Sam glanced up from his laptop as Dean walked into the kitchen, yawning and dragging his body groggily. Immediately, Sam's eyes fell to his unusual attire; grey sweatpants and a beige trench coat, a bare chest just barely peeking out from underneath.
So much for a regular morning.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam questioned attentively, a confused smirk growing at the odd sight. "Is that...Cas'?"
Dean grunted approvingly, sleep still binding him to a fog. Shuffling over to the counter, he grabbed a mug and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee; seemingly oblivious to the discomposure Sam was experiencing. Sam scoffed, lost as to Dean's sudden weirdness of normality in wearing the angel's coat. And...without a shirt.
"Is he here?" Sam asked, cluelessly.
"Yup."
"Why the hell are you wearing his coat?"
Dean scoffed tiredly, bringing the mug to his lips. "Because why the hell not, Sammy?" He declared as if it were obvious.
"Uh, okay," Sam offered, shrugging still with lingering uncertainty and turning his attention back to his research.
After a few silent minutes, Dean tossed the mug into the sink and walked back out the kitchen without a word. Sam sat alone, a confused expression still plastered to his face, but decided to try and ignore whatever he had just witnessed. He pulled up another article. Two newly married couples dead in a week, just two towns over. The photos depicted bloody, unusually grotesque crime scenes, practically solidifying a case for the experienced hunter. He shut his laptop, heading to Dean's room to let him know about the new job.
Sam found the door to Dean's room ajar, unusually so. Normally Dean would shut himself in his room, crank up his music and end up falling back asleep. With a quick sweep of the empty room, Sam walked down the hallway in search of his brother.
As he neared the library, he began to hear muffled voice through the walls. Curious, he strained his ears and followed the path, stopping at a standard silver lined Men of Letters door. It was one of the unused, abandoned bedrooms, and as he pressed his ear against the wood he could hear the voice on the other side.
Correction: voices.
"...don't know. It's only been a few days."
"You're having to talk me out of this?" A deep voice laughed. "I never thought this day would come."
"Yeah, well. I guess things change, don't they?"
Dean.
Sam twisted the doorknob and swung open the door, finding two people sitting together on the mussed up bed.
"Dean?" Sam said obviously out loud. "Cas?"
Cas sat bare chested, curled up in the bed lazily with an arm around Dean. As if it were the most natural, instinctive thing, Dean seemed to fall perfectly in line with the other's body, resting his head on the angel's chest. The trench coat still hung off of him floppily, appearing perfectly at home around his shoulders.
Dean's brow furrowed in annoyance at the sight of Sam. "Dude, what the hell?"
"What do you mean 'what the hell?'" Sam shouted, blinking rapidly in bewilderment. "I'm the only one allowed to say 'what the hell' right now!"
"What are you talking about?" Dean argued ridiculously. "Sammy, would it kill you to leave us alone, for once?"
"Hi, Sam." Cas offered sheepishly.
