but he wasn't so far outta it that he was hunky-dorey with haven' some dude on his lap."
"Get off," Dean groused, feebly pushing against Cas, trying to ignore the stinging that went along with making any sort of movement.
"I am trying to help," Cas declared shortly, showing the first signs of real anger. "Now let me do it this way, or I will make you unconscious," he threatened, and Dean didn't have to be an intellectual giant to figure out he was serious.
"Fine," Dean grumpily agreed, slumping back, feeling weak as a kitten.
Cas shifted his weight until he was settled firmly on Dean's legs. Dean didn't think it was worth the effort to protest. He'd bear the indignity of it cause the sooner Cas did this the sooner he'd be back on his side of the seat. That didn't mean he had to watch, so he closed his eyes and set about pretenden' he was getten a lap dance from some busty, Asian centerfold. Way easier said than done, 'specially when Cas shattered his almost illusion by whispering in his ear, "This will only take a moment." And was it really necessary for Cas to put his mouth so close to his ear that he slightly brush against it?
Dean felt Cas place one hand in the spot between his ribcage and belly button. He squirmed uncomfortably but made no verbal protest. Cas' lips were brushing his ear again as he asked quietly, "Ready?"
Dean grunted his assent, but nearly catapulted through the roof when a hand plopped forcefully in his crotch and took hold.
"What the fuck," Dean screeched, and didn't give a flyen' fuck in the wind that this time he really did sound like a ten year old girl.
"Hold still, Dean!"
Then, it happened. One of Dean's worst nightmares come to life. Not that he'd ever actually dreamt of some dude crawlen' all over his lap, but hey, it was a nightmare. The sound of tapping against the driver's side window. Both occupants of the vehicle swung their heads that way in unison. Their faces bore markedly different expressions. Cas looked startled, maybe even a little rattled while Dean looked more horrified than mere words could ever detail when they realized that staring back at them was a police officer.
He made a motion with his hand indicating that he wanted the window lowered, which – ever helpful and obliging – Cas did before Dean had a chance to stop him or push him off. In one quick, all-encompassing glance the officer took in the scene laid out before him.
Tipping his hat back slightly on his balding forehead, he sighed as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders (which he wasn't cause that lousy job fell to him and Sammy) and –much to Dean's surprise – casually remarked, "This is a no parking zone, gentlemen." And, that was it. Like, he came across two dudes scrunched up on top of each other every other day or something. Yet, Dean felt the need to explain.
"This… this isn't what it looks like, officer," using a finger to gesture back and forth between him and Cas. And, damn if that fucker wasn't still wrapped all over him!
"Of course it isn't," the officer deadpanned, clearly not believing Dean for a second if that cynical look was anything to go by.
"No, really, sir… if you'll just let me explain…"
He cut Dean off with a raised hand. "No need. You and your boyfriend just need to move it along. In an hour this loading dock will be open for business."
Face flaming, Dean exclaimed in desperation, "He isn't my boyfriend!" Dean gave a Cas a sharp elbow to the gut to no avail; bastard didn't move an inch. "Honestly, sir… it's not like that at all. Y'see what happened was…"
Placing a hand on Dean's bare shoulder, Cas butted in with a, "I think I can make sense of this to the law enforcement individual." Dean was hopen' that Cas was plannen' on the zappen the memory of this acutely mortifying incident out of the man in blue's noggin. Instead, looking directly at the police officer and serious as can be Cas said, "If I were Dean's boyfriend then I would more than likely be engaged in a sexual relationship with him." Dean wanted to sink into the seat and disappear for the remainder of his existence. He'd just begun prayen to his baby to swallow him whole when, Cas tacked on, "We are merely non-homo pals."
"Not one word, Sammy," Dean bit out fiercely as his brother was ushered into the room. "Not. One. Word," he reiterated with a threatening gleam in his eyes that promised a world of hurt if he didn't do as he was told.
"Fine, Dean," Sam agreed readily, holding his hands up and out in a placating manner. "Not one word."
Turned out way too readily cause just as Dean was heaving a sigh of relief, Sam continued, "Not one word on how you and Cas have been arrested for parking in a no parking zone, lying to a police officer, and there are those other two teeny tiny charges against you guys. Hmmm… yeah," tapping his chin, his face screwed up in an expression of bewilderment Sam remarked casually, "What were they again?" Snapping his fingers as if sudden inspiration had struck, he exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, now I remember… something about indecent exposure and lewd and licentious behavior."
Dean let out a cross between a groan and a growl and sounding like a riled, savage animal snarled, "Sammy…"
Undeterred, Sam spread his arms wide and with an affable grin began bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet while casually adding, "And, hey, while we're not saying one word on things, how about we don't mention the added charges against you bro, you know, the resisting arrest and attempted battery and inflicting of bodily harm to…," strolling closer to his brother who now had his teeth clenched so hard that the hinges of his jaw were clearly defined beneath the pink splotches gracing his high cheekbones, "… And – let me make sure I get this right – to a non-homo pal."
Dean's head fell forward, hitting the bars of his cell with an audible thunk.
In my mind this one shot is set in about season four because from what I can tell Cas becomes much more humanized as the seasons roll on. Which makes sense as he is inhabiting a human body. I hope you enjoyed!