What Makes a Hunter

Chapter 5

Dean lay on his bed in a pile of warm clean clothes that he had absolutely no intention of folding. Cas was in the bathroom redressing his wound and Dean breathed in the silence, purposefully keeping his head clear of thoughts. He knew there were things that he had to think about, important things. But he did what he always did with his feelings and pushed them down until he could find a more appropriate time to deal with them.

As Dean shifted his weight something dug into his back. He grunted and pulled out the offending item from under him. It was a buckle, which was attached to belt, which in turn was attached to a familiar khaki trench coat. Dean hummed in irritation. Well at least it wasn't dirty anymore. He flipped over and sat up to inspect the rest of the clothing.

It only took him a few seconds to find Cas's pants, given the fact that they were not something that he would ever personally wear. He folded the pants and placed them on top of the trench coat before realizing that he had shredded Cas's shirt in the process of getting it off him. The hunter rolled his eyes and started to dig through the rest of the clean clothes. He had to have button down with him somewhere. Finally he found one––not white, like what Cas usually wore, but he figured that his friend wouldn't object to maroon just as long as he didn't have to wear a ratty AC/DC t-shirt anymore. Dean folded up the shirt too and went to knock on the bathroom door.

"Yes?" came the concerned reply. Dean snorted.

"I have your clothes. You're gonna have to borrow one of my shirts until we can get you a new one since I kinda destroyed yours when I was getting it off you. Sorry." he put a cautious hand on the doorknob. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." said Cas through the door.

"Uh...you are wearing clothes, right?" Dean asked. He had to be sure. There had been that one time with the bees.

Instead of answering Cas opened the door and raised his eyebrows at Dean in irritation. Dean pulled the sassiest face he could muster (which managed to get a twitch of a smile from the ex-angel) and presented Cas with his newly clean clothes.

"Thank you." Cas replied, still looking annoyed but also slightly mollified. He disappeared behind the door again and Dean flopped back down on the bed. He had barely had a chance to close his eyes before he heard a knock on the door and Sam calling "I brought beer!", his voice heavily muffled by the plywood. Dean reluctantly stood up and let his brother in. Thankfully Sam had decided to shower before joining them so he didn't smell too much like a runner. Dean greeted him with a yawn.

"Dude you look exhausted," Sam observed, scrutinizing his brother in the unflattering motel room light.

"I know, I know," said Dean, waving him away impatiently. "I haven't slept much in the past couple of days, that's all. I'll sleep tonight."

Cas came out of the bathroom, doing up the last few buttons of his shirt.

"Hello Sam." he said gruffly, acknowledging the younger Winchester's presence with a small smile before opening the fridge and searching for something to drink.

"Here, Dean." Sam said, trying to hand over the beers. But his hand hung in empty air. Dean was distracted. He was focused on the man rummaging around in the mini-fridge. Cas looked good in maroon. Sam noticed him staring at their friend and made an amused noise that Dean didn't acknowledge. Then Cas turned around, noticed Dean starting at him, looked behind him to see if there was anything there and turned back to the hunter when he found nothing.

"What?" he asked, uncapping his beer.

"Nothing," Dean replied, shaking his head. "Just...you can keep that shirt. It looks way better on you than it does on me. Maroon's not my color." he clarified when Sam made a spluttering noise that he almost succeeded in turning into a cough. Dean felt his ears burn red. He snatched the beers from his brother and marched over to the table, slamming them down next to his laptop and busying himself with the case. He could hear Sam telling Cas about his run but he wanted to do pretty much anything except focus on the two men in the kitchen. Serial killer ghosts seemed much easier to deal with.