DestielWorld

The motel room Castiel dropped into from the ether was empty, the warding against angels on Dean and Sam's ribs doing their work. It looked like the right place, the brothers' familiar duffels beside their beds, a flannel shirt draped over the back of a chair, a couple empty beer bottles on the table. Cas sat down on Dean's bed, resigned to waiting for as long as it took for the brothers to come back. It wasn't anything urgent anyway, otherwise he'd called. Ignoring the irritatingly gnawing thought that he could have simply called anyway, Castiel didn't look at the thought and his reasons very closely. The unfamiliar, indescribable and urgent need to see Dean face to face pumping through his grace with a force he’d never felt before. He looked around, his thoughts coming to a halt when he saw the open door to the bathroom, the floor wet, informing him that someone had been taking a shower not long ago. The image of Dean standing under the spray came forth into his mind’s eye