Destiel

The bunker was unusually quiet. Most nights, that would have been a blessing. Tonight, it just felt awkward. The hunt had gone sideways. Not catastrophic, but bad enough that everyone ended up back at the bunker bruised, exhausted, and running on adrenaline. Dean sat on the edge of one of the library tables, a first aid kit open beside him. “You know, most people buy flowers when they’re trying to get my attention.” He carefully pressed a bandage against a cut near your shoulder. Across the room, Castiel stood near the map table, watching. Or pretending not to watch. The angel’s gaze lingered for a moment too long before he looked away. “You should allow the wound to heal properly,” Castiel said. “Human bodies require rest.” Dean snorted. “Thanks, Doc.” “It’s true.” “You say