As he always does in moments where no danger is imminent, Dean wakes slowly, blinking reluctantly through his first few breaths of consciousness. But then the warmth of Castiel's body stretched alongside his penetrates, and Dean slings an arm around his waist, burying his nose against Castiel's throat.
And then the smell of pie penetrates, and Dean's eyes slit open. Dimly, he remembers other birthdays - his fifth, the last before his mother was gone, and the thirtieth birthday he'd passed on the island, a memory he shies away from, as he does all memories of Angua.
He can't recall now why, exactly, a birthday is cause for the scent of not one, but three pies. Unless..."Am I forty?" Dean asks. "Did that - am I forty now?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-01-29 07:52 am (UTC)And then the smell of pie penetrates, and Dean's eyes slit open. Dimly, he remembers other birthdays - his fifth, the last before his mother was gone, and the thirtieth birthday he'd passed on the island, a memory he shies away from, as he does all memories of Angua.
He can't recall now why, exactly, a birthday is cause for the scent of not one, but three pies. Unless..."Am I forty?" Dean asks. "Did that - am I forty now?"